A Life of Death: Episodes 1 - 4 Page 3

  “Hey bud, where ya been?”

  “Slept in this morning,” I answered between mouthfuls.

  “Speaking of sleeping, did you crash out in your clothes? Didn’t you wear those yesterday?”

  I nodded.

  “What happened, man… you gotta tell me.”

  I swallowed a large spoonful before answering. “The drunk had one of those nights.” Jessie was used to hearing about my family, so there was no need to elaborate.

  “I figured as much,” he whispered, spinning the chair across from me and straddling it. “Bro, have you seen yourself this morning?”

  I shook my head.

  “You gotta stop in at the bathroom and have a look. I’d also check in with the nurse. Maybe she can help with the swelling.”

  I was suddenly self-conscious. Evidently, it wasn’t as inconspicuous as I had assumed. I looked into his compassionate eyes, and shame filtered through my limbs and heart like a debilitating virus. Aware of how I must look, I noticed quite a few people staring from other tables. Madessa High School’s rumor mill would be talking about this for eons. I finished off the last of my casserole and rose from the table.

  “Thanks, Jess, I’ll take care of things.” I patted him on the back and made for the exit.

  The nearest restroom was just down the hall. Inside, I took a hesitant step in front of the mirror. The person staring back was not the same one I’d seen the day before. His eye socket was black as night and stood out in stark contrast to a bloodshot eye. The cheek of my mirror image was distended and dirt encrusted, while the rest of my skin could have belonged to a ghost. Leaning down, I dabbed water onto my hand and massaged the bruised cheek. The dirt came off, revealing red and tender skin. But, there was no help for the eye. My arms were checkered yellow and brown with bruises, which continued down the left side of my body. It looked like I’d acquired a tortoise shell for skin. I lifted my shirt and my jaw plummeted. My back had fared far worse. As I was surveying the damage, the school principal walked in. I dropped my hands and searched the floor for a distraction. Nodding a greeting, I tried to squeeze past, through the doorway. He didn’t move. Instead, he assessed me with a discerning eye.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Larkin,” I muttered, but he didn’t react. He just stood there like a stone statue. He must have caught wind of my condition because he certainly hadn’t come in for the normal business. “May I pass, sir?”

  He cleared his throat. “Mr. Drummond… Alex, why don’t we step into the nurse’s office?”

  “That’s where I was going, sir.”

  “Well, you won’t mind if I join you, right?” I could sense he was only interested in one answer. I nodded.

  It wasn’t far to the small room the nurse occupied, and as I walked in I surveyed the pictures displayed on her waiting room walls. She was with someone so I sat down on the vacant bench outside her office. Mr. Larkin sat next to me but didn’t say a word. He was fairly young and his attempt at a mustache made him seem more so. He could have been the child of most of my teachers. Mr. Larkin nested his fingers across his lap as though content. He fidgeted with his thumbs as we waited. It unnerved me. I wanted to shout, Stop! But I thought better of it. It was as though we were outside the principal’s office, awaiting our sentence. We sat in awkward silence and I almost laughed at the irony of the situation. I wanted to ask what he had done, just to break the tension. Maybe it would crack the frown creasing his lips. I forced down a chuckle and went back to perusing the walls. By the time Mrs. Cox had finished with her patient, I felt confident I knew the name of every muscle that was hurting. When the other student left, I got up and made my way into the cramped room.

  “Hi, Mrs. Cox, I was hoping you might be able to do something about this?” I pointed at my distorted face with a smile, attempting to play down the drama and questions I knew would be forthcoming.

  “My God, honey! Are you okay?” she asked, slipping around her desk. “Here have a seat.” She motioned at the angled bed in the corner. “Mr. Larkin, you should have brought him to me earlier this morning. How did he get through half a day like this?”

  The principal’s nervous fidget melted away. When he stood, he assumed a minister’s calm. “He didn’t.”

  The nurse turned and stared in askance.

  “He just came in.”

