All Around The House

“You’ve ruined it!  You have absolutely ruined it!”

I looked at the near empty pot of paint in my hand, and the freshly ironed dress, now on the floor beside the clothes basket, that had an enormous, still widening, blob of blue paint.

“It will wash!  Quick!”

“Indelible does not wash!   Come here!”

Oh lord.   Big sis was as mad as hell and as the duly appointed “baby sitter”, she had assumed, right or wrong, all the authority of mom and dad.

“It was an accident!” I yelled over my shoulder has I fled out of the laundry room and hurtled downstairs,

“I’ll give you ‘accident’” she promised and came after me in full flight.

At the bottom of the stairs, she had closed the gap and was able to put her arm over the banister rail, and catch my shirt collar as I turned to run along the hallway.  I jerked backwards.

She swung around the stair post, and delivered a resounding slap to my rump.

“Yow!”   That really, really stung!

I threw myself backward into a sort of one armed cartwheel.   The leverage, and possibly the surprise, broke her grip, and I fled into the front sitting room, slamming the door behind me.

“You are only making things worse!” she said as she opened the door.

“I shall tell mom and dad when they get home.”

“You will tell them?   I will tell them.   And just you hope that dad does not decide to add some more.”

The thought of dad’s belt paused me a second.

She stood in the middle of the doorway, legs planted squarely apart, and arms folded akimbo across her chest.   “Just take what you have got coming, and stop being such a baby.”

I stepped forward slowly and meekly, head bowed, just as if I was giving in - and then … just at the exact right moment … ducked right down low and hurtled forward between that gap in her legs.  She was not quick enough to stop me, but had the presence of mind to land another stinging slap to my butt.   God she had got some strength for a wisp like her.   Probably all that field hockey and tennis she played.   It had given her a right arm like a black smith’s.

I shot back up the stairs into my bedroom.   My bedroom was supposed to be a safe haven, with all the privileges of a church sanctuary.   Did she respect historical convention?   She did not.   She came barging in after me.   I dived across my bed, then under it, scrambled, and headed off back to the door.

She only got one lick in.   But it was a good one.   With my own tennis slipper.   My own tennis slipper – had she got no sense of propriety at all?  And right to the center of the seat of my jeans.   That one stung real good.

Back down stairs as fast as I could go.   All that athletic training of hers meant that she was not showing the least sign of getting tired, and kept apace a couple of yards behind me.

Into the kitchen   The upper half of the back door was open, leaving the lower half locked in place like a hurdle.  I put my arms on the top of the lower door to vault over it and away until, at least, the heat of the moment had gone away and she calmed down to some level of reasonable compromise.

As I lifted myself up, a hand planted itself on the back of my waist, pushing me forward so that my upper body flailed in the air, and my legs waved helplessly behind me.

“Got you!”

There was a pause.  The hand held firm.   She was picking up some sort of weapon that was within easy reach! 

Crack!   Oh my god, that was a wooden spoon.   And it hurt way worse than dad’s belt.  From the force of that stoke it was clear that she intended to beat my backside back and blue, and had gotten just the thing to do it most effectively.   Crack!   This just has got to stop.   Right now.

I put my hands by my waist and gripped the door, pressed my knees against the door, deep breath, and full backward roll, tumbling back into the kitchen.

She gave a small shriek as I spun past her, her raised right arm giving me both the freedom to get  past, and  putting  her in a useless position to try to stop me.

Into the dining room.   The French doors would not be locked and if I could get to the apple tree, I would be ok.   She could no longer climb trees like she used to.   I suppose one day soon that would happen to me, too,   But for now, being safe on  a high branch, things could only get better as she offered reasons and compromises in order to talk me to back down to ground level.

Big mistake.   The doors were locked.   Sheesh!   And her she came around the dining table, with that furious snarl on her face that spelt total mayhem for me in my near future.   Only one way back to the hall door from here – under the table and flee.

One problem.  The gap at the center of the table was not big enough for me to get through.

I started to scramble back on all fours, when a foot gently pressed against my bottom to bring me to a halt.  The foot went away, to be replaced by something large, square and hard.   Oh my god - that was the big clothes brush!

Whack!   Ow, ow, ow , ow!   Definitely the big clothes brush.   Whack!  I should have stayed in the kitchen.   The wooden spoon was far less fearsome than this.   She moved her feet to give herself a better stance for a firmer swing.

And in that split second of opportunity, I rolled out, jack knifed and like a sprinter from the blocks, leapt off once more.

“Goddamit!   Will you just take your medicine and stop being so childish?”

Stupid question.   Just because I am younger than her does not make me a child.   And my buttocks were getting very, very tender, -  I owed it to them to try to keep them out of any more danger.

Back up stairs

At the end of the upstairs hall lay the master suite.

The hallowed inner sanctum of mom and dad.   A place of safety.

I ran in and plopped myself on their ginormous bed and waited for big sis to arrive.

Which did not take long.

“Come on,” she said.   “Out of here.”

I shook my head.

“We are not allowed in here.   Come on, let’s go.”

I shook my head again.

“OK – have it your way.   You want to be here … you can have the sort of spanking we get when we are in here.”

She went to the closet door and came back swinging one of dad’s belts, the buckle end wrapped around her fist.

She grabbed my shoulder, sort of swung me half face down onto the bed, and unleashed a stinger.

I was out of there like a shot.   A belting was not something I ever desired to get again in my entire life.

And with sis just a yard behind, just a couple of yards along the upstairs hall and into the bathroom, slam the door and in frantic haste, push the lock button.

“Come out”

“Go away”

“Bathroom doors can be unlocked from the outside.”   That was true.

“I shall be in there in a minute”   That was probably going to be true.

“If you open the door now, I shall take it easier on you.”   That was a downright lie.

I went and lifted up the bathroom window open.   There was a drain pipe right by the side of it.   This was going to be so easy.   Out through the window, down the drain pipe, up the apple tree, and negotiate from a position of strength.

I pulled the laundry basket across the floor and placed it under the window sill, stood on it, and started to climb out.   But that is when disaster struck.  While I was half in and half out, the bathroom door itself flew open behind me, and in less than a second, the window was pulled down, trapping me securely in place.

“I told you that you should have let me in”

“Please, sis …”

I tried to struggle back but I was being held at tight as a piece of lumber in a vice,  waiting for the plane to come to shave away at its exposed parts.   I felt her arms around my waist, her fingers feeling for the buckle of my belt.   Oh no.

She unfastened my jeans, and pulled them down to my knees, along with my underwear.    She could see my bare bottom.   She had seen it many times before, but my situation was getting really bad.

The air was cold against my bare cheeks, and then a gentle tap of wood on naked skin sent a shiver down my spine.

The bath brush.   She was going to whale me with the bath brush.   A long flat handle to add force to each swing, an oval flat back that was going to bite like hell.

And there was no way out.

The torrent started.

I yelled and hollered, usually a sure way to slacken the pace, but the window seemed to block out my shrieks.  She continued with gusto, until the tears came, and the kicking stopped.

She pushed the  window up a little so I could get back in, when I was ready.   For now, for a few moments, I lay still - letting the pain absorb itself, the sting slacken off.   And I didn’t want her to see the tears on my face.  I am no cry baby, and I did not want her to know just how effectively  she had lambasted the blazes out of my ass.

“Next time, should you ruin my best dress, don’t make me come after you.”

She left, so I could climb back in, bathe my bruises, rinse my face and try to salve my wounded pride.   She would be sorry for giving me such a thorough larruping.  One far harder than I deserved. I was not sure how, but I was absolutely certain I would be able to dream something up that would make her truly sorry.  Simply a question of when.