The Book of Mark

by Janet Lloyd Weber

Janet Lloyd Weber

1959 E. Wheatridge

Springfield, MO 65803

417-827-6563

The Book of Mark

by

Janet Lloyd Weber

Chapter One

It’s true that everyone’s life is fucked up in one way or the other but most people can’t pinpoint the very moment that their life became that way.

I can.

It was the fifteenth of March, 1983 when my life veered into fucked up territory.

I lived through the car wreck that killed my dad. Everybody tells me I should be happy to be alive but I’m not.

I wish I were dead.

I wish I had never been pulled out of the ditch where my dad died but some good Samaritan decided to save my worthless life.

Good Samaritans always screw things up for the rest of us.

I pulled the St. Louis Cardinals shirt I slept in last night over my head and threw it to the cold bathroom floor. In the mirror, I take a long look at myself. I’m as scrawny as they come. My ribs are sticking out from under my white skin, my chest is smooth and hairless and a giant pink scar runs the length of my entire right side. This is why in my sixteen years on this Earth, I have never kissed or groped a member of the opposite sex. But with hands as nice as mine, who needs a girlfriend?

I step out of the gray sweats I have been sleeping in since I was freed from the freezing cold horror of a hospital gown and stand in my white underwear. My physique just gets more and more impressive. I’m like a scarecrow. My knees are giant knobs and my legs are short, stubby and remarkably smooth. I am so skinny because spending money on groceries ate into Dad’s cocaine budget. For the last eight years, I ate what I could at school and walked to the Stop N Rob around the corner for hotdogs and sodas whenever I scraped together a dollar or two. Other times, I just starved.

So I think the words to describe me would short, skinny, and scrawny.

I reach over stiffly and grab the clean pair of jeans my mom brought up for me to wear home from the vanity top where she left them. I slip into the legs and pull them up. I snap them closed and they hang limply about my skinny waist. It’s crazy but true, I somehow have lost weight in the hospital. I guess this has to be because I lost three teeth in the wreck and eating was hard for awhile. Leaning over again, I grab my soft blue t-shirt, pull it over my head and stick my arms in the armholes.

I give my face a look now that I’m dressed.

My face is skinny, too. My hair is grayish-brown, shaggy and really needs to be cut but I like being able to hide behind my bangs when I feel the need. My nose is long and crooked and my jaw is square. My eyes are the lightest blue. Not sky blue or china blue, they’re almost see-through blue eyes. Some kids at my old school called them psycho eyes but I like them. No one else--except for my dad--has ever had eyes like mine. And, anyway, it’s sometimes good to have people think you’re a psycho.

I step out of the bathroom and flip the lights off as I do. Then I walk over to sit on the hospital bed where I have tried to sleep for the last several weeks. I won’t miss this awful bed.

My mom and stepdad, Joe will be here any minute to pick me up and take me home. Not the home that I lived in for the first sixteen years of my life but a new home.

Today, I, Mark Henderson start my new life with my mom, my new stepdad and a new five-year-old half brother.

I am ready to leave the hospital but I’m not exactly thrilled to be moving in with my mom. She doesn’t really like me all that much. She ran away from home and abandoned me eight years ago. My Dad told me that she was sick of me so she left us both. He laughed when he told me that and promised he would toughen me up now she was gone.

He sure kept that promise.

But now he’s dead and I’m going back with Mom.

When I woke up in the hospital after the crash, I was confused and shocked to hear the nurse say she would go and get my mom. I couldn’t believe it when she showed up at my bedside after eight long years. When I saw her, she had changed a little bit. She was still short, just about five foot three but more round than before. She had the same color hair I have but kept it pulled into a ponytail. She always wore a cotton t-shirt with either jeans or jean shorts with white Keds sneakers. She looked like almost every other mom in her late thirties.

She’s apologized to me about a million times in the last three months, but I don’t care. She ran away from home. She never called me or wrote me a letter or checked on me while Dad beat the shit out of me so if she thinks saying I’m sorry---or saying it a million times---is going to make it all better, she’s got another thing coming. I’m not letting her off the hook that easy.

I shifted around on the crinkly, hard hospital bed as I waited for her to show up with my new family.

Mom got herself married again after she ran away from home. Her new husband’s name is Joe Paxton. In fact, Joe was the first person I saw when I woke up at the hospital. I pried my eyes open and looked around to see a man I didn’t know in my hospital room. He had such a gentle voice and he was there taking care of me, so I thought he was my doctor at first. But then my mom showed up and told me that news that he was my new stepdad.

Joe’s not a doctor. Actually, he’s a high school history teacher. He’s tall and skinny and sort of wimpy-looking. He has fluffy, mud-colored hair with streaks of gray and hazel eyes that always look worried. I don’t know what my mom sees in him other than he is nothing like my Dad. He is a lot nicer than my dad was but then again, rabid snakes are a lot nicer than he ever was.

The worst thing about my new stepdad is that he and I will be going to the very same school. I can’t think of too many things worse than having a parent at my school. Unless it’s having a stepparent at my new school. Just to make this crazy situation even more crazy.

They should be here by now.

I stood up from the horrible bed and stepped over to peek out in the busy hall. My mom and Joe were nowhere to be seen yet so I turned around and sat myself down in the uncomfortable recliner in the room.

These are my final moments of being an only child. I now have a half-brother. David is his name and he is beautiful. He has golden eyes and blonde hair the color of Barbie’s hair. His cheeks are rosy and fat and he should really be on television or on a Hallmark card or two. But don’t let the looks fool you, he is a devil child.

Because of the few times I’ve been with him, I’ve decided that my new brother needs some serious medication. He is completely hyperactive. When he comes to see me, he runs around the tiny hospital room like he’s on speed, grabs random stuff, pushes buttons and basically makes everyone on this floor of the hospital miserable.

These days, Mom usually leaves him with a neighbor when she comes up to see me now or leaves him with Joe and comes up by herself.

I rock the chair slowly as I wait. My legs still hurt and I limp a bit when I walk for more than a few minutes. My arm is stiff and sore when I use it but I am free of all of the casts the doctors used to put me back together. I have scrapes and scars from the wreck that the doctors tell me will fade as I get older but I am mostly healed up.

On the outside.

The inside is another story.

My brain was scrambled in the wreck. Officially, I suffered a traumatic brain injury. I guess it could have been worse, my dad suffered a traumatic everything injury and had to be scraped up to be buried. Somewhere. I have no idea where. I was stuck between alive and dead when they had his funeral.

My brain injury has ruined my life and that’s saying a lot since it was a pretty crappy life to begin with. My TBI, as the doctors call it, has left me with epilepsy. Now, I spend my life waiting, waiting and wondering when the next seizure will come. Then I have one, and I feel like shit for a day or two, then I get to start all over again and spend time wondering when the next one will come.

I take a handful of pills every day to stop seizures that don’t really stop seizures at all.

I don’t even get a warning or feel them coming on. They just happen and I wake up feeling horrible later. I never remember what happens during one and my brain is all scrambled up for a few hours after one. I just wake up in bed several hours later and need to sleep for a very long time. The first few times, it was terrifying to wake up and not remember anything that happened. Now, it just pisses me off.

Sometimes, I wish the Good Samaritan who saw the wreck and stopped to help us had minded their own damn business and let me die. But, instead, here I am sitting in the hospital, waiting to go home with my mom and stepdad and start a new life.

A new life that will probably suck worse than the old one, I grumble to myself.

I hear my mom and stepdad’s voices coming down the busy hallway.

I rock a little faster as my stomach begins to feel like pythons are wrestling in it. I’m sick of the hospital but it sounds scary to go to Mom’s house and have to deal with my epilepsy without the hospital workers to help me out. It’s scary to think of having to join the real world again. I’ll have to try to pretend like I’m all right when I feel like I’m holding onto myself by the ends of my chewed-ragged fingernails. It’s scary to think of having to pretend to be part of a family when I just them to leave me alone.

I realize that I’m shaking because I’m just plain scared.

“Don’t be a goddam pussy,” I hear Dad growl in my head.

I grip the arms on the recliner until my knuckles are white and begin to chew like crazy on the inside of my cheek. I will not cry. I will not. I will not cry.

I squeeze my eyes shut to keep my vow.

“Hey, sweetie,” Mom calls out. “You’re all dressed and ready to go home.”

I open my eyes to see her walking towards me in a pink striped cotton t-shirt and jeans, her ponytail bouncing behind her. She puts her arms around me and pulls me into a hug. I stay stiff as she squeezes me.

“You look like you’re ready to get on out of here,” Joe says. I feel his hand reach out and pat my shoulder as if he’s not convinced that I’m healed enough to come home.

Mom pulls out of our stiff hug. She bends her head and swipes at her eyes with the back of her delicate, white hand. She always cries at least once when she visits me.

It’s going to be a soggy house, if she’s going to cry every time she sees me at home. “Let’s see,” Joe says, “Do you have all of your things?”

I look around the tiny hospital room. Everything I have with me fits into two plastic bags. Everything I had at my old house, apparently is waiting for me at my new house or so Mom told me.

I nodded at him.

“I’ll go and grab the nurse and we’ll get you sprung,” Joe said, disappearing out the door.

Mom looks at me, my jeans barely staying up and my pale, thin face. She shakes her head and bites at her lip.

“I’m sorry,” she says putting her arms about me again. I stand stiff as I feel her start to cry on my shirt.

I know I should put my arms about her and hug her back. That I should tell her that it’s all right and that I forgive her but I don’t.

I don’t want to forgive her.

I can’t.

She left me with a monster and I want her to feel as badly as possible about that. She shakes her head and pulls away, having reined in her tears once more.

“When we get home, I’m going to start to fatten you up,” she said. “You’re too thin. David and I made cookies yesterday.”

She steps over to sit on the edge of the narrow hospital bed, clutching her denim purse like it was a shield.

I nod at her but I can’t talk. Fear is bubbling up inside of me again as I think of my new life in my new town with my new family and my new condition. As bad as the hospital sucks, it’s a safe place. Everyone here knows all about me. They all know I have seizures and it’s no big deal. They all know I have nightmares and it’s no big deal either. Here, I don’t have to really see anybody. Once I leave here, I have to try to be normal.

And that’s going to be impossible.

Chapter Two

We piled into Mom’s blue Chevy Malibu and Joe drove us from the hospital to their house. I sit in the back seat, listening to them try and make small talk as we weave through light traffic. I sit and watch the world blur by, shaking off and on. The world outside the hospital is bright and noisy and I am going deeper and deeper into my new world.

“Here’s our street,” Mom said over her shoulder.

I open my eyes to see a row of small, ranch style houses lining each side of the street, and towering oak trees lining the sidewalk. Here cars sat on the street and several lawns needed mowed.

As the Chevy slowed, I suspected that we were about home and I was right. Joe flipped on the turn signal and stopped to let a pair of cars pass. I peered out the window to see a short, white house with gray and pink brick on the front and a gray roof. A blueberry-colored old Volkswagen sat in the driveway next to the closed garage door and a scattering of Tonka trucks sat on the porch.

“Here we are,” Joe said, pulling into the driveway.

Suddenly, I realized this house was way smaller than my old house and that there were four of us that had to fit in it. Privacy is apparently about to be a thing of the past.

The car shuddered to a stop as Joe turned it off. He opened his door and Mom did the same. Joe stepped out and walked to the back of the car, opened the trunk, and pulled out my two bags of stuff.

I scooted across the seat, opened my door and stood up despite my stiff legs and sore shoulders.

I squint hard and start to limp up the sidewalk. I heard the trunk shut and Joe hustle to catch up with us.

The house is painted white. Halfway up the face of the house is gray and pink bricks and gray shutters stand by the windows. Cheery red flowers lined the base of the house and sat in two huge flower pots on either side of the door. A huge oak tree shaded the entire front yard and a chain link fence surrounded the back.

“Welcome home, Mark,” Joe said, bounding ahead of us to stick his key into the lock.

After a moment, Joe opened the door, to reveal a white marble entryway and a narrow hallway leading into the heart of the house. I stepped inside, looking around as I did. The first thing I noticed were the pictures lining the hallway. There was an endless parade of faces staring out at me from the eggshell-colored wall.

There was a black and white picture of an old couple. The old woman had poofy snow white hair and wore a black dress with a lacy white collar about her neck. She smiled a broad smile and the man next to her did the same. He looked a lot like Joe. He was skinny and looked at the camera behind his wire-framed glasses. Then there was a picture of Joe in a blue robe, holding a diploma in his hand. Then a faded picture of Joe wearing a green army outfit, standing in front of a jungle scene.

Who knew Joe was in the army when he was younger? He doesn’t seem like the army type. He’s too wimpy for that.

Then there were pictures of Joe and Mom in a variety of places and in a variety of outfits. One had Joe in a dark blue suit with his arms about Mom who was wearing a lacy beige dress. She had a small bouquet of yellow roses in her hands.

A wedding picture, I guessed.

As I walked slowly, my eyes watched as the story of the Paxtons expanded.

There was a snapshot of Mom, sitting in a hospital bed, wearing a white robe holding a bundled up pink baby in her arms. A picture from when David was born, I gathered. Then the pictures of David took over. Baby David in a baby swing, David flashing his tiny white teeth for the picture, him standing at a huge coffee table, giving the camera a serious look. David on a black pony, David holding a baseball bat, David crying on Santa’s lap.

Where are the pictures of David taking his first dump in the toilet? The picture of David discovering his penis? Every other moment of his life is documented on this wall.

“Right here’s your room,” Joe said from behind me.

I stopped and stood, looking into the open doors. One room was dark blue and littered with toys, a glowing Ernie and Bert nightlight was visible even in the middle of the day. A giant poster of Cookie Monster and another one of Big Bird decorated the walls.

I guess that one’s not mine.

Next to that one was a room painted a creamy peach color. A cozy bed covered by a brightly colored quilt sat under a ceiling fan. A pair of small ceramic lights sat on small tables on either side of the bed. The dark green curtains had been pushed aside to let the sunlight stream into the room.

It’s not mine, either.

