4. The Past
The Past
TJ
“Where doyou think you’re going?”
“Out.” I don’t look in Dave’s direction as I stride toward the door.
“Out where? I didn’t hear you ask permission to leave. Did you hear anything, Arlene?”
Arlene’s nose glides across the coffee table. “Why do you care where he’s going?” she asks, wiping the remnants of the powder from her nostrils.
“Because this is my house, bitch.” Dave pounds his fist into his chest as he stands. Apparently, this gesture is supposed to make men look tough instead of the dumb pricks they really are. Thanks for that one, Denzel.
“This isn’t a house. It’s an apartment.” I shouldn’t have said that, I know. But the guy’s a moron. I can’t help myself.
“Don’t get smart with me, you little shit.” Dave waddles over to where I’m standing. “Go to your room.”
“I said I’m going out.” I yank open the door.
Dave’s hand grips the back of my neck. “And I said go to your room.”
“Why can’t you just leave me alone? Go get high and fuck your crack-whore wife.”
Dave lurches and his fist connects with my right eye. I fall onto my back, throwing my arms over my face.
“You never learn, do you?” His boot sinks into my ribcage that’s still sore from yesterday’s beating.
Sometimes Arlene tries to stop Dave from hitting me, but she’s too high to care right now.
I should be crying from the pain, but all I can do is laugh. Provoking Dave fuels me. “Are you winded already? You should really lay off the Twinkies.”
Dave balls my shirt in his fists, lifts me up, and slams my back against the wall. We’re nose to nose, the odor emitting from his greasy skin mixing with the stench of his breath. His unkempt beard holds onto remnants of his lunch.
“You don’t talk to me like that. I’m in charge here. I put the roof over your head. You do what I say. You got that?”
I wave my hand in front of my nose. “You should take some of that money and go see a dentist. Your mouth smells like gum disease.”
He pops me in the jaw and pummels my stomach, again and again. I take it and wait ‘til it’s over. Dave is obese. He tuckers out quicker than most.
Most high schoolers play a sport or an instrument. Maybe they have dinner with their families, or see a movie with friends. For me? A kick to the gut and a few punches to the head is a typical Friday night.
Dave isn’t the first monster I’ve encountered. I’ve endured worse. In the past year, I’ve met several different kinds of monsters. Dave doesn’t scare me.
Nothing does.
Fear doesn’t control me anymore.
“Who gave you that shiner?”Woods asks.
I look down at his shoes. Shiny as always.
“Look at me, Thomas.”
“I told you not to call me that anymore.”
Woods sighs. “Who gave you that shiner?”
“Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?”
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
“You couldn’t help me even if you knew.” I dip three French fries into a glob of ketchup and shove them into my mouth. McDonald’s tastes as good as Mom’s home-cooked meals when you haven’t eaten all day.
“Is it someone at school? Are you being bullied?”
I glare at him before taking a bite of my cheeseburger. As if I’d let another kid do this to me.
“Then who? Because if it’s your foster parent, you can come down to the station with me and file a report. Or I can come with you to social services and you can tell someone there.”
“What’s the point?”
“The point? You’d be placed in another home where you don’t get beat.”
“Another home. Great.” I give Woods a thumbs-up and go back to eating.
“I know you’ve been bounced around a lot this year, but you can keep trying until you find the right home.”
“Don’t you get it? There isn’t going to be a right home for me. Nice, loving couples don’t want to adopt a troubled fifteen-year old. Just ask your wife.”
His jaw works under his skin. “That’s not fair. You know I’d take you in if I could.”
Woods was the police officer to arrive at my house every time I’d call when I was growing up. He’d let me sit in the front seat of his car and turn on the lights and sirens while Mom got checked by the paramedic. A few years ago, Woods made detective. Still, he was always there for me whenever I called for help. He’s the only friend I have.
I busy my mouth with chewing instead of saying the words I’m holding inside. I know it’s not his fault I’m in this situation, and I can’t blame his wife for not allowing him to adopt me. She’d probably give him hell if she knew he was still meeting me after his shift every Friday night.
But there’s nowhere for my pain to go. Anger erupts and pours over me, blanketing the hurt. I succumb to the rage. It’s easier that way. The anger comforts me.
So, Woods will sit here and pretend like he can fix my problems.
I’ll sit here and pretend like everything isn’t as bad as it is.
We both know the truth.
“Are they feeding you at least?”
I shake my head. “Do you mind if I order another cheeseburger to go?”
“Order whatever you want.” He hands me a twenty and stands. “I’ve got to head out.”
“I know.”
“I’m serious about talking to social services. I’ll go there with you and we can sort this out.”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about me.” Nobody else does.
Woods lifts my chin toward the light, examining my black eye. “Only four more years until you’re legal. Things will get better for you. You’ll see.”
Only four. “Yeah. See you next week.”
He reaches into a shopping bag and pulls out a black North Face jacket. “You’ll need something warm for the winter. Happy Birthday, Thomas.”
I cringe at the reminder. I dread my birthday, but not in the way most people do because they don’t want to turn another year older. My birthday marks the day I watched my mother die. There’s nothing happy or exciting about it.
Happy Birthday? What a joke.