For five long minutes, I heard my aunt belabor poor Felipe with that spoon and, his resolve broken, I heard him cry out,
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” near the end.
At last, the sound stopped, and I heard my aunt say, “Fetch your sister.”
Felipe came in, limping, his eyes wet with tears and clutching his rear end.
“Go on,” was all he managed to say.
I entered the living room, my heart about to burst.
There was a lump in my throat and I willed myself not to cry.
“Right, there is no favoritism in this house.
You will be treated the same as your brother.
I want you bent over these arms on your knees.” And she tapped the chair arms with the spoon.
I did as aunty told me, praying Felipe was not doing as I had done and watching me in my humiliation.