Turning to the other side of the hall, I saw my room. The room was warm as the window blinds were open to let in the sun. I stepped inside.

Spartan was the word for my new place.

It was half the size of my old room. The walls were beige and the carpet, like the carpet of the rest of the house, was brown. A full-sized bed with a massive shelf for a headboard was pushed up against the wall and under the double window. The bed was neatly made, with a new yellow corduroy blanket and two flat new pillows.

Across the room was a maple-colored desk and a kitchen chair. Turning about, my eyes landed on the sliding closet doors. A tiny dresser was crammed in the other corner.

“Here you go,” Mom said, stepping into the room behind me. “You’re stuff from the old house is in here.”

She stepped over to slide one of the closet doors open. On the floor, underneath a row of empty wire hangers, sat two bulging black trash bags.

The garbage the was my old life, I thought to myself.

“We didn’t know exactly how you’d want to arrange your things, so we left them in the bags,” Joe said. “I’ll help you get unpacked and organized.”

“The two of you can get started,” Mom said, nervously. “But first, I need to go and get your brother from Mrs. MacDonald across the street before she fills him completely up on Pepsi and Little Debbie cakes. Then we’ll have some lunch.”

She turned, kissed Joe on the lips quickly, and walked out of the room, leaving us alone.

I didn’t know what to do with my stepfather just standing there so I twisted around to take in my new room. It was small but it would be all right until I could get a job, save some money and move out on my own.

Joe stepped across the room in one big stride and reached out to grab a trash bag. He drug it out of the closet and placed it in front of me.

“What’s in here?” he asked, reaching in and pulling out a handful of t-shirts, then placing them on the bed.

“Do you want to fold these or hang these?” he asked.

I shrugged. There would be plenty of room either way if everything I owned was sitting in those two bags. My head began to ache at the thought of digging through the garbage bags, and the thought of touching my old life in any way.

I rubbed my forehead and closed my pooling eyes.

“Are you all right?” Joe asked. His warm hand was suddenly on my shoulder.

Am I all right? Do you have to ask, Joe? My entire life is garbage right now. Why did that Good Samaritan save my worthless life?

I began to shake and had to almost bite through my lip to stop myself from crying. I shook my head from side to side. I just can’t do this yet. I just can’t. My head throbs.

“No...” I managed to say. “I’m really tired. I need to lay down for a bit.”

“Sure,” he said. He scrambled to the bed, grabbed the pile of t-shirts and placed them on top of the dresser.

I staggered to the now-empty bed and lay down slowly onto my back, throwing my arm over my face to hide the tears dribbling out of my eyes.

“You just sleep awhile, Mark,” Joe said. “You’ve got to be exhausted from getting home today. Let me get the blinds closed again.”

He stepped over and closed the blinds by twisting the skinny rod hanging down over my bed.

“There you go, Mark,” Joe said. “Rest as long as you need to rest.”

The room became darker and I rolled over to face the wall and lay there shaking until I drifted off into a fitful nap.

I’ve had nightmares ever since the wreck. They were always about Dad and how I used to live.

Breathe. Breathe. I can’t breathe, I screamed in my head. I can’t breathe. My lungs ached, my heart raced and I began to panic. I tried to squirm and buck away from Dad but he was on top of me, crushing me. I thrashed as best I could, squirmed and squirmed as the the until the raw edges of the carpet burned into my bare arms, neck and chest. The carpet cut deeper and deeper into my exposed skin.

“Quit being a wimp,” Dad said as he got off of me.

I gasped and gasped as thick, smoky air began to fill my aching lungs. I coughed and coughed as my lungs begged for clean air.

I scrunched myself up as I could breathe again.

“Shut your mouth,” he spat down at me.

Suddenly, the room boomed and flashed as his foot kicked into my side.

I cried out before I could stop myself.

I felt as if I had been stabbed. I rolled over clutching my sides as I saw his foot taking aim again...

My own scream woke me up. I bolted straight up.

Where am I?

I wasn’t in the hospital anymore and I wasn’t in my old room. I felt the panic rising inside of me and I tried to figure it out.

Where the hell am I? Where?

Suddenly, I remembered. I was at Mom and Joe’s house in my new room. I fell asleep right after we got here today.

My breath came in great jagged spasms and my heart felt like it was about to explode. In the hall, I heard footsteps running towards me. I clutched my head in my hands and closed my eyes.

“Mark?” Mom called from the hall. She was in my room and kneeling by my bed as I shook and gasped for air. Her arms were around me before I knew it and I let her hold me tight as I sat there shaking from the nightmare. I realized, as Mom held me, she was shaking right along with me.

“What is it?” she asked.

I shook my head and opened my eyes. The late afternoon sun streamed in through the closed blinds. I saw Joe, in the doorway, holding David looking pale and scared in his arms. My little brother stared at me with an open mouth.

“A nightmare?” she whispered into my ear.

I swallowed hard and nodded at her. She pulled me in tighter and I sat there for a long time, waiting for my heart to slow down and my breathing to become calm again. I closed my eyes.

“I’m going to start the grill so I can get supper going,” Joe said. “You two just stay put for awhile. Come on, David. You can help me with the burgers and hotdogs.”

Joe closed my bedroom door and I heard them walk away. Finally, my heart calmed down and I could breathe again.

“It’s all right, sweetie,” Mom said into my ear again. “It’s all right now.”

I squeezed my eyes tightly against the water building up behind them.

I have to get a grip on myself. I have to. I wish it was all right, Mom. I really do but it’s not. It’s just not.

I clutched her shoulders and buried my face into her side.

We sat in my bedroom for a long time while Joe busied himself in the kitchen and the backyard, grilling hotdogs and hamburgers for us. I sat on my bed and Mom held me while I got back in control of myself.

Once I was still, Mom stood up and said, “How about I fold your t-shirts and put them in your dresser for you?”

I nodded up at her and she folded my shirts neatly, then placed the stacks in the open dresser drawers. I watched her mousy hair bouncing behind her as she worked.

Did we do this sort of thing before she left? Did we?

I didn’t know. Life with her in St. Louis was all a blur to me. I only remembered flashes of things as if life with Dad had wiped out everything that came before.

Why don’t I remember more?

I had no idea. I shook my head, stood up and came to stand by Mom. She crouched down and began to pull wadded up pairs of socks and white undershorts out of the trash bag.

“Here,” she said. “I’ll hand you stuff and you can put it in whatever drawer you want.”

I took the clothes she offered and filled the top drawer with socks and underwear. As I did that, Mom got up and began to hang jeans on the wire hangers in the closet. I pulled the remaining trash bag out and began handing her things to hang up until the bags were flat and empty. She slid the door shut and turned to me.

I looked at her, unsure of what to say now. I didn’t have a lot of experience making small talk with my mom.

“Oh,” she said. “I almost forgot.”

Mom turned to the desk in my new room and opened the top drawer. She reached in and pulled out an envelope and handed it to me.

I held it in my hands, it didn’t weigh anything at all. What in the world was it?

I carefully pulled open the envelope and saw my two, fifty dollar bills.

“These were in your pocket the night of the wreck. I put them where I knew they wouldn’t get misplaced,” she said. “I’m sure you worked hard for what’s in here. I didn’t want you to lose it.”

My hands trembled as I took the money. It was my Christmas gift from Dad.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, shoving the bills into my front pocket.

“Mommy! Mommy!” David came in, bouncing like a ball. “Daddy said the hotdogs were ready!!! Come on! Come on!”

He jumped up onto my unsuspecting bed and bounced and bounced and bounced.

“Get off of Mark’s bed,” she said. Mom went over and swooped David up in mid-bounce.

“Go and tell Daddy we’ll be right there,” she said. She put him down and he tore his way down the hallway.

She turned and looked at me.

“Let’s go have some dinner. Joe’s a great cook,” she said.

“I’ll be right there,” I answered as she turned and went down the hallway.

I stood and watched her disappear. Then I dug the money out of my pocket, walked over and shoved it deeply into my sock drawer.

I might need it later. Or, at least, it’s a start on my moving out money.

I shut the drawer and headed to the kitchen , my stomach gnawing on itself.

Chapter Three

August

I became a phantom kid at my new home. I woke up, went to the bathroom and had breakfast with them before going straight back to my room. I always told Mom and Joe I was tired and they always bought that excuse. Then I came out to eat lunch and went straight back to my room again.

If Mom and Joe would have let me eat in my room, I would have never come out.

Finally, it was out of my room for supper with the family, then back in and lights out at ten. For some crazy reason, Joe and Mom insisted everyone be in bed at that unbelievably early hour.

It was crazy but every night, I lay in bed missing Dad. He didn’t care if I ever went to bed. I could stay up as late as I wanted and I did every night until I came to live here.

What did I do all those waking hours in my room?

I read. Joe had two huge shelves of books I was working my way through. He was certified to teach English as well as history and he loved books. He had Mark Twain, F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Faulkner, JD Salinger and Carson McCullers and a bunch of others. His shelves kept me in a constant supply of books.

Except for doctor’s appointments, that was how I spent my summer vacation.

But summer was about to be over and I was in the backseat of Mom’s Chevy, leaning against the vinyl-sided door as Joe and Mom drove me to the entrance to my new, private hell. The next chapter in this never-ending nightmare was beginning.

I was enrolling as a student at Joe’s high school.

For the foreseeable future, my stepfather would be in all of my school business. He would know who I hung out with, what my grades were. Great, just great. When will I wake up from this nightmare?

“Park Hill is a great school, Mark,” Joe said over his shoulder. “The teachers are amazing and the students are wonderful. You need to start thinking about joining a club, it’s a great way to meet new friends. There’s a club for any interest. Math Club, History Club, Creative Writing Club, Jedi Club...”

How about a Freak Club for people who have brain damage, like me? Maybe that club will have guys who need to wear bibs, then I’ll look like a real catch to the Lady Freaks. How about it Joe? That’ll be fun.

“There it is,” Mom said, pointing her arm to the long, brick building that was Park Hill High School.

I opened my eyes and stared ahead to see the school looming in front of us.

Holy crap, it even looks like a prison, I thought before closing my eyes once more.

“You’ll like Mrs. Clark,” Joe chipped in. “She’s your new counselor and a very nice lady. She’ll get you a great schedule put together for the year.”

I rolled my eyes. That’s being awfully optimistic.

The Chevy pulled to a stop. Joe put it in park and turned off the engine. They twisted about in the front bench seat of the car, smiling at me.

“Let’s go on in,” Mom said, unbuckling her seatbelt then opening her door.

Mom and Joe stepped over to each other and took hands in the early morning dampness.

Are they for real? Holding hands like a pair of teenagers in heat. I rolled my eyes before opening my door. I slid across the seat and stiffly got to my feet while Mom and Joe waited for me to catch up.

We walked up the cracked sidewalk together, stepping to avoid the potholes and missing pavement. Reaching the entrance first, Joe opened and held one of the painted-orange doors for us.

Stepping through them was like stepping into a cave. The room was over two stories tall with two flights of stairs on either side of a second story landing. Floor to ceiling trophy cases lined all of the walls, save the series of doors that led to the offices. A giant painted tiger pounced out of the concrete, claws extended, ready to tear me apart.

I stepped around the beast.

Joe and Mom held hands and led the way.

“This is where students hang out before school,” Joe offered. “This or the library that’s just down the hall. Or kids love the cafeteria. The food’s pretty good here. I’ll give you a quick tour when we’re finished with Mrs. Clark.”

I nodded at him as we reached a long wall of glass with the words “Counseling Center” painted on the window. Joe opened another door so me and Mom could walk in ahead of him.

Ever the gentleman, I thought. I’ll bet he even puts the toilet seat back down after he takes a piss.

“Hey there, Joe,” a bearded man with thick glasses greeted us.

“Hey, Larry,” Joe replied. “You remember my wife, Barbara?”

Mom smiled at the man and gave a small wave with her hand.

“I surely do,” Larry replied, “At the tailgate party last year and the staff Christmas party. Good to see you again.”

“This is my stepson, Mark,” Joe smiled. “He’s living with us now and he’s going to be a Tiger.”

The man extended his hand for me to shake, “Nice to meet you. I’m Larry Twiddy. Welcome to the best high school in the state of Missouri.”

I shook his sweaty hand.

“I’m the senior counselor this year but you’re in great hands with Mrs. Clark. She’s a real peach,” he said. “I’ve got to run. I’m enrolling new kids left and right, today. Nice to see you, Barbara. Good to meet you young man. I’m glad your a Tiger now.”

Oh, I’m thrilled too, I thought wiping wet my hand on my jeans leg. Thrilled to be under my stepfather’s nose at home and at school. I couldn’t be more thrilled if I were dying of infected hemorrhoids.

“Let’s see if Laura’s ready for us,” Joe said, stepping away to check the offices just beyond the massive, wooden reception desk.

“You’ll like this school,” Mom said. “The teachers are wonderful.”

Sorry, Mom but all schools suck. It’s just you adults have blocked all of the agony out of your minds.

I hated school in St. Louis and I won’t like this one any better. Especially, with Joe lurking around every corner.

“Come on back,” Joe called. He pointed to the door of Mrs. Clark’s office before he stepped into an empty conference room.

Me and Mom were met by a round woman in faded jean shorts and a black Park Hill Marching Tiger Band t-shirt. She had a round face with a bob of bleached blonde hair. She smiled a broadly and reached out for my hand. Her hand was soft but not sweaty.

Thank God.

“Hi, Mark,” she said, motioning for us to sit. “I’m Laura Clark. It’s so nice to finally meet you. Why don’t you and your mom sit down? Joe’s gone to find himself a chair. Sit, please.”

I flashed my fake smile and looked about her tiny office. A row of framed diplomas hung over her desk along with pictures of two huge golden retrievers, a man and a pair blonde-headed girls. A short wooden bookshelf stood against the back wall of the room, a Mr. Potato Head and a slinky sitting on the top.

I love Slinkys. They’re the best toy ever. My hands fairly twitched at its’ sight.

Mrs. Clark sat down behind her desk and grabbed a pair of brown-framed reading glasses.