  “I see.” She turned back to me, then felt along the tender sides of my cheek, swollen eye, and even applied a butterfly band-aid to one cut. “What happened to you, Alex?”

  There was no avoiding the questions, but no reason to lie either. In fact, I thought it might actually help my situation, so I told them the truth, everything about the drunk.

  Their eyes widened as the story unfolded and I thought Mr. Larkin might blow a gasket when I showed them my side and back. Mrs. Cox turned a pitying eye on me. I was growing tired of that look already, but it seemed appropriate after seeing the boy in the mirror. It was difficult to believe the boy was me. When I finished, Mr. Larkin stepped out of the office and marched down the hall with his face set, his jaw clenched, and fury growing in his eyes. He looked like a man who was about to pick a fight.

  Mrs. Cox pulled out a vial of something putrid, but assured me that it would help. She carefully spread it over my cheek and around my eye before moving on to the larger bruises across my arms, side, and back. Afterwards, she handed me a plastic cup of water and a couple pills.

  “This will help with the pain. Do you want to go to class?”

  I thought it over for a second before answering. “No, not really.” The last thing I needed was to field questions from other students and teachers. And I really didn’t want to see their faces contort when confronted with the horrible smell.

  “That’s fine,” replied Mrs. Cox. “Go ahead and stretch out on the bed. I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes.”

  I nodded and did as she said, relieved that I wouldn’t have to deal with the rumors undoubtedly spreading through the school. She walked out, and I overheard her whispering to someone outside before she shut the door. Peace at last. I settled onto the stiff mattress and in seconds was out like a light.

  I awoke a short time later. Four people stood over me, assessing my injuries and whispering amongst themselves as though I weren’t there.

  “What do we do with him?” asked Mr. Larkin.

  A dark skinned woman in her mid fifties answered. “Well, I’d rather not place him in the system if his mother is capable of caring for him. Besides, I don’t have a place to put him right now. It’ll probably take me a month to find a home in the district, anyways. Either way, his father will have to be removed from the home.” Her black curls shook as she nodded her head for emphasis.

  “Well, that’s up to the courts,” replied a uniformed officer. “I could keep his father for twenty-four hours. But, after the fiasco with the Mullins family, I doubt my sergeant will approve an all expenses paid stay at the local lock up. That is, unless you’ve got a court order. With his mother denying the boy’s story, we can’t prove there’s an imminent threat to his life, so I don’t see a court order showing up any time soon.”

  “What’d the mother say happened?” asked Mrs. Cox.

  “Just that he had fallen down the steps when he ran out the door.”

  “We all know that’s a load of crap,” spat the strange woman. “She doesn’t want to be alone. That’s the story most times.”

  “I know, Betty, but the sheriff’s office can only do so much. Besides, how often do those kids wind up recanting?”

  Her chin lowered in defeat. “Too often.”

  The nurse glanced around as though she would rather be anywhere but here. Her eyes settled on mine. Shock etched itself on her face when she spotted me watching them. Her initial reaction vanished a moment later. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” I replied. In fact, I couldn’t feel the swelling anymore. The sticky salve still tingled, but I didn’t feel much of the aches or pains from before. My muscles still
ached, but I doubted any skin cream could fix that.

  “Do you feel up to going to class now?” she asked.

  “I guess so. What period are we in?”

  “The bell will ring for seventh period in just a few minutes. You might want to wash up first.”

  I nodded and shuffled into the restroom next to her office. As I washed the stench from my face and hands, I overheard the mysterious woman say, “I hope the man doesn’t kill him.”

  If they can’t help, at least they hope I’ll survive, I thought with a laugh.

  When I stepped out of the bathroom I was greeted by four pairs of concerned eyes. Only Mr. Larkin’s face looked different. It was consumed with hate, but he didn’t look me in the eye. At least his rage wasn’t for me. I appreciated the sentiment. With a nod, I left them standing in the small office and walked to English class. Paige’s eyes grew wide at the sight of my face, and I was glad she couldn’t see the rest of me. She tensed up as I walked down the aisle and took my seat next to hers.

