STOP!!!
Amazing isn't it? Of all the powerful words in the English language, Stop has to be one of the strongest. It's an instant instruction with no room for misunderstanding. It can only mean one thing, and whoever issues the command, knows exactly what they are saying. Even if you try and imagine all the ways in which it can be said, it still means the same thing every time.
Take my wife, the nervous passenger in a speeding car, hurtling towards an unaware pedestrian. STOP!!!! She screams. It's an instant verbal slap, a warning of danger, a panic alarm, and it scares me s***less every time she does it.
Take my son, with his energetic outbursts and uncanny hatred of sleeping, demanding an extra hour on the Xbox last thing at night. Reminding me how his Mother 'let's him stay up as long as he wants' back at home. Emotional Blackmail at its finest and I won’t accept it. STOP! I tell him. Its bed time and I am NOT going to debate it. Off he goes, knowing he has had his last warning.
Take my Mother all those years ago, trying to deal with a Son who demands his way, every minute of every day. 'Gary please son, stop it. I mean it Gary, I am sick of asking - STOP. Gary, for ****s sake - JUST STOP IT, I CANNOT PUT UP WITH THIS **** ANYMORE! STOP! Please for the love of god STOP!!' It's at this very moment, when you have asked so many times, in a variety of tones, and emotions, and without success, that you snap. You can't take it anymore, you give in, and all hell breaks loose.
I was 9, maybe 10 when it first happened. Living at home with my Mum, Sisters and Stepdad. I remember it very clearly, as if it were yesterday. I had come in from School, in the middle of a blazing argument. My youngest sister would have been a baby at the time, guessing less than a year old. She was sleeping peacefully in her pram, in the middle of a warzone, indifferent to who came off worse in this almighty struggle. I entered the room to catch my Stepdad doing his macho man impression for the umpteenth time, cursing and spitting at Mum, demanding she listen and shut up, telling her to stop answering back, her telling him to stop hurting her. It took all of two seconds for me to pounce at the b*****d. I ran at him, jumped into his back with a thump - and fell to the floor. Another STOP!!! - My Mum screaming at me, top of her lungs, 'Gary STOP IT', knowing exactly what my punishment would be for my interference. I knew though, that it would work, my Mother was about to get a little respite, and I had made him stop, for the time being.
Picked up by the scruff of the neck, I was given the trademark smash across the side of the head. I remember the spot perfectly to this day, slightly upwards of my left ear, a little towards the rear. His massive hand could curve all the way from the side of my face to the central area on the back of my head. I remember the massive thump, as if someone had taken me by surprise and come at me from behind with a lump of wood. Your neck would almost always lunge sideways, and your body would follow your head through the air. I had just earned a one way ticket to the floor, and my final destination was getting closer at an alarming rate. Touchdown, a bumpy one too. Before you get time to think about your flight, you are picked up again, - time for a surprise return trip. Whoosh - lift off is a lot quicker this time, the landing even bouncier. Not sure I can take much more flying today, my head is starting to pound. I scream STOP, over and over, a mixture of panic, fear, and anger - my screams are ignored. Something has to give, and it's at this point, Mum comes to my rescue.
Like a Polar Bear protecting its young, she goes on the attack. Digging her claws deep into his face, she rips and tears as hard and as fast as she can. She screams, swears, punches, bites and kicks - she has been transformed from a weak, battered wreck into a ferocious warrior. And boy, does she have a fight on her hands. Macho Man manages to fight off her advances, and Mum allows herself to be on the receiving end once again. With her hair wrapped around his fist, she is dragged to the Living room door, which is used to pin her down. On her knees, her head and shoulders are trapped between the door and the frame, all whilst Macho Man shouts his tirade of abuse, and applies as much pressure to the door as he possibly can.
Again, I launch myself at him, and again he turns on me. This time though, Mum manages to get a hold of me, and drags me towards the hall. Somehow we manage to leg it through the long narrow corridor, we barge through the cracked and smashed glass partitioned door, down the stairs and into the Garden. The Hulk comes to the top of the stairs, screaming, banging and shouting. Like an atomic bomb, he explodes and launches his fist towards the hall window. He screams in agony, rips his arm back through the smashed and jagged window frame, and collapses to his knees, screaming at the sight of his mangled and bloodied arm. The cream coloured woodchip now wears a pattern of deep red spatters. Blood seems to be everywhere, his screams are everywhere, and my Mum's cries are everywhere.
In a moment of panic, I pull the main door shut, and drag my mum towards the Garden gate. She seems hesitant, determined to get back inside the house - is she crazy? Let him die I scream, he's tried to kill us, he will try and kill you, let him die. Neighbours at this point are in the street, at their windows, and the whole world is watching. Crying, and shaking I try and explain to my next door neighbour what has happened. He seems shocked, yet calm. We are both taken into his house, an ambulance is called and Mum attempts to drink a cup of tea between massive bursts of crying and panicking.
It seemed to take ages to get back in the house. Police, social workers, and other strangers in suits have too many questions for Mum. PC Doig kept me company. I got to play with his hand cuffs, and he had a huge collection of sweets and juice, top bloke. After what felt like an eternity, we were allowed to return home. The stench in the house was instant, sick inducing. The blood had dried into the walls, creating a permanent display of deep red and brown smears and splashes. The corridor back to the living room was covered in blood too, the walls manky red, the carpet soggy and wet - the place was like something out of a horror movie. The living room seemed to have been worst hit. The door was hanging off its hinges, again stained with blood, and opposite the fireplace, a 4ft pool of disgusting sticky blood had soaked through the deep pile carpet. You never forget the smell of blood, its revolting and I hope never to smell it again.
The next day, Macho Man arrived home in a cab. His arm bandaged, and his posture, beaten. He was carrying flowers, and managed a wave up at the living room window. Mum and I got a big cuddle, happy families. Things were fine for a while, good times.
A week later, we get a knock at the door. I answer, and a lady with a kind face says 'Hello, my name is Heather. Can I talk with your Mum?'. Little did I know at the time, this kind woman was about to rescue me. Rescue me from home, rescue me from myself, and rescue me from the life I had grown to hate. She gave me the biggest gift anyone could have ever given me. I asked her for one thing, and one thing only. 'Make it Stop'. And to my surprise, she did.
Gary.