“Go ahead, grab a toy if you want to,” she said, putting her glasses on.

I looked down guiltily for a moment before giving in and grabbing the cool, silver slinky. It was metal jello in my hands.

She frowned at the sheets of paper in front of her.

“Well, I got your transcript from St. Louis earlier this summer,” she said.

Great. I stared at the slinky bouncing from one hand to another. The papers would show I failed almost every class last year. I missed so much school, there was no way to pass.

Last year was a year of hiding and waiting.

Five days waiting for a black eye to fade out of notice. Three days of letting a fat lip deflate. Ten days of waiting to get cuts on my face to disappear. I bounced the slinky.

I shook, remembering. When I was in the sixth grade, Dad taught me a lesson about not waiting long enough to go back to school.

“Why is your goddam counselor calling me, boy? Poking his nose into something that isn’t any of his business?” Dad hissed down at me. My face was buried in the carpet as I squirmed, strained and struggled to get free...to get away I squirmed until my shoulders burned but I was pinned under him.

“Nothing...” I managed.

It was true, I didn’t dare say a word. I knew better. Anytime someone at school got suspicious, Dad turned on the lawyer speak crap and they backed off. I wasn’t stupid, I knew not to say anything.

“Don’t lie to me. What did you say to that goddam counselor? What did you say, boy?” the room boomed as his fists beat on the back of my skull. The pain made me see spots.

I tried not to scream but a hot sizzle started on my neck. He was burning me, holding the lit end of his cigarette on my bare skin. It sizzled through the layers of my neck. A scream boiled up in me but my face was shoved deep into the carpet. Trying to scream left my mouth filled with dust, dirt and hair.....

“Now, what did you say to that fucking counselor?” Dad hissed.

I jerked myself away from that. Now, even though I was in Mrs. Clark’s office, bouncing a slinky between my hands, the healed burn on my neck started itching for some crazy reason.

After that, I learned not to return until the scars were invisible to teacher eyes. Dad got sicker and sicker as my last year in St. Louis went on so there were lots of things to hide. And as I hid at home, I got further and further behind. Part of me just wanted to stay home and flunk. I hated school so much but my stomach wanted to go so I could eat.

I let the slinky bounce about my palms.

Joe reappeared, carrying a tiny wooden stool. He perched his skinny self on it next to Mom while Mrs. Clark studied the papers in front of her.

“Welllll...” she said.

She looked up at me. “When was the accident?”

I kept my eyes trained on the metal spring in my hands.

Sorry, I don’t talk about that, lady. Period.

Joe cleared his throat and said for me,“It was in March. Mark was in the hospital until June.”

Mrs. Clark nodded slowly, her eyes back on the papers.

I chewed at the inside of my mouth. I don’t talk about that. Not to Mom. Not to Joe and not to a complete stranger. I bounced and stretched the slinky.

“So...” she said. She took her glasses off, folded them and put them on the desk. Her voice was quiet and even. Counselors must learn that voice in counselor’s school.

“So you had a rough sophomore year. You were in the accident and lost your dad. Then you missed the last quarter and a half of the school. It was a tough year for you, huh?”

I kept looking down, pulling and pushing the Slinky.

My new counselor nodded her blonde head accepting my silence as my answer. She sighed and said, “So, Mark, you earned two credits last year. Right?”

I nodded at her.

Yes, I flunked out of the tenth grade. You’re looking at a future valedictorian, lady.

Heavy silence settled over the tiny office.

“So, here’s what I think we need to do,” she finally said. “I think we’ll enroll you as a tenth grader. It’s a new beginning for you, Mark. No one knows any different. Even your teachers won’t know any different. I can’t really think of a better way to proceed.”

I just kept chewing my mouth, until it was coppery, sweet, and rubbery.

“How does that sound, Mark?” Mrs. Clark asked.

“It’s fine,” I said.

Actually, fantastic is a better word. I always wanted to spend five years in high school.

“That sounds fine, Laura,” Joe said. “So what classes does Mark have to take? Then, what electives do you want to take?”

“Well, we need to take English II, World History, Biology, and it looks like geometry. We’re going to skip PE this year. I’ll bet you’re still getting your strength back from your injuries.”

Mrs. Clark studied my transcript as I watched the sway and flow of the metal in my hand while the adults in the room made my schedule. I didn’t care about my classes, they all were bound to suck. No matter what.

I heard my new counselor scribbling on the form in front of her while I let the Slinky fold and flip, not looking at any of them.

“So, Mark,” she began slowly. “Your stepdad’s told me a little about how you came to live with them and a little bit about your life with your Dad. I just want you to know that you can always come see me about anything that’s bugging you. Any time you need to.”

I nodded, chewing an unbloody part of my mouth. I was pissed now.

Why in the hell are you telling people about all of that crap, Joe? It’s over and it’s not anybody’s business anyway. Having him at the same school already sucks.

“All right,” I said. I quit playing with the Slinky in my hands.

“Now, the nurse is in her office. You need to go talk to her next,” Mrs. Clark said.

“We will, Laura,” Joe said, getting to his feet. “Thank you for everything.”

“Thank you,” Mom echoed, standing.

I stared at the Slinky. Why are they thanking her? What did she do really?

“I mean it,” Mrs. Clark said. “I’m here whenever you need me.”

I nodded and placed the metal spring back on her shelf. Then I walked out of the tiny room with my mom and Joe to the nurse’s office.

The nurse sat at her desk. She was young and pretty with long, dark chestnut hair piled on her head in a messy bun and wore a tight, sleeveless pink blouse. She looked up at us from the mountain of file folders on her desk.

“Hey, Joe,” she said. “Is this your stepson?”

“It is,” Joe answered. “Do you remember my wife, Barbara?”

“Of course, it’s nice to see you again,” she answered.

Barbara smiled, “Good to see you, too.”

“This is Mark. Mark, this is our school nurse, Nancy Dillard,” Joe said.

“It’s good to meet you, Mark. Sit down please,” she said, pointing to the wooden chairs in front of her desk. I sat in one, Mom in the other, while Joe leaned against the beige wall. I stared at the floor. It was the same ugly green and brown squares as the counselors’ office

“So tell me what’s going on with this fine young man,” she asked.

I started chewing a new spot in my mouth,wishing I had stolen the Slinky.

Well, I’m a the newest freak on your caseload.

“Well...” Joe said. “Mark was in an automobile accident in March. He suffered a TBI and he has had grand mal seizures ever since.”

I heard the nurse begin to scribble on some paper.

“How often?” she asked.

All the time.

“Every few days,” Joe answered. “The medication seems to be working better now. Mark’s going more days between seizures.”

I chewed harder on my mouth, blood filling it. Why didn’t I steal that damn Slinky? I felt my face blazing as I got mad and then madder while Joe kept telling her my secrets.

Epilepsy sucks. It ruins your life.

It’s all I ever think about. When will it happen? Where will it happen? When will the next one grab me? The shower? What if I have one in bed? What if I throw up and can’t roll over? Or worst of all, what if I have one at school for everyone to see? Is today a lucky or an unlucky day? There’s no way to tell.

I glared over at Mom as Joe blabbered on and on about me while she just sat there looking guilty.

You should feel guilty. This is all your fault. If you hadn’t left me none of this would have happened, Mom.

“Come and see me anytime you’re not feeling well, Mark,” she said, jerking me back to the present. “Even if it’s just that you need to lay down for awhile, don’t be afraid to come and see me.”

I looked up at her and nodded. There was nothing left to say, Joe pretty much said it all for me.

How long until I can drop out? I wondered as we left her office.

Chapter Four

September

The first weeks of school blurred by. Every day, I was up before six, ate a pile of cereal then stood at the sink and took my stupid pill. While I swallowed it, I sent a prayer up to God just in case he was listening (or even existed), “Please God, if it’s going to happen today, let it happen here at home so the entire school won’t know what a freak I am. Amen for now.”

So far, so good.

Then Joe would kiss my mom and we were off in the Beetle, on our way to school where I spent my days as a phantom kid at Park Hill High. I was there but not really there.

I rode to school, my eyes closed, and listened to Joe blabber about stupid things like joining a club or going to a football game. Then, when we got to school, I bolted out of the VW so nobody would see us together.

I didn’t want anyone to know that their beloved Mr. Paxton was my stepfather. That was just too complicated to talk about to anyone else. That would lead to questions that I didn’t want to answer. So far, no kids had put us together.

Thank God.

I ran to a corner of the library, so I could avoid talking to anyone. Then, it was on to my classes. I sat with my eyes on my books or papers and prayed that the teacher wouldn’t call on me and all of them except my English teacher left me alone. At lunch I sat by myself and kept my eyes on my plate. I spoke to no one and no one spoke to me. I was new and there was no room in their already-formed groups for the “way too old to be a sophomore” sophomore. Not that I wanted to be friends with any of them anyway.

After school, I went to Joe’s room, sat at a back desk and tackled any homework I had to do. Then we went home, and I became the phantom kid, the home game. Then it all started over again the next day.

The last Tuesday in September crawled by.

After geometry, world history and English, I walked through the crowded halls to the art hall. Mr. Stevens was my art teacher. He was as skinny as I was and just a little bit taller than me. He wore dress slacks, starchy looking shirts and ties every day and tried to hide his bald head by combing what hair he had over the bare middle. He was a prissy little man with a prissy voice.

Walking into the class each and every day, I wondered why the hell I was in an art class. I can’t draw a straight line. Was this Joe’s idea of a sick joke?

Mr. Stevens paced the room with a clipboard in his hand. Apparently, the seating arrangement was changing.

Great. A new bunch of idiots to sit by. Just great.

“You’re right here, Mr. Henderson,” he said. He pointed me to an empty stool at one of the middle tables.

“You’re here, Miss Stone,” he said. Mr. Stevens walked and showed other students to their new seats.

I plopped down and put my head on the table.

This really has to be Joe’s idea of a sick joke. Maybe I can get out of art and take another study hall. Anything but this.

A girl walked to the table and put her bag on the dusty floor before sitting next to me. She smelled nice, like flowers and the Noxema my mom kept in a dark blue jar in the bathroom.

I looked sideways at her but didn’t lift my head. Her name was Glenda Something and she had thick, brown-framed glasses and dark brown that fell well below her shoulders. She was a quiet girl and was definitely too fat for any normal guys to date.

“Hi,” she said as she dug through her bag looking for something.

She smiled at me and I raised my eyebrows.

No one in art class had spoken to me at all---male or female. Hell, no kid at Park Hill had spoken to me in all these first weeks of school. Her smile revealed dimples in her cheeks and teeth covered in metal.

I nodded at her but kept my mouth shut as I looked her up and down. She wore a red polo shirt and dark blue jeans.

She’s not that fat. The greasy boys called her a heifer but she wasn’t fat as much as womanly. Her hips were round and her breasts were as big as a mom’s breasts. So why did the greasy boys call her names?

Because they talked bad about everyone. It’s them, not her. I’d hate to hear what they said about me.

“So we’re at the C table,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked, picking my head up. “What’s a C table?”

“We’re at the C table. Mr. Stevens seats us by our grades,” she said. Glenda pointed at the tables in front of us and went on. “That table up there is where the best artists sit. It’s the A Table. The next table is for the B students and this table is for us C artists. The other two tables behind us are for the really bad kids. Ones Mr. Stevens hates. He’d put them in the parking lot if he could.”

“Really?” I asked. “He does that?”

“He does,” she nodded. “You’re Mark, right? Mr. Paxton’s your dad.”

“Well, he’s my stepdad. You’re Glenda....”

“Glenda Stone,” she said, “I talked to Mr. Paxton one day before school when you were with him. He was my history teacher last year. I just loved his class. He must be a really good dad.”

I forced myself not to roll my eyes at what she said. He wasn’t my dad. He was just the guy my mom married.

“He’s all right, I guess,” I said.

“So you weren’t here last year, where did you go to school before?” she asked, spreading out a bunch of green pencils and fat cube of eraser.

Mr. Stevens stood at the front of the room and announced, “Now, ladies and gentlemen, this is your seating arrangement for the foreseeable future. You need to get your self-portraits out and begin working.”

Glenda hopped off of her stool and stepped over to the racks where the drawings were stored. She grabbed hers then bent up and down, looking. Shrugging, she returned to the table.

“I didn’t see yours,” she said. “Have you started it yet?”

“I started it but it sucked so bad I threw it out. I need to start over,” I said, shaking my head. “I think this class is my stepdad’s idea of a sick joke. I can’t draw a straight line to save my life.”

“So you didn’t come to Park Hill last year?” she asked again, putting a pencil to her paper.

“No,” I said. “I lived in St. Louis until last year.”

Crap. I shouldn’t have said that. I stared at the new sheet of drawing paper, my heart beginning to pound.

Here’s where the questions I don’t want to answer start. Please. Don’t ask. Don’t ask me any questions. Please...

“ I’m an army brat. I’ve lived all over the place and this place is definitely the most boring place I’ve ever lived. There’s nothing to do here in Cuthbert. Nothing at all,” she said, moving her pencil.

I shook my head as I watched her pencil darkening her chin on the paper.

“I know,” I said before I could stop the words from leaving my mouth.

Crap. My hand and pencil trembled over the blank paper. Don’t ask me any more questions.

She stopped drawing, “Can I help you get started?”

I shook my head, “No I’m all right. Don’t worry about it.”

Snickers from the back drifted up to our table and we stopped talking. I squinted hard, bending my head over my paper but I couldn’t make my hand work. Glenda drew and chatted as I sat and listened. I saw her glasses sliding further and further down her narrow nose as she worked on her picture.

The snickers grew louder and nearer. One of the greasy boys from the very back table, stood and walked past us to sharpen his nub of pencil. He shot Glenda a mean smile and the dirty boys in black heavy metal t-shirts laughed louder.

“Who knew heifers could talk?” he said. His voice was just loud enough for the greasy jerks to hear but soft enough that Mr. Stevens could not. The greasy group laughed really loud.

Shut up, jerks.

