Free What I Did by Christopher Wakling

bread. And that’s fine. But I am not a fish. And I’m not an animal, either. I am a human and so are you, probably. Well done, Jesus. But what about our ancestors? Yes, yes, yes, they were animals, too. And that is why sometimes we still have to do what animals do when they are cornered. What’s that, then? I will tell you, but first I will tell you what animals don’t do, or do hardly ever, and it is this: you hardly ever see an animal showing you its other cheek. Silverback gorillas least of all because sometimes they’re too busy beating their chests. Which is a signal for what exactly? That’s right: it’s a signal to say, you there watch out, you’re annoying me and if you do it again I am going to rip your arms out of their plug sockets. That’s right, bugger off, or I’ll retaliate.
    Dad told on me, and he got to go upstairs to do his own thing, so I decide to tell on him, because maybe then this Butterfly woman will flap off and let me watch TV.
    â€” What happened in the park? Butterfly asks again.
    â€” Dad chased me.
    â€” Why?
    â€” Because I ran away.
    â€” And why did you run away?
    â€” Because he was chasing me.
    Butterfly woman does another smile, very reassuring, and says, — Okay.
    â€” He was the predator and I was the prey.
    â€” Predator?
    â€” Then he attacked me, I say.
    â€” He attacked you?
    â€” He caught me first. But once he’d caught me he swiftly attacked me, yes.
    â€” How do you mean?
    â€” He hit me.
    â€” Where did he hit you?
    She really is stupid, so I use a slow voice to help her: — Next to the park, I say.
    â€” No. Whereabouts on you did he hit you?
    â€” Everywhere!
    â€” And did that hurt?
    Is she a complete idiot? — Yes, I say slowly. It was agony.
    She writes some stuff in her boring pad again now, and then finally says, — I see.
    Well done, Butterfly, it wasn’t that hard was it? We got there in the end! She pauses and sticks her tongue into her cheek again and writes down something else, and I wonder will she ever, ever, ever go away?
    Not yet it seems because she’s got more questions.
    â€” Can I ask you to do something for me, Billy?
    â€” What is it?
    â€” Can you show me exactly where you were hurt?
    â€” Why?
    â€” So that I can help it not to happen again.
    I laugh at her then and she says, — Why are you laughing?
    â€” You think you can stop Dad? He is more powerful than you! Most males are.
    She smiles again. — There are ways of helping.
    â€” Okay.
    â€” But to be helpful I need to know where he hurt you.
    This is probably a test. I bet Dad has told her to ask me to undress because he knows I’m slow at clothes and probably thinks I won’t show her properly and will get into trouble instead. So I start getting undressed. I concentrate very hard and I do it like Mum says, super-efficiently, step-by-step.
    â€” You don’t need to take . . .
    But I do! She can’t fool me! I am already there, undressed. And now that I am naked I can show her my spectacular wounds!
    Butterfly looks at me. She sucks some air in over her teeth when I point at the wall bite on the inside of my leg, and she’s also impressed by my other bruises, like the stairs one on my back, and some of the red bits, too, I think, because she looks hard at all of them, like you might if you saw an amazing painting of an otter perhaps. I don’t say anything. I just point. The wall scrape wins I think: it’s gone bright dark purple-red all around but there’s still some blood in it.
    â€” Is that from this morning? she asks.
    â€” I don’t want to tell you.
    â€” Why?
    â€” Because it wasn’t my fault.
    â€” Don’t worry, Billy. I know that.
    â€” No. It was Dad’s fault instead.
    â€” How exactly?
    â€” He got me by a wall.
    â€” He did what?
    â€” I was running away from him and he was chasing me, and then