  “Are you okay?” she whispered, as though the question wasn’t on the mind of every student around us. Fortunately, that didn’t include many since the tardy bell hadn’t rung.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I just couldn’t bear to miss English,” I grinned as I said it, but that made me wince. Maybe the pain hadn’t quite gone away.

  She attempted a smile, but it was short lived. “It was the Neanderthal, wasn’t it?”

  I nodded. My eyes slipped back to the floor, searching for something to change the subject.

  “If only justice would serve those who truly need it,” she blurted. “Did you tell the police?”

  I nodded again. “Vivian denied it, said I tripped and fell down the front steps.”

  Paige’s lower jaw hit the floor. “There are only two steps in front of that place.”

  “Yeah, must have been a doozey of a fall for me to have forgotten it,” I retorted.

  Paige tried to calm down. After a few deep breaths, she added, “Well, at least I have some good news. It will get you out of the house. Next Saturday, my dad agreed to drop us off at the Civil War battlefield to do some research. And tomorrow, I think we should get together and work out the basics of our presentation.”

  “Okay, sounds good. At least it’ll get me away from that bastard for a bit.”

  It was her turn to nod in agreement. The thought of him was enough to send her reeling and the faraway glint in her eyes spoke volumes. She looked mad enough that I envisioned smoke drifting out of her nostrils.

  The bell rang. Mr. Broaderick stepped in front of us and interrupted with a clap of his hands. It was time for class to begin.

  The visit to my father’s resting place an hour later was calming, but raised more questions. Another bouquet of flowers lay at my father’s feet, the same assortment as before. White orchids leaned over their plastic wrappings as though struggling to reach my father. Who was the mysterious visitor? Try as I might, I still couldn’t come up with a possible culprit.

  There were half a dozen florists in town… maybe one of them would know?

  Frustrated, but with more important things to discuss, I took my seat beneath the great pine and vented to my father. I still wasn’t sure why I’d had the vision the other day, and life at home was no rose garden. I hated the idea of returning to that hellhole. Setting foot in the trailer would undoubtedly bring about his wrath––questions, yelling, and it might even enrage him enough to start another fight. As every great thing must, the day slowly came to an end. With the emergence of a hidden moon in the dusk sky, I was forced to confront my fears and head home. I turned to my father one last time.

  “I love you, Dad, and I miss you more than you know.” I knew he heard my thoughts before, but it was more meaningful when things were said aloud. Leaving him that day was one of the hardest things I’d ever done.

  The walk home was pleasant. The moon emerged early, and a breeze chilled the night air. To my surprise, Vivian’s dull yellow coup sat in the driveway. As soon as I stepped into the smoke-laden mobile home, she accosted me.

  “My God, Alex, are you okay?”

  The question was becoming tiresome. “As good as can be expected,” I replied, glaring at the drunk.

  He ignored me, choosing instead to focus on the television and what looked like his second six-pack. The first lay crumpled and empty, piled in the corner. Frank glanced my way, but averted his gaze when I looked at him.

  Vivian stepped up to inspect my injuries like a worried mother hen. “That was a mighty bad fall from the looks of it.”

  “Fall?” I asked in disbelief. “I heard that you told the cops I fell down, but you weren’t even here.”

  “Then what caused it, honey?” she asked, as though humoring me.

  “You know damn well who did it,” I fired back, looking straight at the culprit.

  “How dare you accuse Steve of such a thing!” she shouted. “After everything he’s done for us, how could you?”

  “Because it’s the truth!”

  Vivian glared at me, but spoke over her shoulder. “Steve, did you do this to Alex?”

  Without taking his eyes from the set, he replied, “I didn’t do a damn thing. I sat here and watched TV all night. Hell, most times I can’t even walk by the time the kid gets home. You know that Vivian.” He didn’t flinch at the lie.