I glared at him as Glenda stopped drawing and looked at me. I noticed her eyes were the color of dark chocolate behind her thick glasses. I felt my face getting hot the way it does when I get mad.

“Don’t worry about him,” she said. “I guess the big thing is that I didn’t know that assholes could talk. Did you? I mean they don’t even have mouths.”

My mouth fell open. How did she think up that come back? I wouldn’t have thought that up until next Tuesday and she thought it up just like that. I felt my face break into a huge smile.

I laughed a loud, belly shaking laugh at her joke. As it left my mouth, I realized it was my first real laugh since before the wreck.

She smiled and laughed back at me.

The greasy boy huffed back to his table and we went on talking until Mr. Stevens’ prissy voice told us to stop. I cleaned up all of my eraser bits and actually kept my drawing so I had to go put it up. Then, I sat next to Glenda unsuccessfully trying to think of something to say until the bell rang. We got up together and started out of the room.

“See you tomorrow, Mark,” she called. I watched her leave, her dark hair bouncing and swaying as she disappeared into the crowded hall.

I was frozen. A real, live female person had noticed me and talked to me. She made jokes with me and said she would see me tomorrow. What did that mean?

It just means she’s the nicest person at Park Hill High School if she would talk to a loser like me. It sure doesn’t mean that she’s interested in getting to know me. She’s just being nice.

My grumbling stomach reminded me lunch was the next thing in my schedule. Some greasy slice of pizza had my name on it. As I turned and started walking down the hall. suddenly art class didn’t sound so bad.

I decided I wouldn’t try to get out of it after all.

Chapter Five

October

Thursday morning of Homecoming Week shone clear, bright, crisp and fall. I leaned against the cold side of the buzzing Volkswagen Beetle while Joe drove us to school.

I wore my best scowl as Homecoming week’s activities unfolded. Other students dressed up for spirit days, cast votes for the Homecoming Queen and worked up the nerve to ask for Friday night dance dates. The talk buzzed about Thursday’s Tigerfest and Friday’s football game. I just scowled.

Slowing, then stopping the Beetle for a red light, Joe looked over at me.

“Hey, let’s go to Tigerfest tonight. The bonfire is always something to see and I’m even working the Pie in the Face Booth. You can cream me good for one little quarter.”

I’d love to cream you, I thought. Every time I turn around in this damn school, there you are spying on me. I have to have a few dozen quarters somewhere.

I shrugged and didn’t look at him.

“You know, Mark,” Joe said. “Every club here at school will have a booth for you to check out. There’s a club for everybody, for every interest.”

The Beetle jolted forward as the stoplight turned green, whining as Joe shifted.

“There’s a club for everyone,” he blabbered again. “There’s the Art Club, Science Club, Dance Club, Saddle Club, Jedi Club, Math Club. What kind of club do you think might interest you? It would be a good way to make some new friends.”

I don’t need any more friends in this stupid school. The Beetle turned on to the school’s street, chugging its’ way towards the staff parking lot. I stared out the window, away from Joe, and watched the blazing trees streak past us.

“Come on,” Joe coaxed as he turned into the parking lot. “There’s got to be a club you’re interested in, Mark. You’ll make some friends.”

The car rolled to a stop.

Thank God, the ride is over and he can shut up and stop trying to find me some friends. I have all the friends that I want at this stupid school---all one of them. Glenda is the only nice person at Park Hill.

“Is there a Freak Club?” I asked. I grabbed my book bag from the floorboard and opened the heavy door.

That’s the only club that I’ll fit into at this stupid school. Hell, I could be the president of that club.

Joe shot me a sad look as I stepped out into the cold air, shoving the door closed. I hunched up my shoulders and headed into the building.

**************************

After a shortened first period, I sat in Mrs. Riley’s geometry classroom where she stood behind her wood podium going on and on about the seating arrangement in the gym.

We’ve already had one assembly this year, so I think we all know where to sit now. I may have had a traumatic brain injury but I’m not completely stupid.

I let my head rest on the rough, dirty desktop while she talked and talked and talked. I tapped the rhythm of the Rush song Subdivisions with my pencil eraser while Mrs. Riley thumbed through her red attendance book. Conversations about bunch of different things swirled about me as I tapped and listened.

Two boys who always smelled like pot sat behind me. I called them Cheech and Chong after the movie Up in Smoke I saw a few summers ago when the cable still worked at our house. How come they never get in trouble? They always stank to high heaven.

Cheech said, “These assemblies are retarded.”

“They are retarded,” Chong said. “Let’s split and go to the park and....and ...”

He made a sharp inhaling sound and they both laughed.

Ditching this assembly actually sounded like a pretty good idea. Except that Joe will figure it out and then I’ll have to listen to a pile of crap about it later. Better to put up with the stupid thing than have to listen them about it...

A pair of poofy-haired Barbies sat in front of me talking in loud, excited voices.

“No, it’s more sky blue than dark blue,” the blonde-headed Barbie said.

“Oh, I love sky blue,” the brown-headed Barbie said, “Where did you get it?”

It was Barbie and her brown-haired. What was the friend called again? Christie? No, she’s the black one. Skipper? She’s the younger one. GI Joe, maybe?

“I got my dress at Heers,” Blonde Barbie said, starting to smack her Juicy Fruit gum. “Where’d you get yours?”

“I got mine at Sears,” Brunette Barbie said. “It’s maroon with lots of lacy stuff all over it. It was marked way down.”

I tapped and tapped the Rush song on the desk, trying to remember the name of the brown-haired Barbie as the wait became longer and longer. I tapped and tapped.

Was it Tammy? Judy? Tanya? Rush sang in my head.

“Could you stop that?” Brunette Barbie twisted around to glare at me. Her eyes were covered in blue eyeshadow and globs of mascara.

I stopped my hand in mid-tap. My mouth fell open at her ugly, eyeshadow-covered glare.

“That tapping. It’s really annoying,” she growled.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, laying my pencil down.

Smacking her gum, she turned around and went back to talking about dresses and sales. All of the sudden I remembered what the name of the brunette Barbie had to be.

“Bitch,” I whispered to myself.

My tapping is the quietest thing in the room. And your gum smacking is the most annoying thing in the room. Bitch.

The speaker crackled to life and an assistant principal’s voice came into the room, dismissing us to the assembly.

Cheech and Chong bolted out the door before the announcement was even over. The Barbies flounced out of the room and I got to my feet. Shoving my hands deep into my pockets, I hunched my shoulders and jumped into the river of hormones and body odor.

Mrs. Riley was one of Joe’s good friends. She had been teaching math at Park Hill for as long as he had been teaching history there. Before Joe picked up lunchroom supervision, they were lunchtime friends.

“So, how is Park Hill treating you?” she asked, walking beside me.

I shrugged. “All right, I guess.”

“You know,” she began. “ You might enjoy Math Club. We go to the Math Olympics and we do after school tutoring. Your math grade is a 92% right now, so you would be a really good tutor. You’d like the kids who are in the club, too. What do you think?”

I shrugged, as I floated with the teenage current.

Joe put you up to this, that’s what I think. I know he did.

“Do you like math?” she asked. We stopped to let a wave of students pass by us.

“I like it all right,” I said.

I know that Joe made you do this and he’s not going to get off my back until I join a damn club. All right, then. Maybe the math club kids will be decent. Nerds are sometimes nicer than other kids.

“When do you meet again?” I asked.

Maybe then Joe can quit bitching about it. Finally.

“We’re going to be at Tigerfest tonight,” she smiled. “Come by and say hello. Then we meet every Tuesday after school until 4:00 for tutoring. We’d love to have you.”

“All right,” I nodded.

Joining the goddamn math club will get Joe off my back about it.

The current of kids turned the corner and stepped onto the honey-colored floor. Another tiger stood, poised to pounce, in the center of the floor. Students streamed into the bleachers to sit and watch the assembly. I looked about, my eyes coming to rest on the cheerleaders who lined the perimeter of the floor, orange and black pompoms in their hands. I stared at the smiling, wiggling girls as I went to our section. Their bare, tan legs, their short skirts, and their sweater tops tight where they should be tight....

Stop it.

Not one of them would have the time of day for a freak like me. Girls that cute are usually snobs and almost always have boyfriends. Big, beastly boyfriends who would love to beat up a scrawny guy like me if I so much as look at their girl. Thank you, but I’ve had enough of getting the piss beat out of me for one lifetime.

Instead, I looked away from the cheerleaders, up to the bleachers. Once I climbed the dozen or so steps, I sat behind the two Barbies. Looking around the gym, I saw Joe across the way, his grade book in his hand, laughing and talking. What in the world are they laughing about? Joe’s not that funny. I promise.

I just rolled my eyes. Glenda said he was a very nice teacher. Not that I’ll ever be in his class to find out. That would be too messed up for words.

Mrs. Riley’s head bowed up and down as she counted her students. Twice, I saw her frown when she could not locate Cheech or Chong.

Ha ha, stoners. She figured you out. She scribbled a reminder in her book before she plopped down on the hard, narrow bleacher plank across the way from me.

The Barbies kept smacking and popping their gum. As more and more classes got there, the Barbies were drown out by hundreds of loud conversations. So much noise and the hugeness of the gym only made it louder and louder.

As it got noisier, my head began to ache. It was so loud from all the talking. I shut my eyes against the hot, harsh lights and began to rub my forehead with my fingers. My life was one gigantic headache these days. I scrunched my eyes as the ache turned into a throb. I tapped my feet and rubbed harder as the pain made my stomach start to churn. It was so loud and hot and bright in here I felt like I might puke.

I should have cut like Cheech and Chong. I could be sitting in a bathroom stall, it might be disgusting but it would be quiet and dark and cool.

I kept rubbing my aching forehead as it kept getting louder and louder as more kids streamed into the gym. Good Lord, why is it so loud in here? Why do we even have these stupid assemblies? Why?

I looked up. When is this going to start?

I scanned the crowd as my head throbbed. I saw our principal, Mr. Curran. He was a World War II veteran and he was kind of mean. He never smiled, he just stood around barking orders at kids and frowning. He was standing at attention under the basketball goal next to Ms. Honeycutt, the only female assistant principal. She wore a blue pantsuit, had a short gray haircut and was a Ms. Honeycutt, not a Miss Honeycutt or a Mrs. Honeycutt.

She was mean too. She never smiled and she barked stuff at kids, too. Do they teach nice teachers how to be mean when they went to Principal classes?

I looked over at my stepdad again and rolled my eyes. He still had that stupid smile on his face while he chatted with his students. Joe threw back his head and laughed as the boys sitting next to him did the same.

Good Lord. Joe Paxton, the comedian teacher. Is he for real?

I looked away, my eyes wandering to the cheerleaders again. They had long legs and short skirts. It was a pretty good combination in my book.

Remember, I reminded myself, those girls all have boyfriends. You might as well quit looking. I rubbed my throbbing forehead and squeezed my eyes shut against my churning stomach. Why is it so hot and bright and loud in here? Just to torture me?

I looked up and saw the other two assistant principals. One was Mr. Raines, a towering, black man who played college basketball and was on the fast track to become superintendent somewhere else, anywhere else. The final one was Mr. Lawson, another World War II veteran who was counting the hours until his retirement.

For some reason, my eyes always went back to the cheerleaders. A pretty red-headed one smiled up at me--or the crowd-- and shook her pompoms again. Her milky white legs....

The microphone screeched like a wild animal. I winced and shook as the noise cut through my head. It killed most of the conversations.

“Please stand for the Pledge of Allegiance,” Ms. Honeycutt said. Lots of groans rolled across the gym as we stood up. Teachers all did their duty and put their hands over their hearts as they recited the Pledge. The boy scouts,girl scouts and ass kissers said it along with them. I just stood and rolled my eyes at the Pledge. My head ached even more as a thousand rear ends hit the bleachers all at the very same time.

It was so hot, I felt like I was really about to puke. And I didn’t want to puke here in front of the entire damn school.

Mr. Curran began to growl into the microphone. He acted like he was the General of the Park Hill army. The microphone made his harsh words so loud they cut right through my aching skull. The heat poured off of all the bodies all around me. I looked up at Mrs. Riley.

Hey, Mrs. Riley, I need some fresh air before I puke all over the Barbies. I need a quick trip to the bathroom. I’ll get all cooled off and get a drink then I’ll come right back. Okay?

Mrs. Riley didn’t see my pleading eyes or read my mind.

The cave that was the gym erupted into drum-fueled havoc. My head throbbed.

Crap, here comes the drumline. The noisiest group of humans in the entire school. The hot air pressed in on me as they beat on their drums and the blood in my head began to throb time with the rhythm.

I got to my wobbly feet.

I just need a quick trip to the bathroom and I’ll feel all better. I’ll tell Mrs. Riley I tried to ask her but I couldn’t wait. I stood up, woozy from the heat and the noise and the sizzling lights.

I stepped out into the creaky, wooden aisle and began climbing down. The gym blurred and pulsed all about me as I caught myself from falling.

I just need a few minutes of fresh air, then I’ll feel better.

I stepped down again and again as I met stairs, my legs and head wobbling. I was one step from the gym floor.

And that’s the last thing I remember.

Chapter Six

The next thing I knew, I was laying on a soft mattress, my body covered up and warm. I looked around with my throbbing head and burning eyes and I saw a sparkly, rough ceiling. The world outside the window was dark. Suddenly, I knew where I was.

I was in my bed.

What time is it?

Oh, crap, I slept through the alarm. I’m going to be late to school.

No, I didn’t. There’s no sleeping through the alarm. I ride with a teacher every day.

I groaned a long groan. My head hurt so bad that I saw bright flashes of light and my stomach churned.

What happened to me?

I was at home again, in my bed, dressed in my t-shirt but not my jeans or my shoes or socks. I tried to sit up but I couldn’t. My body was too heavy to move and my head was wobbling and woozy.

I lay there and I realized Mom and Joe were talking just outside my bedroom door. I closed my eyes and tried to make out what they were saying. I heard Joe saying, “He needs to jump right back to school, the longer he waits, the harder it’s going to be.”

