Chapter 7 #3
The next day is the start of the new schedule.
Sabre shows up on time, and Noah doesn’t even give him a chance to get off his bike and ring the bell.
He runs out with his backpack strapped tight to his body and his snazzy new helmet strapped down around his head just as tight.
They talk for a couple of minutes, and when they take off, Sabre takes it slow.
I feel that same churn of emotions watching them together.
It’s sweet to see how eager Noah is to spend time with his new protector and how easily Sabre accepts him.
Sabre’s body language is casual, and his expression is indulgent.
They look for all the world like a couple of guys having a pleasant morning.
Much to my relief, they pull into the driveway exactly on time, my precious son and the man I’m quickly falling in love with.
I can tell that riding on the back of Sabre’s motorcycle is the greatest thing in Noah’s world right now.
When Sabre stops, Noah jumps off like a grasshopper and begins tugging at the straps of his helmet.
By the time Sabre swings off his bike and they turn to walk towards the front porch, they both have their helmets tucked under one arm like twins.
They’re laughing and talking up a storm.
When they walk into the house, I realize they’re talking about Noah’s bully, Braden Ford.
He’s the stocky boy who’s been calling my son names and making fun of him every chance he gets.
I’d talked to Noah about him and offered advice, but it’s one of those occasions where having a male role model is good.
Sabre is giving Noah a different perspective.
I step back from the door so I don’t look like the helicopter mom that I clearly am.
Noah says enthusiastically, “Did you see the way he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you?”
“Yeah, I sometimes have that effect on people,” Sabre says, tossing his helmet into my easy chair.
“I think half your school came out to stare at us with their mouths hanging open.” He shoots me a warm look before continuing his conversation with Noah.
“I’m not used to getting quite that much attention.
It made me feel like a rock star there for a minute. ”
“Maybe they thought you were the Terminator, like from the movie.”
“Whatever,” Noah says dismissively. “I just hope he keeps staring instead of mouthing off every time he sees me and shoving me around.”
Shock rolls through my body. “Hold up a minute, bug. When did the shoving start? You just told me he was calling you names.”
He gives me a quick, jerky shrug with both shoulders. “A couple of weeks ago. He shoved me against the wall when we were lining up to leave for recess and again in the lunchroom when I wouldn’t give him my lunch money.”
Stepping closer, I drop down onto one knee and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
My nine-year-old son begins to look uncomfortable fast. I can tell because he avoids looking me in the eye, shifts from one leg to another, and doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands.
“Come on, bug. You can tell me,” I say encouragingly.
He finally blurts out, “Because every time you come to the school and complain, it makes it worse.”
“I… I didn’t mean for that to happen,” I stammer, glancing up at Sabre. “I just thought that sometimes it takes multiple complaints to resolve a situation like that.”
Sabre interjects smoothly, “Don’t worry about it. We stopped to gas up my bike, grabbed a soda, and had a little talk before we headed home.”
Noah perks up again. “Yeah, and it is a good plan too.” Without prompting, he launches into it. “First, I’m gonna respect Braden whether he respects me or not. Sabre says he might not know how to act. If that’s his problem, I’ll show him how to be fuckin’ polite.”
I freeze for a second, and my mouth falls open. I know Sabre curses a lot. I just never thought Noah would pick up on it. Before I can say anything, Sabre does.
“Look, I shouldn’t be cursing around you, and when I mess up, I don’t want you picking up my bad language. That’s just gonna get you in all kinds of trouble, ya know?”
“Yeah, I’ll remember,” he promises before continuing to talk about his plan. “Then I’m going to tell him that being rude is weak behavior. Decent men don’t have to put others down to feel good about themselves.”
As my son talks about his new arsenal to fight bullying, I’m a little bewildered. My thought was to report it and let the teachers take care of it. Sabre seems to have a more direct approach, and Noah is apparently a hundred percent on board with it.
“We don’t fight fire with fire,” Noah says excitedly.
“That’s how the world burns. You have to stand up for yourself, stop letting their words get to you, and tell it like it is.
” He stops long enough to rake his hand through his hair, like I’ve seen Sabre do.
“If that doesn’t work, we pay a visit to his dad. ”
Noah sounds like he’s directly quoting his new protector. I shoot Sabre a questioning look, but he gives me a slight shake of his head. “Don’t worry, Chef. We’ve got this.”
They both sound so confident that I decide to hold off on commenting and give their plan a try.