When I was small, maybe eight years old
I needed a secure place to hide at home
Some place really strong
Someplace where only I could fit
And keep a few things that were very special

I had of course seen Frankenstein at the movies
And knew how strong he was
He could break your back if he wanted to
But mostly he wasn’t really bad, just simple
And could be talked to like a baby and quiet down

But still, I would need that precious time to talk
Before he grabbed me and maybe broke my back
And at last I found that place behind the basement stairs
Two by twelve boards made up the steps
Strong enough to endure even the strongest pull

And the sides beneath the stairs were boards of knotty pine
Well nailed to two by fours set fairly close between
Close enough to wedge thin boards as shelving for my treasures
And there was a triangular door held by sliding bolts both in and out
Fitted better to a child’s frame than to the larger kind

But best of all was the fan some three feet round
That closed off the back of my space and would cut your fingers off
If you were  dumb enough to stick them through the screen of chicken wire
Even Frankenstein wouldn’t use that approach to reach inside
Somehow I wasn’t bothered that, from my side, the blade was unprotected

I could sit inside that space safe and sound and in a breeze as well
With the loss of fingers, hands, and nose just inches far away
But that just made it all the safer, cause it was really kind of scary in itself
The wind came between those thick board steps and out the back
And I could laugh, the sound distorted by the spinning blades

We were the only people I knew with a basement fan like that
Sucking air through upstairs windows, then between the basement steps
To exit through a basement door or window
Everybody else had attic fans that served the purpose
But which could not provide a hiding place for me

Now, I’ve talked of Frankenstein, and he scared me too, but not too bad
Not pee in your pants bad, that waited till we saw The Thing
But not to worry, you could kill The Thing, a wimp next to Frankenstein
But of course we really only talked like we were scared of those movie guys
The real fear I saved for worse things, my brother in particular

He was more than three years older and stronger in proportion
And he knew how best to hit and hurt you in the upper arm
A single pointed knuckle was the trick, you got another if you flinched
That was bad, but not as bad as BB’s fired point blank into your thigh
Or that bull whip my father though he was responsible enough to own

The guy was a real jerk and I could only wait for my revenge
So, when finally I was big enough I did, I took revenge
And attacked with fists when his taunts and hits I could take no longer
My mother saw it all and blamed it all on me
I still remember by brother’s laughing as I cried

I’ve often heard from others how they once so hated a brother or a sister
But now find them the dearest friends, a loving family after all
I can only wish that that were true for me
To this day by brother can still be oblivious to the needs of others
But I’m also older now, and no longer need a place beneath the stairs