Mom cut him off, “I think he’ll need to stay home until he feels ready to go back, Joe. Some time might be good for him.”

What in the world happened? How did I even get home?

Memories flashed like fireworks on my woozy head and my stomach lurched.

I was talking with Mrs. Riley as we walked into the gym. Joe made her try to get me in the Math Club. Everybody said the Pledge for the Homecoming Assembly. The noise beat at me, my head throbbed ....

“I just think that if we wait until he’s ready to come back that he...he might never come back to school, Barb,” Joe said.

I went to try and get a drink. Then the lights blinded me but I couldn’t shield my eyes because my arm wouldn’t move. I looked about and the world was spinning and slurred. Mr. Raines and Joe crouched down and...

“ Barb most kids won’t even think about it after Tigerfest tonight. Heck, most of the gym couldn’t even see his seizure where....”

I gasped at the word seizure. Vomit rising in my throat.

Dear God, I had a seizure. Please, God....

The blood surged in my ears, my stomach flipped at the horrible thought.

Dear God, not at the the fucking assembly. Everyone, everyone, everyone would have seen it.

I didn’t mean to but I cried out.

Dear God, don’t let it be true....

The door opened letting Mom and Joe into my dark bedroom. My stepfather settled on the edge of my bed and Mom stood at his shoulder, wringing her hands.

“Hey,” Joe said. “How are you feeling now?”

No, no. no, no, not the assembly. Joe, tell me that it didn’t really happen. Please tell me that I didn’t have a seizure in front of the entire student body. Please not that....

“What happened? I...I don’t remember,” I choked on the words and my eyes started to get wet.

Please God, if you’re really there, don’t let it have happened....

Joe looked at me with his worried, hazel eyes and his face told me what I didn’t want to hear.

“Well....” he said, “You had a seizure today but Mr. Raines and Mrs. Dillard were right there to help....”

I shook like I was freezing under the blanket as Joe’s voice faded away.

Please, please, please God....if you’re there let it have happened in the bathroom or in the lobby where no one saw it. Please, God...

“When... did it happen? I...I nev...never remember what happens...” I said, gagging on my words.

“Well,” Joe said. “During the assembly...but like I said, Mr. Raines and Mrs. Dillard were there to help and I was there in an instant. They took good care of you, Mark. They really did...”

Flashes of their faces played in my head. The smoldering lights burning into my useless eyes. Mr. Raines’ big hands rolling me onto my side and the nurse pushing Joe out of the way. Somebody picked me up and put me....

I went as cold as a snake as it all sank in like a deep muscle cramp.

The entire student body...popular kids, the cute cheerleaders, the Barbie girls...they all saw my freak show unfold before them live. Everyone knows what a freak I am now. Why, God, why?

I twisted in pain and rolled away from Mom and Joe and awful truth. “Mark...Mark,” Joe said, “It’s all right. Tomorrow, kids will have forgotten all about it. What with Tigerfest going on tonight and the game and dance tomorrow, no one will remember what happened. Football and dancing is the only thing they’ll be thinking about tomorrow.”

I stared at the wall, trembling, “Everyone saw me...everyone saw it happen, Mom.”

My voice died. I beat my lumpy mattress with my fists and began to cry.

Why, God, why? Why, God? Why....

Mom bent down and stroked my back as I cried and buried my face in the mattress.

“It’s all right, Mark,” she lied to me.” It’s all right. Joe’s right, this will be old news by tomorrow. No one will even think about it then.”

I shook and cried and cried. “Everyone saw, Mom....everyone....”

I gave my mattress the hardest punch I could give it and cried without stopping.

“It’ll be all right, Mark,” Joe lied to me. “Tomorrow, it will be old news.”

“No, no. No, Joe,”I said into the mattress. “I can’t go back. Everyone saw me. I can’t ever go back to that place.”

They were both quiet as I tried and tried to stop crying.

Joe finally said in his best teacher voice, “ You have to go back. You have to go right back, Mark. Waiting will only make this harder.”

I just shook my head, stubbornly. No, no, no. Joe stood from the foot of my and I buried my still-wet face into the bucking mattress.

“I’ll go on to the kitchen and start supper,” he said. “I’ll leave the two of you alone for awhile.”

The foot of the bed lowered again as Mom sat down. She put her warm hand on my shoulders and started to rub as I just kept crying.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Sure, you’re sorry. Everybody’s sorry but nobody can help me. Nobody can make this better. All they can do is just be sorry. And sorry doesn’t help me. Does it? I pushed my face into the mattress while Mom rubbed my shoulders. I started to drift off.

Since the wreck, I learned that after I had a seizure, all my body wanted was sleep and that there was no way to tell how long that would be. Sometimes a few hours, sometimes an entire day. I would just sleep until my body had slept enough.

I shoved my face into the mattress some more and drifted off to sleep as she rubbed and rubbed and rubbed.

Chapter Seven

I slumped against the Volkswagen door, so pissed I couldn’t even look at Joe. The Beetle buzzed like a saw, idling at the first stoplight.

“Today will be fine, Mark,” Joe said. “Every kid in this school is thinking about the game and the dance tonight. Yesterday’s assembly is old news, it’s the last thing on anyone’s mind today. You’ll see, it will be just another normal day for you.”

You don’t get it. There is no normal when you’re a freak, Joe.

The light turned green and the Beetle lurched and buzzed again. Joe pushed the clutch and shifted, while I sat and fumed. I couldn’t speak to or look at my stepdad. I should still be in bed but here I was being dragged to school when I wasn’t ready to go back. It sucked.

“Look,” Joe said stopping at a four-way stop. “I know you’re angry at your Mom and me...”

No shit, Sherlock.

“We know you’re mad at us,” he went on, “But...it’s important for you to get back to school.”

It’s not like I give a shit about school. I scowled out the window, refusing to look at him.

“Look, the quicker you get back at school, the easier this will be,” he told me. “It’s like ripping a bandaid off. It hurts less to just get it over with.”

“I’m not a fucking bandaid, Joe,” I growled, watching the blazing maple trees streak by. No one spoke until Joe parked the Beetle in the staff parking lot.

I opened my heavy door before we even stopped and shot out of the car. I hunched my shoulders and dropped my chin to my chest.

Thank God that’s over.

I stomped through the mostly-empty parking lot and into the building. I kept my eyes down and did not look up to see who I was passing.

Guess what, Joe? Just because I’m here at this fucking school, doesn’t mean I’m going to class. There are lots of places to hide and ditch. So you can take your bandaid and shove it up your ass.

I reached the wall of orange wooden doors and pulled on the icy door handle. I was in the empty cave that was the student center heading for a good hiding spot. On one side was the already-open library. Down the hall, the kitchen glowed dimly as the cooks scurried about preparing cinnamon rolls, tater tots and biscuits. The cafeteria gate didn’t get raised until 7:15. That was another 15 minutes.

So where is the best place to hide? The cafeteria is closed and the gym is full of jocks working out so it appears that the library is the best place to start my inside the school ditch day. As I practically ran to the library, I heard the voice of my art teacher and the school nurse talking.

“How often does he have these?” Mr. Stevens asked.

Shit. They’re already talking about me. Great.

“Joe says that they’re pretty unpredictable. He told me they haven’t figured out...” she stopped abruptly seeing me.

I stepped on the gas and stomped past them.

What a fucking liar you are, Joe. Football game and the Homecoming Dance, my ass.

I shoved my hands into my jeans pockets and bolted through the big, wooden doors. There sat the two librarians perched on their stools. One was middle-aged lady with a black 1950’s hair-do and crayon red lipstick. The other librarian one was young with Farrah Faucett hair and a beautiful body. I felt my face get hot as they stopped chatting.

“Hey, ” Farrah said. “How are you feeling today?”

Great, now she feels sorry for me now. I’m that poor, poor boy. What a liar you are, Joe.

Anger filled me to the brim and I couldn’t talk. All I could do was nod as I looked for a hiding spot. I knew I had found it when I saw the narrow, floor to ceiling canyon of shelves of reference books.

I dropped to the hard tile floor and drew my knees up to my chest. What kind of books were these?

Glancing to the right it said “Authors and Literature”. Glancing to the left, the sign read “Careers and You”. These were books about jobs and writers.

An excellent hiding spot. No teenager would give up their valuable before school time to look at any of these books. Nobody is that big a nerd. I can sit here away from all of the shit that Joe tells me won’t happen today.

I closed my eyes and let out a huge sigh, leaning against the concrete wall.

Maybe, if I’m really quiet, I can park my ass here all damn day, I thought stretching out my legs. Pity. I’m missing out on such important stuff.

My first class was Mr. Hoover’s world history class. For 58 minutes, the old man and his bad dentures blabbered on and on and drooled all over his shirt. Today, he was going to blabber about the fall of Rome while his dentures slid around in his mouth. I always pretended to take notes when, in reality, I just trying not to look at Mr. Hoover’s drooling face.

I’ll learn as much skipping his class today as I would learn being in his class today and I won’t have to worry about drool here in the library.

The next class on my schedule was Mrs. Riley’s geometry class.

There’s no way I’m going back to that class ever, ever, ever again. They all had front row seats to the Homecoming Freak Show. I’m never going to that damn class again. What use is geometry, anyway?

Next in line was Mrs. Newman’s English class. Her class really wasn’t bad since I really like to read. When I lived with Dad, it was the one thing I could always do. There was no bill to forget to pay and I never got in trouble for being too loud.

Our class was reading The Lord of the Flies. So far, a bunch of kids were stranded on an island, scared shitless of a monster running loose. I could relate to this book. I had real-life monster experience.

Maybe I’ll even go to this class.

No, screw that. I’m skipping all of them today. Joe can bring me here but he can’t make me go to class.

Next was art where I was supposed to be drawing my dream house. So far, I’d started and wadded up four different starts. It was proving hard to draw my dream house since it was any old house that was far, far away from my so-called family. This was really hard to draw. But, I did like talking to Glenda in that class and since Mr. Stevens never taught us anything, we talked the entire time. I might actually go to that one.

As I mentally walked through my schedule, people started milling around the other side of the reference books. They talked and talked as I listened.

A loud girl said, “...it’s more like a teal color. Kinda green and kinda blue...”

A louder girl said, “He’s borrowing his mom’s car tonight to pick me up. We’re going to dinner at Steak and Shake first....”

The first loud girl’s voice, “..rented a tux from the mall. It’s got the ruffles...”

Then, a boy’s voice came. “...Red Lobster at 6:00, then we’ll go to the dance. My Dad said everybody can crash at our house after it...”

As I sat against the wall I learned who was driving who, where kids were eating and that teal was the most popular dress color for girls in the library before school. I even learned how much a box of condoms would set a gentleman back at the drug store by the mall.

Like I’ll ever need that information. I’ll probably never even get to see a girl naked much less try to not impregnate one.

Maybe Joe was right. So far all the kids are talking about is the stupid dance tonight.

The noise level grew as time marched towards 7:55 and the first bell. I stretched out my legs and decided this was my spot for as long as I could keep it. If neither of the librarians found me, I’d spend the entire day here.

More voices and more conversations drifted into my hiding place.

“...I saw it. I did,” a girl said dramatically, “ He puked blood all over Mr. Raines. I saw it, Nancy. I was right there.”

“No,” Nancy answered, “ I heard that he puked green stuff all over Mrs. Riley when he fell down the stairs. Green stuff went all over the place. My boyfriend saw it.”

Shit. They’re talking about me. I grabbed my legs and pulled them to my chest. I was pissed.

Football game and Homecoming Dance, my ass. You’re wrong, Joe. Kids are talking crap about me. I never threw up blood or green stuff.

‘Well,” a boy’s voice joined in, “Whatever he puked, it got all over Ms. Honeywell and she had to get a tetanus shot after school. That’s what Stephanie told me on the phone last night. And she was right there.”

Shit, where is this coming from? Bloody puke that might be green that leads to forced tetanus shots. Good Lord, what in the world...

“He’s Mr. Paxton’s kid,” a girl piped up.

I crashed my head against my drawn up knees at this. How did anyone know that? How the hell did she know that?

“He’s just now getting to come to regular school,” the same girl went on. “ He was in a home for retards until this year. They kicked him out for something and now he’s here.”

“I heard that too,” a male voice confirmed.

I clenched my fists and felt my face catch fire.

Home for retards? What the hell is that all about? Since when am I retarded? I may be stupid but I’m not a retard....

“Why did he get kicked out of the retard school?” a girl asked.

Good question. I can’t wait to find out why....

“Well,” the boy said, “Randy told me that he heard that he tried to kill another one of the retards so Mr. Paxton had to go and get him. Sometimes he freaks out and has fits like he did yesterday.”

“I believe it,” the girl said. “Look at him sometime. His eyes are freaky looking.”

“They are,” another girl agreed breathlessly. “They’re like...like almost clear. They are freaky.”

Freaky? My eyes are freaky now? I killed a retard? My red and or green puke causes you to have to get a shot? I made my hands into tight fists and squeezed until my knuckles were white.

That’s it, I decided. I’m skipping all of my classes today and I’ll do it everyday if I can get away with it.

The first bell rang and the assholes quit talking. I heard chairs scraping across the floor then I heard them walk away. After a minute, the library became quiet and empty save the two librarians and me, hiding between careers and authors. I stretched out my legs in front of me.

What if they find me here? What will I do?

I could lie my way out of just about anything. Living with an addict with a bad temper had given me lots of practice. I was able to look almost anyone square in the face and tell them a lie without batting an eye.

Maybe, I’ll fake a seizure.

No, that will be too complicated. They’ll call the nurse and she’ll call Joe and then I’m caught.

I think I’ll pretend I fell asleep. That will be a lot easier to deal with.

I sat with my eyes closed, almost drifting off for real, until it started to get boring.

I thought that first block had to be close to over. What the hell, I could read something. I grabbed the book Great American Authors and began to thumb through the pages. Little, square black and white pictures of old men and women looked up at me. I skimmed and read about James Agee, Sherwood Anderson, Emily Dickinson and William Faulkner.

Some of them I knew from Joe’s book shelf and some others sounded like decent writers--- for old, dead people that is.

