Lost Together #4
Not reacting surprised in the slightest, Dale nodded. “Would never ask that of you.” He motioned for Seb to back up Blue, and Caleb to do the same with Sarah. Then he quietly told me, “Give him your gloves.”
Perplexed and somewhat nervous for what was to come, I started unlacing my gloves while heading to Gage.
Calmly, Dale faced Gage. “You can fight me.”
Gage snarled at my gloves while telling Dale, “Don’t need gloves.”
Again, Dale was very steady. “It makes it fair for a friend.”
I watched in disbelief as Gage snatched my gloves, tears brimming in angry eyes. “So that’s what you are, Dale?”
Confused as to what the hell was going on, I looked to Dale. He delivered a quick tap near his eyes to remind me to ‘see’, then focused on Gage.
That’s what I did. My eyes darted to Gage and watched him slip scarred knuckles into the gloves. I stumbled back as if struck by the electricity Dale claimed I could conduct. Now, every permanent mark on Gage’s young skin glared at me, accusingly, because I had been blind up until now.
Instantly, my nostrils flared. I suddenly wanted to protect Gage from his history, a place I couldn’t travel back in time to, which pissed me off even further.
Maybe that’s why I reached into my pocket and fidgeted with my brass knuckles before slipping them on, wishing I could use them on an enemy.
Strings untied, Gage punched a glove onto his other hand. The movements to make sure your hands were setting properly in the material seemed so second nature to Gage. He didn’t even pay attention to the process the rest of us had to focus on.
Gage was already moving forward, his biceps appearing stronger than I had ever noticed before. “Huh, Dale? Think I wanted to fight my friends?”
His aggression had both Caleb and Seb moving the girls behind them as they now backed away even more. Eyes locked on Gage, both girls willingly went where their bodies were guided. They were as mesmerized as I. Something was brewing, building. We were all seeing a side of Gage we’d never witnessed.
Dale? His face laced with sadness, waited for what was to come. “Never would I think that of you. You’re a good person—”
“I’m not!” roared a young man, now lost between who he once was and who he wanted to be in the present.
Ethan came to my side, his expression haunted. “What is happening—”
I grabbed my stomach while I watched Gage charge Dale. No. “Gage—”
Dale shook his head to stop me, even though Gage was all he saw. Even when this foster kid punched him.
I gasped as Dale stumbled a step, the force of the hit testing his own strength. Dale was a grown man. How strong is Gage?
The true question should’ve been, how long had this young man already been a fighter?
“You are good, Gage,” promised Dale.
“Stop saying that!” demanded Gage before he swung again with precision.
Dale took it, barely protecting himself. He’s not who needed it. “You had to survive, kid.”
“I didn’t!” Gage swung.
Dale’s body reacted, wobbling, but his heart stayed steady—loyal. “It was you or him.”
“Should’ve been him!” Gage unleashed. And he released all his hurt on Dale.
Every single strike. Every blow Dale took with nothing but sympathy and adoration in his eyes.
While swinging away, Gage screamed about having been forced to fight and how unfair it was. How much he loved his friend who was now gone… because of him.
Understanding can open the mind. It can allow you to recognize actions for what they truly are. My mind reminded me of Gage constantly pushing Ethan’s buttons over Pop-Tarts. My throat tightened when realizing Gage was trying to find a new friend, one through fighting. That was all that he knew.
Gage’s gloves eventually began to slow, to the point he could barely lift them, as he fell into Dale. Gage clung to his waist, needing a pillar of strength and hope.
Dale took the weight. He held the crumbling body to him, murmuring, “It’s okay, son. It’s okay.” Gage sobbed. He didn’t let go as Dale’s big glove rubbed his back. “He knows you loved him.” Dale leaned over him. “He knows you had no choice, just like he didn’t.”
Gage fought a guilt I hoped to never experience.
Witnessing all this, Ethan’s hand slowly covered his gaping mouth. He wasn’t the only foster who felt they had failed someone dear.
Staring at Gage falling apart, I thought to myself, For real, who the fuck makes kids fight?
That night, lying in bed and fisting my brass knuckles, I stared at the ceiling and promised to someday find out.
And my revenge list grew.
As the fosters grew—minds expanding—remarkably, the Weathers’ did the same. Standing in the living room, we high schoolers stared at the iPhones in our hands. They were refurbished instead of brand new, but we didn’t care.
Harmony explained, “It would make us feel better if we could get a hold of you. Or you can get a hold of us if… needed.”
She and Dale were gems. They really were.
Dale added, “Now, we’re not putting restrictions on phones. It’s your choice, but I hope you heed my warning about social media. I’ve seen it change my kids.” He looked down at his shoes. “Made them go to dark places.” He peered back at us, eyes full of pain. “One of whom never could escape.”
Audible gasps filled the room. Suicide. I was positive losing a foster kid like that killed a part of this man standing in front of us.
By the way, Harmony was lost in a numb stare, made it obvious it did the same to her.
And then I noticed Finn. He looked paler than usual.
Even his freckles appeared dull. I couldn’t tell if it was shock or something that had hit too close to home.
He never did tell me about his past. Of all my foster brothers, he kept his memories locked up the tightest. His hand rose, and long fingers gently rubbed a spot on the underside of his forearm, his gaze now faraway.
Then, like so many times before, he just left the room.
After a cough to clear his throat, Dale teased, “But texting girls is totally fine.”
Collectively, we took the opportunity to exit the heavy conversation and did some teasing of our own all at once. “Ohhhh, we talking dirty texting? … Come on, Dale. You can tell us. … Thumb get tired?”
I even put an arm around Harmony’s slender shoulders. “Anything ‘cool’ you wish to confess to clear your conscience?”
She gawked. “What?” Then playfully smacked me before walking—attempting to dance—away with a smile.
None of us ever opened social media accounts. Not until we needed a way for coded messages.
That’s when some fun ended, and nothing but worry replaced it.
Our poor Blue.