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Clayton
The meeting with Principal Stevens is a farce. Harmand worms his way through it. Apparently, his old man is the fucking Vice Principal so he can do no fucking wrong. He puts his arm around me and says it was just a first-day misunderstanding. He assures them it won’t happen again, and they make us wait out the rest of class in the office.
My last class is a study hall, so I bunk it off and head for the gym, figuring I’ll work off the frustration on the free weights. Thankfully, no Harmand Amel the Third there. Practice is a joke. They bench me for my marauding, as they put it. Me, a first-string defensive end, cooling my heels on the bench! I’ve got eighty-three consecutive sacks in my career since my freshman year at Franklin Heights in Columbus, Ohio! I was a Golden Eagle, for fuck's sake! I’d love to drop Harmand like the sack of shit he is.
Not having my car yet, I have to take the shoe leather express all the way home. By the time I get there, it’s already after five. Mom is gone, but his car is in the driveway. No sooner than I walk in the joint, I’m grabbed by my hair and punched in the back of the head.
I hit the ground, my bag sliding across the floor. The old man has three inches and fifty pounds on me. He was a linebacker for OSU when he was younger and did a year semi-pro for the Cincinnati Bengals before he blew out his knee during a motorcycling accident. It’s what turned him to OxyContin and booze, making a mean son of a bitch out of him.
“One day!” He shouts as he pounds on my back. “Couldn’t go one fucking day! Already I get a call about you fucking around?”
“I’m sorry!” I blare out. “It wasn’t my fault. This kid was a dick, Dad, called me a fag.”
“Were you acting like a little faggot at the time?” He knees me in the ribs, lifting me up off the floor with the force. I cough, feeling them pop. “Always reading them little bitch books of yours!”
“I was standing up for another kid!” I roll over as he goes to kick me again and the doorbell rings.
“For fuck's sake!” He shouts. “Who the fuck is it now?”
I jump up, grabbing my bag and bolting as fast as I can for the door. As I open it, I slam into Adam of all people! Grabbing him, I see the little Mazda idling at the end of the walk and speed for it. “Please, just get us out of here,” I plead, tears running down my cheeks and mixing with the blood on my lips.
***
A mile or so down the road Adam slows down and looks scared as can be. His knuckles are white as powder wrapped around the black steering wheel as he looks at me slumped in the passenger seat. “Are you okay?” He asks softly.
I cough and wince. “I need an ace bandage, duct tape, and some ice if you can manage it. I’ve got money. Just—walking at the moment is gonna be real rough.”
He bites his lip with a determined look. “Harrison’s Pharmacy is just down the road. I can get it there for you, but wouldn’t you rather go to the hospital? Something may be broken.”
“Nah, just bruised up... Maybe cracked. Nothing a bit of duct tape and an ace can’t fix.”
He nods with a sniff. “Your old man?”
“Yeah...” I put my head against the glass, the coolness feels good. Really good. We pull up to the back of the pharmacy and Adam hops out. I look around, thankful no one is there to see me in this fucked up situation. I don’t want to have to try to come up with some lie, or worse, tell the truth.
The last thing we need right now is CPS on us. Mom needs this new job at the hospital. We need the fresh start after all the trouble my dad caused us in Columbus. Of course, my acting out didn’t help either, but I was dealing with him at home and didn’t know what else to do. This is supposed to be my fresh start too and so far, all I’ve managed to do is get fresh bruises.
Adam comes out and tosses the bag on the back seat then gets back in the car, taking off again. I eye him and he smiles. “My mom’s not home. She works the night shift over at the diner on fourth three nights a week so I don’t have to.” He smiles softly. “We can go there to patch you up, and if you need a place to crash, it’s okay, she won’t say nothing.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
“No problem. My dad was a hitter till my mom shot him...”
My eyes widen.
“Oh, he’s alive, wherever he is, but he’s long gone from us now.”
I nod. “He wasn’t always such a fucker.” I take a quick intake of air as I adjust in my seat. Yup, cracked ribs alright, probably three. It’s going to suck in the morning. Going to be glad to be benched for the rest of the week. Hell, I could use a month off at this point, but I’ll soldier on. Won’t be the first time, or the last, I’m sure.