I was reading about F. Scott Fitzgerald dropping dead of a heart attack when I heard high heel footsteps coming near me.

Shit.

My heart beat like crazy as the footsteps got closer. I felt my stomach churn.

I shoved the book back on the shelf, threw back my head and closed my eyes, trying to look asleep. I took a giant breath and sweet perfume filled my nose.

The high heels stopped and I heard a gasp. “Oh my God....are you all right? Are you okay?”

I groaned a sleepy groan and let out a big breath. I stretched and opened my eyes with as much bleariness as I could fake. Farrah crouched in front of me, her face worried. If it was even possible, she looked even prettier worrying about me.

The teachers at my school were a lot of things. Some were nice. Some were smart. Some were mean but she was the only one that was pretty. She had long, honey blonde hair and bright, kind blue eyes. She always wore silky blouses that hugged her nicely. Today’s blouse was peach-colored and v-necked.

I could barely believe it when her perfect, pink-painted fingernails brushed my cheek.

She was beautiful and she was touching me. Me. The school freak.

“Are you all right?” she asked. I noticed her lips were perfectly arched and perfectly pink. Me face started to get hot.

“Uh-huh...I’m fine,” was all I could say.

“You’re sure you’re all right? I can call the nurse for you,” she said.

“No....no...”I sat up straight against the wall, “I’m fine. I just fell asleep. What time is it?”

“It’s 9:15,” she said, “You slept through first block.”

She stood up, and looked down at me. I tried not to look up at her but I couldn’t help myself. She had on a tight brown knee-length skirt and her long legs were in silky stockings. I made myself look away.

“Whoops,” I said. “I’m missing my geometry class right now.”

I looked up at her. She was so pretty and her perfume swirled all around me as she reached down to me. I took her soft hand and got up from the hard floor, surprised at how stiff I felt.

“Are you sure you don’t need the nurse,” she asked, frowning with worry. “Or can I call your Dad for you?”

“No. I just need to go on to class,” I said, trying to keep my eyes on her face.

Actually, I need to go find another place to hide. I am not going to geometry class again. Ever.

I smiled my fake smile. “Can you write me a pass? I’m really sorry I fell asleep in the library.”

“Sure,” Farrah said, “Come over here and I’ll send you to your class.”

I nodded, and followed her to the big oak desk. I walked a few steps behind her so I could watch her rear end sway as she walked. She was even pretty from that angle.

I made myself stop looking at her back side and start thinking about where to go hide next. Anywhere but Mrs. Riley’s class. I’ll never go there again.

Her long, pink-nailed fingers scribbled a green pass and handed it to me.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked.

I took the green pass from her. “I’m fine. Sorry I fell asleep.”

I left the library and walked through the empty halls, looking for my next hiding place. The cafeteria was out. It was too open. The gym would be full of PE classes and the locker rooms would have coaches in and out of them.

I walked fast, holding my pass out in case anyone saw me. As I turned the corner, I found my next hiding place. A boys’ restroom in the English hall.

Perfect. Nobody ever uses them.

Chapter Eight

I ducked into the bathroom, hung my bag on the hook and made myself at home.

The smell of urine and bleach filled my nose as I sat on the cold seat, looking around. The walls were strangely enough shit brown. Scratched through the paint were words of wisdom. Jared Smith is a homo. Claire Johnson is a fox. Stevens sucks ass. Here I sit all broken-hearted...

Enough of the wall poetry.

I looked down to the ugly little squares of gray and green tile. Does every color in this room have to look like something that comes out of an orifice? Except for the white stool, the white sinks and the white urinals, it was all shit or vomit colored. Surprisingly, the bathroom wasn’t too bad. It was cool, quiet and recently cleaned. This was better than being in class, that was for sure.

I had no idea how long I sat there. Outside, the halls were mainly quiet as teachers blabbered about stupid stuff, or showed stupid films to their captive audiences. I was feeling sleepy so I leaned against the cool ceramic and drifted into the quiet.

All of the sudden, the door crashed open. Heavy footsteps sprinted to the stall next to mine, shaking the entire rickety frame as the door was flung open.

I stiffened up and held my breath, chanting. Please let him have to pee. Please let him just have to pee...

I heard the other boy fumbling with his pants. I kept chanting, please let him have to pee. Please let him just have to pee...

I heard his zipper unzip.

Just taking a pee. Just taking a pee....

My neighbor groaned like something from Wild Kingdom then sat on the stool. I saw jeans and gray underwear pool around a pair of beat up cowboy boots.

He’s not just peeing. Shit.

I let out my breath, then drew in another one just as a sulfury cloud of gas exploded next to me.

Oh my God! What does he eat?

I gagged and struggled to not breathe.

Oh my God!

My lungs ached but I could not breathe. I heard the other boy’s bowels unleash havoc into the unsuspecting water.

That’s it. Gotta go. I covered my nose and my mouth before springing to my feet.

I grabbed my bag and ran as fast as I could out of the stall, out of the bathroom, and into the fresh air of the hallway.

Dear God, there has to be a better place to hang out than the bathroom. Even going to class would be better than sitting next to massive, putrid dumps right next to me all day.

The clock at the end of the hallway read 9:42. There were eight minutes until the block was over. I wandered, waving my green pass like a flag, looking for my next hiding place, for the next five minutes.

There was nowhere to hide jumping out at me as the bell blasted and broke the quiet. Waves of noisy teenagers flooded the hall. I just floated with the current that was the student body, drifting along the hallway.

Where can I hide? Suddenly I looked up and saw Mrs. Newman. She shot me a big smile.

Shit. There’s no good way to ditch class once the teacher has seen you.

“Good morning, Mark,” she called to me. “Your journal topic is on the board.”

Thank you for not saying anything stupid. Or asking me how I was feeling. Thank you, Mrs. Newman.

I just nodded at her and slipped into my seat with my head bowed.

I squinted to read the board while the seats around me filled up. When the bell rang, Mrs. Newman pulled the door shut and stepped into the room.

“Get your journal writing finished, then we will discuss what you wrote,” she said, standing at her podium.

I liked her the best of all my teachers. Mrs. Newman was a stout woman in an endless array of differently colored pantsuits. Today was a purple day. Her dark hair was cut in a bob and she wore thick bifocals that hid her eyes from view. I liked her because she was funny even though most of her students didn’t get her jokes. Usually, I got her jokes and laughed to myself.

Today, she was all business, her head bent over her roll sheets and that was fine with me. There was no time for anybody to even think about the assembly.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “Your assignment is on the board. Get your journals and the writing utensil of your choice and get to work. You have seven minutes.”

Since I’m here, I might as well work. I bent over and fumbling for my English notebook and my mechanical pencil. I found them, then read what was on the chalkboard.

In her nice, clear teacher handwriting, the assignment was posted.

What boy in LOTF do you most relate to? Who is the most similar to you? Explain your answer in at least two paragraphs.

I twirled my pencil while I thought about the question then I bent my head down and wrote my answer.

Well. I suppose that I am the most like Simon. Simon is an outsider to the rest of the boys so he is alone a lot of the time. The other kids don’t like him because he is weird. I am weird, too so nobody likes me either.

We are both unpopular. I wish the boys on the island would just leave Simon alone and I wish everybody at this school would leave me alone. A difference between me and Simon is that if someone picks on me, I will beat them up and Simon would not beat anyone up. I defend myself but Simon will not defend himself.

My answer was mostly the truth. With the exception of Glenda, no one at Park Hill liked me or even cared about me. And that included most of the teachers.

I closed my notebook and put my head down. I did not look up as Mrs. Newman let some people share what they wrote. Then she lead us through another chapter of the book. It took the entire 50 minutes so nobody had a chance to stare or say anything to me. I just sat in the back of the room and didn’t say a word.

This is way better than the bathroom, that’s for sure. No one’s going to take a giant, putrid dump next to me and class was so busy that I became invisible again. Just like Simon.

The bell rang and I was swept to the art room by the flood of teenagers. I looked for but didn’t see a good hiding place before Mr. Stevens saw me. He was at at his post, attendance sheets in hand.

“Mr. Henderson, welcome,” he said. His voice was as prim and polite as his pressed shirt and skinny black tie.

I gave him a nod then entered the paint-splattered, clutter-filled art room.

Of all the classes today, this is the one I wanted to come to. Glenda is nice to talk to.

I sat down on the wobbly, metal stool as a bunch of other kids filled the room. I watched the door seeing everyone but Glenda file into the room.

If she’s not here, I’ll ask to go to the bathroom and disappear.

Finally, she walked through the door. Thank God. Now I can stand the next 50 minutes.

“Hey,” she said, walking to our table. “How are you feeling? Better?”

I felt my face turn red. Why did she had to see that? Why God? Now she knows how messed up I am.

I looked at the table and said, “I’m all right now.”

“Good,” she said before she sat down and laid her bag on the table.

That’s all she said. Then she started digging through her bag just like she always did.

The bell rang, officially starting the class.

Mr. Stevens walked from the door to the front and said, “All right, people, get to work on your house drawings. Remember, they are due by the end of the day. If you need some help or need some extra time, I’ll be here until 4:00 this afternoon.”

He settled in to sit by his beloved A Table artists.

“Crap,” I said. I swore to myself and walked to the front of the room for a new piece of paper.

I’m turning in whatever I get done today and calling it finished. That will have to be good enough for Mr. Prissy.

I grabbed a sheet of paper from the supply shelf. Snickers rose from the B table when I walked by but I hunched my shoulders and kept walking.

A dream house is any house far, far away from any of these assholes.

I flopped back on the stool. It wobbled like crazy for a minute then settled down.

They’re probably laughing about their dresses for the dance or how they’re going to Burger King for their big date tonight.

More laughs floated over from the D and F Tables. These laughs were about me and not the dance. I knew that none of those greaseballs were going to the dance.

“So you’re feeling better? ” Glenda asked.

I swallowed hard and nodded, keeping my eyes on my paper. Why God, did she have to see it happen?

At the A Table, Mr. Stephens went on and on about shading and scale then began to suggest how to fine-tune their houses. Other tables hummed with conversation. With a sigh, I dug through my bag for the art pencils Mom bought for me. Finally, my fingers found the hard plastic case as laughter drifted from behind me. My face caught fire the way it does when I get mad as they laughed. I stared at the blank paper in front of me.

“Don’t listen to them,” Glenda said, softly.“ They’re just being stupid.”

I ground my teeth as they laughed.

“How does my house look?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

I looked at her house. It looked like the Brady Bunch house.

“It looks kind of like the Brady Bunch house,” I said.

Her forehead crinkled as she looked down at the paper, her glasses sliding down her nose.

“You’re right,” she smiled. “I didn’t notice that before. Huh.”

She smiled at me and I managed a nod, before sending my eyes back to my blank paper.

I felt my face cooling off as the room was quiet and busy since the projects were due that very day. No more random laughs filled the air.

I grabbed my pencil and drew a semi-straight line across the paper. Every house needs the ground, I reasoned. Where would a house be without the ground?

From behind, laughter started again. The kids that Mr. Stevens hated were all all greasy, pimply-faced boys with dirty, stringy hair and black rock band shirts bought at the fair that summer. KISS and Iron Maiden were the two most popular choices for this crowd.

We all know they’re not talking about the dance or the game. I turned around and glared at them just as one of them rolled his eyes back in his head and twitched like he was being electrocuted. My face went hot partly from being mad and partly from being embarrassed. I turned back to my table and stared at my drawing.

Their loud laughs rolled to the front of the room and Mr. Stevens stood up. He gave us all a dirty look and walked towards the kids he hated in the back of his room.

I looked down, my face on fire and moved my pencil blindly across the paper.

“Stop being an asshole. Just stop it, Robert,” Glenda said.

I clinched my teeth and listened to the blood pounding in my ears.

“The cow can talk. I didn’t know cows could talk, did you?” Robert snapped. His greasy friends howled at his one joke.

As Mr. Stevens got closer, the greasy boys turned back to their drawings.

Glenda looked really angry.

“What a bunch of assholes...” she said.

“Is there a problem back here?” Mr. Stevens asked, mad at having to leave his A students to deal with with this crap. He stopped to us and drummed his fingers on the scarred wooden table. “What is the problem?”

Nobody said a thing or looked up. I stared at my paper, my face on fire and my fists clinched. What good would it do to tell him? It’s not like he’d doing anything about it. I started to bite and chew at the smooth inside of my mouth.

Our teacher, glared at the greasy, dirty faces and prodded, “Gentlemen? Is there a problem? Or something you’d like to share with the rest of us?”

No one looked up. Robert finally spoke, “Nope, nothing’s wrong back here, Mr. Stevens.”

“Mr. Henderson? Is something wrong?” he looked at me and glared.

I shook my head. I was too pissed to say anything.

“Miss Stone? Is there a problem?” he tried again.

“It’s fine,” she lied with a shake of her head.

Mr. Stevens frowned and looked up at the clock.

“Go ahead and start cleaning up,” he called as he walked away. “Remember, I’ll be here until 4:00 today if any of you want to come and finish your drawings.”

I leaned over and shoved my pencils into my bag. My paper looked like a chicken took a pencil in its’ beak and scribbled.

“Shit,” I said. I wadded up my last attempt to draw a dream house.

“They’re assholes,” Glenda said. “Don’t waste your time listening to anything they say, Mark. They’re not worth it.”

I looked up at her dark chocolate eyes behind her glasses. She had the prettiest eyes I had ever seen.

I smiled at her and nodded.

They were mean to her too. They’re mean to everybody.

I grabbed my wadded up paper and stood up.

If I walk this to the trash can, that will put me at the door when the bell rings. Then I can hustle to the library and spend my half hour away from everybody, in peace and quiet. Maybe I’ll find a place to hide so I can ditch all afternoon.

Grabbing my book bag, I slung it over my shoulder and snuck towards the door. My timing was perfect. Just as I reached the trash can, the bell sounded and I bolted into the hallway to get to the library.

I pushed through through the crowds of students and reached the double doors to my sanctuary. As I neared, I saw a flapping sign taped to the door.

