Chapter Twelve #2
Owen turned retrospective again until Trinidad came into view.
The town council had attempted to revitalize the downtown area with vibrant awnings over business entrances, new sidewalks, and flower planters on every lamppost. The improvements on Main Street only lasted for a few blocks before the worn and weary took over.
Perhaps it was just the start of something wonderful, or maybe it was further representation of the haves and have-nots Howie harped about until he was blue in the face.
Tyler sat quietly beside him, but his curiosity pulsed in the air.
A quick glance in his direction proved how vested Tyler was.
He practically had his nose pressed to the window like a little kid outside a department store Christmas display.
The gesture stirred something warm and tingling deep in Owen’s soul because it proved how desperate Tyler was to learn every little thing about him.
Peeling back the scars on his wounds would hurt like hell, but he’d have Tyler to kiss them better.
Each street grew progressively worse with each turn Owen made.
Instead of slowly cruising by his old elementary school, he pulled into the lot, drove to the rear of the building, and parked near the playground.
School was out for the Thanksgiving holiday, so they were the only people there.
It was cold outside, but the blue skies and sunshine looked inviting.
Owen turned the truck off and stared at the playground equipment for several moments before facing Tyler.
“Want to stretch your legs a bit?” he asked.
Tyler responded by taking off his seat belt and pushing the door open.
Owen chuckled at his enthusiasm and followed.
He reached for Ty’s hand as soon as he rounded the truck, and they walked toward the playground.
The equipment was new and shiny, and the school had planted a sign to thank the PTO for their dedication to improving the lives of children.
It reminded Owen of the fundraisers he didn’t take part in because his mother never had money, and Howie refused to support them because he thought the PTO members were lining their pockets.
Owen had never cared about any of that. He’d just wanted to win the prize for selling the most stuff.
Feeling Tyler’s hand in his, Owen reminded himself that he’d already won.
He led them over to the swings, where they parted ways to take a seat.
He pushed off with his feet to start the swing.
“Do you remember feeling like you could fly?” Owen asked.
“Yeah.” Tyler kicked off and matched him, their swings swaying back and forth in unison.
“I couldn’t go very high in our set at home because the frame would come out of the ground, but we could soar on the church playground.
” He snickered. “Funny how all those lessons in Sunday school about sharing and caring flew right out of our heads when it came to taking turns on the equipment.” The joy in Tyler’s voice made Owen think twice about bringing the mood down with his experiences.
Tyler must’ve sensed it because he looked at Owen with a suddenly somber expression.
“I’m guessing you had a different experience,” he said.
“The playground was my refuge from the classroom, where I felt stupid and inferior to the other kids. I knew the difference between a full house and a royal flush before kindergarten, but that was the gist of my pre-schooling. I learned the alphabet letters easily enough once I got in school. I understood and remembered the sounds they made, and I did okay with writing the letters. The problem came when I had to string them together to form words in the first grade. The other kids caught on like wildfire, reading and writing short sentences, while everything got jumbled in my head. The little shits used to make fun of me.” Owen gave Tyler a wry smile and said, “But that only lasted until we got to recess.”
Tyler looked around the equipment, then smiled at him. “This was your turf, huh?”
Owen gave Tyler what felt like his first genuine smile of the day. “Damn straight. I bullied them so they’d stop humiliating me.” He pumped his legs to send him higher in the air. “And those few minutes of flying let me forget I was dumber than everyone else.”
Tyler pumped his legs to match Owen’s height. “You were never dumb, and I don’t want to hear that come out of your mouth again. It sounds like you have dyslexia. That’s not something you could help. I’m surprised your teachers didn’t recognize the problem and intervene.”
“Some of them did try to help me, but I had Howie in my ear saying there was nothing wrong with me. I had some of the same teachers as my dad and uncle, so he accused them of being biased against me. It really got in my head, and I became belligerent at their attempts to help me. It was just a vicious cycle.”
“Tell me about your mom,” Tyler said. “She was your legal guardian and the one who had to make the final decision about testing, right?” Tyler’s voice was soft and curious, not judgmental.