  “See, he had nothing to do with it. How could you say such a thing about your father?”

  “He isn’t my father and you know it!” I shouted back. “If you had a spine, you’d stick up for me.”

  Infuriated, she raised her hand and brought it across the good side of my face. “If you ever talk to me that way again, I’ll beat you black and blue. You’d better get yourself together, young man, and learn to appreciate what you’ve got.”

  I slid past her and stalked back to my room with the final word. “Well, why don’t we make it a family affair, beatings every Thursday? If we throw in free meals for the kids, we might get the neighbors involved. How about we get a rope and hang me up like a piñata? I’m sure everyone would bring their own sticks. Hell, we have enough beer, just hand each person a six-pack and a lawn chair. They can use me for target practice. It wouldn’t be the first time. Steve could even give lessons.” With the last sarcastic statement, I slammed my door. She said something more, but it was too muffled to hear.

  Sliding into bed, I grabbed my compact disk player and blocked out the rest of the world with blaring guitars. My stomach grumbled, but I wasn’t about to walk back into that maelstrom. Like Paige said, at least I’d be able to get away for a bit tomorrow.

  Saturday - 5

  October 1, 1995

  The following morning went by without incident. I showered and dressed before Frank and the parental figures got up. The girls were lounging on the couch, watching cartoons when I emerged. I grabbed a bowl of cereal and seated myself at the kitchen table.

  “Where you going, Alex?” asked Gloria during a commercial break.

  “Out,” I replied.

  “But where?”

  “None of your business.”

  Gloria looked to Abigail for help, but she remained glued to the television. I wolfed down the sugar filled breakfast and slipped out the door.

  Paige lived near my old house. Normally the walk wasn’t bad, but dark clouds gathered overhead. Before I had gotten halfway, the storm broke, soaking me with sheets of rain. Without a jacket, my father’s dark gray button-up was little protection. It looked black and clung like Saran Wrap by the time I reached Paige’s house. Her place was quaint. It had a long front porch with a swing that hung from the ceiling. I knocked and waited for someone to answer. Her father, a tall lanky man, appeared in the doorway a minute later. He looked as though he had been stretched at birth, but his smile broke up his awkward features and made his appearance almost normal.

  “Hi, Mr. Kurtley.” His attitude was contagious and I smiled back. He had always been cordial and was the kind of guy you
couldn’t help but like. “Is Paige home? I think she wanted to work on a project today, but she didn’t say what time.”

  “Certainly, Alex, come on in.” He ushered me through the entryway. “She’s upstairs. I’ll tell her you’re here. Go ahead and take a seat in the living room.”

  I went where he indicated while he disappeared up the stairs. An old television, framed in ornate wood, stood under a window while the rest of the room was furnished with a comfortable chair and couch. The floral designs weren’t appealing. The room had the bright feel of a woman’s touch, but it was a lot better than what I had grown used to. A shelf leaned against a far wall, housing dozens of family photos. Paige was the only child shown in their beach trips and family outings. I was engrossed in the framed photos when she bounded down the stairs.

  “Hey Alex, how you feeling?”

  “Yeah, I meant to ask you that myself,” chimed her father.

  “Okay… doing better,” I mumbled.

  “Can we use the computer in your office?” Paige asked.

  He nodded and we made our way up the carpeted stairs.

  “Thanks for not making a big deal of things,” I mentioned once we were out of sight.

  “No problem. I just wish we could do something to help.”

  “If Vivian won’t admit to it, how can anyone do anything?” I asked. “I overheard a lady when I was in the nurse’s office. I think she worked for social services. She said she wouldn’t have a place to put me for over a month, and that’s if they could prove the drunk actually did what I said.”

  “The bruises aren’t enough?”

  “Nope,” I replied, massaging a tender spot.

  Paige thought for a moment as we entered the small room. Before voicing her question, she closed the folding doors and took a seat on the floor, between scattered papers. “Would you want to go into foster care?”