What the hell was this?

As I closed in, I read the words “Closed for Teacher Meeting”.

“Fuck,” I swore, stopping in my tracks.

What now, genius?

Chapter Nine

Now where will I go? I stood there, unable to move and tried to figure out my next stop as my stomach growled. I decided that if the library was closed, some lunch would be all right..

I could sit away from both the assholes and Joe and eat while I figured out how to ditch the rest of the day’s classes. Maybe a spot outside will be open, some cool air sounds good. At least outside is away from Joe.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and turned towards the cafeteria. I got in the long line while the ladies in white uniforms and hair nets dished out spaghetti or pizza. I grabbed a plate with a pepperoni pizza and corn on it, then a carton of chocolate milk. I chewed at the inside of my mouth while I waited to pay. Finally, I was at the cash register. I shoved the lunch lady some money and stepped into the noisy lunch room.

Crap. There was not a single empty table. There were tables of cheerleaders and jocks. Tables with the Star Wars nerds, the dopers and the cowboys but there was not a single place for the biggest school freak to sit. As I searched, I saw Joe standing across the room with his arms crossed against his chest, chatting with the school security guard.

Inside looks bad. At least the courtyard is away from Joe.

I hustled out the doors and into the courtyard patio. The air hitting my face was crisp and the sky was so blue, it hurt to look at. I saw an empty concrete table and started towards it, my stomach growling.

As I walked to the table, I heard hyena-like laughing.

I looked over and Robert entertained his greasy friends with fake jerking and twitching.

Fucking asshole, I thought. My face began to get hot.

I put down my head and kept walking to the empty table. I would eat my pizza and plan how to ditch the rest of the day.

The greasy boys roared as Robert screeched and twitched.

Just don’t listen to them. It’s not worth getting in trouble. It’s just not worth it.

Suddenly, I realized something.

Mr. Stephens wasn’t here.

Joe wasn’t here, either.

The lunch room monitors were all inside the building.

This was an adult-free zone. Stop it. It’s not worth getting in trouble over. It’s just not.

I shook my head and kept walking to my table. My face was on fire.

Shut up, asshole. Shut up. Shut up.

The assholes howled and roared with laughter.

Robert twitched and whined, “Look at me, I escaped from the retard school....”

I exploded.

I threw my plate to the concrete and it shattered into tiny pieces, kernels of corn going everywhere. I threw my carton of milk at Robert as hard as I could and it exploded all over his back like chocolate napalm. I ran at him as fast and as hard as I could and I tackled him just as he turned to around. We both slammed onto the unforgiving concrete.

My senses narrowed laser-like. I could not see or hear anything other than his pimply red face and squirming body. I was so mad I didn’t feel him hitting and scratching at me. I couldn’t hear the other kids. I just turned my arm into a piston slamming, slamming and slamming Robert’s face.

He was screaming at me but I could not hear him.

“Shut the fuck up!” I screamed at him. “Shut the fuck up!”

I grabbed Robert’s shoulders and slammed him into the concrete.

From somewhere behind me, I felt a fist slam into my back. I felt someone pulling me away from Robert. I twisted and twisted, throwing fists and elbows as somebody pulled me off and threw me face-first into the pavement.

My nose began to gush blood.

I fought back, still unaware of the pain and the crowd as I kicked and scrambled. For a moment, I regained my feet.

From somewhere, a white Nike tripped me and I went crashing to the hard concrete next to Robert. The crowd was gone as the adults came running.

Suddenly, my entire body hurt. I unclenched my fists and groaned as Mr. Raines knelt above me. God, my entire body hurt.

I gasped for air and I tried to sit up but I couldn’t. Everything hurt too bad for that.

“Get them to the office and have them fill out statements,” Ms. Honeycutt said. She was pissed. “We’ll sort this out after they’re cleaned up.”

“Hey!” Robert cried. “He fucking started it. He’s a psycho.”

“Shut up, Robert,” Mr. Raines said. “Put it in your statement.”

“He’s a fucking psycho,” Robert said again.

“Put it in a statement,” Ms. Honeycutt cut him off. I saw Robert walk away, holding his nose to try to stop the bleeding.

I tried to sit up, but the pain kept me on my back. I wiped my nose leaving a bloody trail across my face and hands. From the corner of my eye, I saw brown Hush Puppy loafers. Shit, those are Joe’s shoes.

Here we go. Finally, St. Joe’ll be pissed off at me. Let the yelling begin....

Instead, Joe knelt beside me as I managed to sit up.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he finally said. “Then you’ll have to fill out a statement saying what happened. I have one more class and then I’ll come and talk to you and Ms. Honeycutt. All right?”

The question hung in the air. I looked up at my stepfather and I was shocked at what I saw. His golden, brown eyes weren’t angry; they were sad.

Why aren’t you pissed off? I just got in a fight, why aren’t you mad as hell?

Joe frowned and said so no one else could hear his words, “I’m sorry, Mark. I’m sorry I made you come to school today.”

What? No yelling?

I got in a fight and you’re apologizing to me. You should be pissed. You should be yelling at me. You should be ready to smack me....but you’re not even mad. Why?

I blinked hard. I was just about to cry. I had to look away.

Joe’s hand reached down to me but I just shook my head and climbed to my feet. I started towards the door.

“Mark,” Joe called. “Wait a minute.”

I stopped.

Joe walked up to me and hugged me. He said quietly, “Fill out your statement truthfully. Whatever happened, you tell the truth.”

I was crying and I could not stop.

I pulled away from Joe and wiped my eyes then we walked to the office together.

Chapter Ten

I sat in the hallway outside the assistant principal’s office with an ice pack as I made myself sit right there and wait for Joe and Ms. Honeycutt. What I really wanted to do was get up and run away. Away from this fucking school, away from all the bullies, away from this stupid town and far, far away from my family.

The door to the office creaked open and Ms. Honeycutt motioned me to come in.

I shuffled into the closet-like room. As Ms. Honeycutt shut the door, I saw Joe sitting in a straight green chair. She pointed to the other chair for me then sat down behind her massive oak desk.

I sat and stared at the floor, bouncing my sore knee up and down on the gray and green tile floor. No one spoke for a long time.

“So...” she broke the silence. “Tell your Dad and I what happened at lunch.”

“Stepdad,” I corrected her.

“All right...stepdad,” she said.

“Robert made me mad,” I said, staring at the ugly green and gray squares. It was a completely lame answer.

“What exactly did he do? Or say? What happened to make you mad enough to attack him?” Joe asked.

“He just made me mad,” I shrugged.

I’m not repeating what he did or said. You can quit asking me.

“Well,” she began. “Robert said he was eating lunch and talking with his friends when you threw your milk at him and attacked him. He said you punched him until his friends pulled you off of him. Would you like to tell your side of the story? Mark?”

A quiet fog fell over the tiny room and I bit my mouth and bounced my knees. I kept my mouth shut.

“I can’t believe you just decided to get in a fight just for kicks. Tell us what really happened. Come on, Mark,” Joe begged.

I just looked at the floor. Maybe that’s exactly what happened. Maybe I just felt like getting the shit beat out of myself for old time’s sake.

Joe bent his head and craned his neck to meet my eyes.

I bit my mouth and said, “He just made me mad, Joe. That’s all.”

Joe let out a long sigh.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter anyway,” Ms. Honeycutt said. “The scope and sequence for fighting is pretty simple. It doesn’t matter who started it. It doesn’t matter who threw the first punch. It’s a seven day suspension for the first offense. So, that will start Monday.”

I kept my eyes on the green and gray squares and bit my mouth harder.

Seven day suspension. Seven days away from here doesn’t sound too bad, Ms. Honeycutt. In fact, it sounds pretty good. Kind of like a vacation.

“All right,” Joe said. “But this won’t be a vacation. I’ll bring your assignments home so you don’t get behind in your classes. We’ll go and get work for Monday from whoever we can catch after school.”

I nodded my aching head and stared at the floor.

That doesn’t sound too bad. Except that it means days stuck at home with Mom and the devil child.

“See you later, Pam,” Joe said.

We both got out of our chairs, then Joe pulled the door open and led the way out of the tiny office.

Chapter Eleven

“We’ll stay here until the bell rings,” Joe said as we walked into his empty classroom. I slid in, sat a desk at the back of the room, and put aching my head down.

I chewed my lip and balled up my fists so I wouldn’t cry. Every inch of my body hurt from the fight so I shut my eyes to deaden the pain.

Why am I going to cry? I get seven days away from this nightmare. I should be happy about that.

Joe sat at his wooden desk, straightening books, shuffling papers, and planning for Monday morning. I heard his rustling from where I sat.

My head hurts. That’s why I’m going to cry, That’s all. My head and my back and my neck and my ribs. They hurt bad.

I heard Joe push back the heavy chair and get to his feet. I opened my eyes and turned my head sideways to watch Joe walk to the chalkboard. He grabbed an eraser and cut a wide swath, erasing all of the information written on there.

Joe’s probably a pretty good teacher. Kids like him and he is always patient and kind, even to me. Even when I’ve just been kicked out of school for seven days.

Without turning around, Joe called over his shoulder, “When the halls have all cleared out, we’ll go see some of your teachers and get work for Monday. You’re going to do school at home for the next seven days.”

Shit.

Now he’s going to find out I ditched first and second block. I can’t get away with anything here with Joe at the same place.

School was better with Dad. If I went or didn’t go, he didn’t care. If I got A’s or F’s, he didn’t care. Dad didn’t give a shit about this stuff. Now all of the sudden school matters to Mom and Joe. It sucks. Sucks big time.

The room was silent as Joe prepared for Monday morning and I prepared to be found out.

Maybe Mr. Hoover and Mrs. Riley will already be gone for the day. I’m sure they have crazy social lives. Maybe I’ll get away with ditching. I’m sure Mr. Hoover and Mrs. Riley will have forgotten all about me being gone by Monday morning.

“I’ll bet you’re pretty sore,” Joe called over his shoulder, as he wrote on the chalkboard. “I’ll get you some Tylenol and a Dr. Pepper when we go to get your assignments.”

I cringed. Why the hell are you so nice to me, Joe? I just got kicked out of school and you’re buying me a Dr. Pepper. Why can’t you just yell at me? Call me names? Smack me around? That would be easier to deal with.

“All right,” I said without lifting my head. Guilt began to gnaw at me.

Maybe, I should just tell him that I ditched class today. Just get it over with.

No. If living with Dad taught me anything it’s never own up to things until your caught. Most things go unnoticed.

I’ll bet all of the teachers are already gone anyway.

The bell sounded and chaos erupted as one thousand teenagers flooded the hallways, rushing off to prepare for the Homecoming game and dance. While Joe turned his attention back to his desk, I kept my throbbing head down.

Some Tylenol and a Dr. Pepper sound pretty good right about now.

A hand fell on my sore back, patting it gently.

“Let’s go see some teachers and get a Dr. Pepper so you can take a couple of Tylenol,” Joe said.

I got stiffly to my feet and followed him into the mostly-empty hallway. Mr. Hoover’s classroom was right around the corner, where the ditching would be discovered.

If we go to get a drink first, maybe we’ll miss him, I thought.

“Can we get that Dr. Pepper first? I really need some Tylenol,” I said in my saddest voice. So we can miss Mr. Hoover and Mrs. Riley.

“Sure,” Joe said. “This way.”

I followed Joe, my body screaming in pain, to the teachers’ lounge.

“Wait here,” Joe said. ”I’ll be right back with your drink and your Tylenol. Just hang on a minute.”

My stepfather opened the door, releasing a rolling, stifling cloud of cigarette smoke into the hall. I coughed and coughed until it passed over me and faded into the hallway. I leaned against the wall, my head pounding and my stomach woozy.

I realized I never ate any lunch today. Maybe there’s some food in there, too. A vending machine? A stale cracker or two? Anything at all?

I heard Joe talking to someone I didn’t recognize from where I stood.

Gee, whatever are they talking about? I rolled my eyes.

My head throbbed harder thanks to the cigarette smoke cloud. I rubbed my aching head and was surprised to feel a bunch of scrapes on my forehead. Then my fingers went to my cheeks, then my sore mouth to find my lip split and swollen.

What does Robert look like? Worse than me I hope.

The door opened. As I coughed against the smoke cloud, Joe and Mrs. Riley stepped into the hall.

Shit. So much for getting away with it.

“Here you go,” Joe said, handing me a cold Dr. Pepper and two white tablets. I popped the can open and took a sip of it as it fizzed and foamed all the way down my throat.

Mrs. Riley said, “I’ll go get a book and the work. Stop by my room before you go.”

“We will,”Joe said as she left. “Mark...”

She walked away as I swallowed the Tylenol.

Here we go, he’s going to be mad about this.

“Mrs. Riley was very worried about you since you weren’t in her class today,” he said. “What happened? Where were you this morning?”

I looked down at the green and gray tiles, and pulled out the lie that worked with the librarians.

“I fell asleep in the library before school,” I said. “ I’m sorry, Joe. I didn’t get enough sleep last night, I guess.”

I looked up to meet his gaze. Once again, there was no anger in his eyes, just sadness.

“Sorry, I didn’t have the chance to tell you before,” I added.

“How long did you sleep?” he asked with a furrowed brow and puzzled eyes.

“When..when the young librarian woke me up...what’s her name?”

“Miss White,” Joe said.

“When Miss White woke me up 2nd period was almost over, so I missed 1st and 2nd period. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Joe,” I kept lying.

We began to walk towards the Social Studies wing.

“It’s all right,” Joe said.

Are you for real? What does it take to make you mad? You never yell at me, cuss at me, or even give me a dirty look. You just look sad and tell me you’re sorry all the time. It’s not like you ever did anything wrong, Joe.

This was just weird. As I walked behind him, my legs ached and my back twisted from hitting the concrete.

Joe stopped and waited for me to catch up. When I did, Joe looked straight at me and said, “I’m sorry I made you come to school today.“

“It’s all right,” I said, turning away.