“My maternal grandmother died when my mom was really young, and her father was a domineering man who treated her like a maid and cook. He didn’t encourage her to think for herself.
It was his way or the highway. Mom was drawn to my dad because he was different.
A dreamer, she’d said. But when he died and left her penniless with a baby on the way, she went back to the type of men she knew.
Her father might’ve been a dominant asshole, but she’d always had a roof over her head and food on the table.
Howie mostly fit that bill too, though he was more affectionate than the stone statue who raised her.
” Owen had hated visiting the old man as a little kid.
“What Howie said went, though my mom did go against him when it came to testing for learning disabilities. She signed off on the testing, but I refused to cooperate. Mom didn’t stick her neck out like that again.
” He wasn’t showcasing his family or himself in the brightest light, but it was the truth.
“I think it just makes her newfound independence even more remarkable,” Tyler said, snagging Owen’s attention again.
His eyes were as warm as a chocolate brownie, and the love shining from them was a beacon for him to follow.
He stopped pumping his legs to slow the swing, and Owen followed suit.
Once they came to a stop, Tyler grabbed the chain on his swing and pulled Owen closer.
“I was wrong about something.” Alarm signals tripped in Owen’s brain until Tyler smiled. “I can love you more.”
Owen captured Tyler’s mouth in a hard but too-brief kiss. “We’ve only visited one haunt.”
“Two,” Tyler corrected. “What was the name on the mobile home park sign supposed to say, by the way?”
“Evergreen Estates,” Owen replied. “And that was more of a drive-by.”
“Still counts.” Tyler pushed to his feet and held out his hands. “Call forth the other ghosts so we can lay them to rest.”
Owen stood up, took Tyler’s hand, and headed back to the truck.
Their next stop was a shabby building on the corner of Fourth Avenue and Miracle Street, though Howie had called the intersection Filth and Misery.
The squat concrete structure had been many things over the years, the most recent a sketchy-looking bar called the Hideaway.
The boarded windows made it look like the place had gone out of business, but the hard thumping music leaking through the cracks in the concrete betrayed the activity beyond the walls.
Tyler scowled at the bar until he caught Owen looking at him. “Did you come here often?”
“You might say that, but it wasn’t a bar back then.
It used to be a boxing gym, and I came here with Howie every chance I got as a little boy.
Later, it became my big-kid haven after I outgrew the playground.
I got stronger and faster, which felt like a different form of flying.
And for the first time in my life, I felt like I might actually be somebody someday.
” Owen closed his eyes as a wave of smothering sadness washed over him.
Open and honest. He reopened his eyes and met Tyler’s gaze head-on.
“The only time Howie showed a shred of positive energy was when I was in the ring. He pushed me hard, protected me from the uglier side of the sport, and he believed in me. Amateur boxing didn’t pay much, but I made a big name for myself.
Howie told me I was going places, and he promised he’d see me through.
” Grief clogged Owen’s throat, making it hard to breathe, let alone speak.
He swallowed it down as best he could and said, “But he died a week before the biggest fight of my life. Howie had lined up some big-time promoters to watch me in the ring, and it was the happiest I’d ever seen him. ”
“I’m so sorry,” Tyler whispered.
Owen nodded to accept his condolences because, if he stopped talking, he might never get it out.
“Howie had a massive heart attack in his sleep. There one minute, gone the next. I convinced myself that fighting in the big match would be my tribute to him, but I couldn’t focus.
I tried to picture him in my corner, shouting advice to me when I needed it or verbally kicking my ass when I didn’t live up to my potential.
There was just silence, a dark, miserable void.
I got knocked out in three rounds, and I knew Howie was right.
Good things didn’t happen to Doyles. The fallout of his death proved it.
Howie’s landlord kicked Mom and me to the curb because only Howie’s name was on the lease contract.
No decent promoter wanted anything to do with me after I whiffed on my big chance. ”
“Your uncle had just died,” Tyler protested.
“That didn’t matter to them. Boxing is the very definition of toxic masculinity.”
“Sounds awful.”