It was so much easier to lie to Dad. I did it all the time and never once felt bad about it. Now, with Mr. Nice Guy, I feel awful lying to him. If he could just stop being nice to me all of the damn time, I would feel a whole lot better about lying.

“We’ll get your assignments before we head home,” Joe said. “Let’s go and see who else we can catch.”

I nodded and we started down the empty hallway. Suddenly, Joe stopped and looked at me.

“Mark...I probably shouldn’t say this but....but I’m going to anyway,” he took in a deep breath before starting again, “That boy you fought with today...Robert... I had him in class last year. He’s a rotten kid. What did he say to you?”

I looked at the floor again. Before I could stop it, my eyes pooled up.

“He..was making fun...of what happened at the a-assembly...” I said, clenching my fists and my face going hot again.

“That’s what I thought. Dammit anyway,” Joe said.

I felt my mouth fall open seeing and hearing Joe pissed. He shook his head hard then we started walking again.

He stopped and looked at me. I looked up at him with wet eyes.

“I just have to ask you a question Mark,” he said.

I nodded my aching head slowly, wondering what he was going to ask me.

“Was it worth seven days suspension to get to clobber a bully?” he asked.

I was shocked at the question. I was dumb for a minute while I thought about it.

My face was swollen and scraped from the concrete. My lip was giant and throbbing and my nose was crusted and covered in dried blood. Every part of my body hurt and I had just gotten in the worst trouble of my life. All to clobber Robert for being an asshole.

Was it worth it? Well was it?

“Yes, it was,” I answered without hesitation. “He had it coming.”

Joe nodded at me and looked like he was trying not to smile.

I managed to nod again as we started to Mrs. Riley’s classroom. Joe stopped again. What now?

“We can’t tell your Mom that you’re not sorry for clobbering Robert. We’ll keep that one to ourselves,” Joe said. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” I answered.

We started down the empty hallway again.

“You look awful,” Joe said, without stopping. “Your Mom is going to flip when she sees you.”

“Probably,” I answered as we walked through Mrs. Riley’s door and into her room.

Chapter Twelve

My suspension fell into an easy routine.

“Time to get up, Mark,” Mom called every morning as she turned on the blazing overhead light.

I would always bury my head into the pillow or throw the bedspread over myself as I fought against morning. Behind the wall of my room, Joe’s shower roared. Almost every morning, something of Joe’s would crash onto the porcelain tub and finish the job of waking me up. After a few minutes, the shower shut off behind my head and I knew my time in bed was over.

Then, the bathroom door would pop open and a rolling fog of steam fill the hallway.

“Come on and get up,” Joe called from the fog.

With that, the day began.

After I pulled on my kind of clean jeans, I walked to the bathroom to take care of business then venture to the kitchen for two or three bowls of cereal.

From 8:00 until 3:00, it was school. No TV, no radio or phone, just homework. I spread my assignments out on the dining room table and without having to deal with assholes like Robert, I made short work of my assignments. I plowed through geometry, earth science, English, history and art. Mom gave me a 30 minute lunch break--just like at school except that the food was a lot better at home.

I always finished early, and got to spend the rest of the day reading from Mom and Joe’s bookshelf.

While I did all of this, Mom stayed busy. She washed dirty clothes, and dried clean ones. She unloaded clean dishes, put up them up then loaded the dirty ones. She ran interference and kept David entertained and away from me and my homework.

All in all, being suspended was better than going to Park Hill everyday.

Except that I missed Glenda. She was the only good thing at school and I missed talking and laughing with her while we produced our C quality artwork. Each day, I wondered if I should call her at her house and say hello.

I would think about this for approximately one half a second before I came to my senses.

Why would she want to talk to me? She just talks to me in art because she’s being nice; she wouldn’t want the school freak to call her at home. Nobody wants that.

After 3:00, my school day was officially over. I went straight to my room, shut my door and read whatever book was handy with the radio on. The only time I came out was to eat, bathe or use the bathroom. The week went by quickly and peacefully.

Friday night rolled around and I was laying on my bed, 310 pages into The Stand. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers played on the radio as a plague swept across the United States, killing everyone in its’ path. My eyes burned and my head ached after hours of reading so I closed my book and put it down on my bed. I looked over at my alarm clock. It was after 11:00.

I stretched like a cat, then rubbed throbbing forehead. My thoughts drifted to the kitchen and the bottle of Tylenol hidden up high away from David in the top cabinet.

Some Tylenol and a cold glass of water sounded good. And if I was lucky, there would be a cookie or two left over in the kitchen. The house was still as I got up from my bed and walked like Frankenstein for a minute as I stepped into the hall.

I slipped past David’s room to see him sprawled sideways on his bed. His chest rose and fell evenly in the soft glow of the Ernie and Bert night light.

He looked like an angel but was an enormous pain in the ass. Whenever I tried to work on homework or listen to the radio or read a book, David showed up. He popped up like a jack-in-the-box and got in the way.

I never knew how great being an only child really was.

I took a deep breath and started to the kitchen. Some headache relief was just on the other side of Mom and Joe’s dark room. As I slid closer I heard their voices drifting into the hall.

“He has so many nightmares,” Mom said. “Almost every night and even sometimes when he takes a nap.”

They’re talking about me. Great.

I stopped then knelt against the wall. Pressing deep into the shadows I strained to hear what they were saying.

“I know he does,” Joe said. “I think that’s pretty normal. I know when I got home after my tour of duty, I had nightmares almost every night. It was awful.”

I was shocked. Joe was in Vietnam? Joe did a tour of duty? Maybe Joe’s not as wimpy as he looks. Did he kill anyone over there?

“God, I’m sure it was,” Mom said. “How long did you have the nightmares? Weeks? Months?”

I grimaced in the dark. I knew the feeling. I was starting to hate sleep I had nightmares about Dad so often. I always woke up drenched in sweat, my heart feeling like it was about to burst. To avoid them these days, I would read with a flashlight to put off sleeping as long as possible.

“I had nightmares almost every night for months,” he said. “Then I started having one every now and then until I don’t have them anymore. Mark just needs some time.”

“God, Joe,” Mom said. “How did you...you survive? How did you get yourself back together?”

“Well, I drank a lot for awhile. Being drunk seemed to make it all a little more bearable,”

Joe said.

Joe? Drunk? I’d never seen him drink anything stronger than a Dr. Pepper without ice in these few months.

“But being hung over made me feel worse. So after awhile, I decided the best way to feel better was to do something with my GI Bill college money. So I quit drinking, enrolled in college and started studying. I would guess with Mark, some more time is what he needs to feel better. We just have to help him while he gets there, Barb.”

“But how can I help him when he just wants me to leave him alone,” she said. “ He barely speaks to me when I try to talk to him.”

“Just be patient with him, Barb,” Joe said.

Mom and Joe were quiet. I held my breath so I could hear what was going on in their room. I thought he heard....

Is she crying? Is she for real? If she cared about me so damn much, she wouldn’t have left me in the first place. Now would she?

“Hey....hey....,” Joe said, “Now don’t start crying on me, sweetheart.”

What a phony, turning on the tears like that. What a faker.

“He...hates me, Joe,” Mom cried. “ I can see it when he looks at me. My own son h-hates me and I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know how to fix it, Joe.”

I went flatter against the wall hearing her cry.

Do I hate my own Mom? Well, having to ask probably says something, doesn’t it? But why should I hate you, Mom? Just because you ran away from home and left me with a monster is no reason to hate you.

“He doesn’t hate you, Barb,” Joe said. “It’s....it’s just....”

Oh here we go, explain our relationship, Dr. Paxton. Please.

It was weird and uncomfortable listening to them but I couldn’t tear myself away.

A voice came in my head. I should get my Tylenol and run right back to my room. This is too weird eavesdropping like this. Just into the kitchen and...

“This has been a really hard transition for him,” he said softly. “I think about getting home from Vietnam and how hard it was to not act like I was still in a warzone. I couldn’t get out of my car without being ready to hit the ground just in case the ambush was about to start. I couldn’t stop myself from looking for the booby traps. It was really hard and I think what Mark’s going through is a lot like that.”

Joe a soldier in Vietnam? In a war zone. I felt a new respect for my stepdad growing in me. He was in a war, for God’s sake. He wasn’t as wimpy as he looked.

“ He almost died. Do you remember the doctors telling us not to get our hopes up? How they said he probably wouldn’t make it?” Joe said.

The doctors thought I wouldn’t make it? I never knew that. My head throbbed at the thought. Maybe....

Mom cried, “I know, Joe. Don’t you think I remember all of that?”

My legs gave way and I landed on the floor. I tried not to cry as awful thoughts took over in my head.

Maybe it would have been better if I had died that night. I wouldn’t have seizures. Joe wouldn’t be working himself to death to pay my hospital bills.

Stop it. Stop thinking like that.

I strained to hear as Joe went on, “I’ve been around kids for a long time and Mark is a ... a.....very damaged boy. Whatever hell he went through isn’t over for him. It’ll take years for him to recover, Barb.”

“I know what he’s been through,” she interrupted. “That’s why he hates me. Because I know what that man was capable of.”

“I just thank God, he’s alive and with us now,” Joe said. “He’s here and he needs us. It’s just...just sometimes....”

Here we go, I thought. Here’s where he tells Mom that he really hates me. Where he tells her he only pretends to like me because of her. Here’s where he tells her I’m really just a pain in his ass. Here we go.

“Sometimes, Barb,” he said. “It’s like...like he’s testing me. After he beat up that boy last week, he just looked at me like he was just waiting for me to get mad at him, to yell at him or even hit him. His eyes were ready, waiting for me to go off on him.”

I couldn’t breathe his words were so shocking. I started to cry in the dark hall.

Of course I was waiting for that. What else would you do to me, Joe? Why don’t you get mad at me? Why?

“I’m not going to get angry at him,” Joe said. “We have to show Mark we love him.”

I couldn’t stop crying. My head throbbed, my body shook and my mind spun in confusion.

How can you love me? How? There’s nothing to love. My own dad didn’t love me, why should you, Joe? There’s nothing to love, Mom. I’m a worthless freak. At any moment....I can...can...can...

“I do love him, Joe,” she said. “I just don’t know what to do. How can I help him when he doesn’t want to have anything to do with me?”

“Just talk to him. Listen to him, ” Joe said. “Talk about what he’s reading. What songs he likes. How his hair looks, anything at all. Take him with you to the store tomorrow.”

“The last time I did that, he just about collapsed by the time we were finished. He was just too weak,” Mom said.

She was right. The last time I went to the store with her, I had to sit and wait for her about halfway through. I was too weak for all that walking but that was back in June.

“That was a few months ago,” he said. “Mark is a lot stronger now.”

That was true. I could go to school all day and not be ready to pass out afterwards.

They fell silent. I couldn’t move, I didn’t know what to think.

I tried to stop crying. Then I climbed to my feet but stopped again when Joe spoke.

“Just spend time with him and never stop loving him. That’s what we have to do to help him.”

I spun about dizzily, my head still throbbing, and stumbled back to my bedroom. I never got my Tylenol. I just lay, face-down on my rumpled bed quivering until sleep took me and held me for the rest of the night.

Chapter Thirteen

The next morning, I went with Mom to Consumers for groceries. She tried to keep the conversation going with a bunch of questions about The Stand as she drove the Chevy. When we got there, I was put in charge of the cart.

I pushed it as Mom lead the way through the maze of aisles, our cart growing heavier and heavier as we went. She grabbed boxes and cans and containers and piled them on top of each other in the basket. When we stopped in the pasta aisle, I rested my arms on the cart handle, leaning against it while Mom dug through a wad of coupons.

“Here we go,” she said to no one. She studied the rows of pasta in front of her, then grabbed a box of lasagna noodles. She muttered under her breath as I stood there.

Her lasagna was amazing. I looked down at myself. Mom was doing a pretty good job of fattening me up. My jeans weren’t falling of me and when I was naked, I couldn’t count every one of my ribs anymore. She was a good cook and her lasagna was just about the best thing she cooked for us. Well, except for the chocolate chip cookies.

Maybe we could get stuff to make cookies. What does it take to make those? Eggs? Flour?

Mom stuck the coupon on the shelf and grabbed the store brand box.

“It’s cheaper to buy the store brand, even after the coupon,” she said to no one. Mom stuck a blue and white box on top of the grocery mountain.

“Our cart’s full, Mom,” I said as she started to walk away. “That’s got to be the sign that we’re finished.....”

I looked up from the mountain of groceries, thinking about cookies, when I saw a woman leaning on a cart with a boy walking beside her. As they got closer to us, I quit talking and squinted to see them better.

It looked like Robert and some lady. I squinted harder. That’s exactly who it was. I felt my stomach drop as they got closer and closer to me and Mom.

“We’re almost done,” Mom said. She was reading her list and not looking at me.

I stood frozen. The last time I saw Robert I beat the crap out of him and he beat the crap out of me.

Mom looked up at me and her face went white and frozen.

“What is it, Mark?” she asked. I could hear that she was scared. “Are you all right?”

I just couldn’t make myself answer. I began to chew at my mouth and grabbed the handle of the cart as hard as I could. All of the sudden, Mom began to shake.

“Mark? What’s wrong? Are you feeling one starting? Do you feel one coming on?”

I shook my head and said, “No...it’s not that.”

I’m not about to have a seizure here in the pasta aisle. It’s worse than that.

Mom looked down the aisle and saw what I did.

There was Robert filthy dirty in a black Iron Maiden shirt. Next to him was a dirty, greasy haired woman in a red house dress. His greasy mom, I guess. She gave me and Mom a dirty look through filthy cat-eye glasses. She blew a cloud of smoke from her mouth and nose.

“That him?” she asked.

Mom looked at me, confused. She opened her mouth to say something but Robert began to talk.

“That’s him. That’s the freak,” Robert said.

My knuckles went white, I held the handle so hard. I looked down at the ground, and chewed a new spot in my mouth.

My face went red hot. Maybe I am a freak but you’re an asshole.

I saw Mom walking towards the dirty woman and Robert but I stayed with the cart, trying to get rid of the word freak that was echoing in my head. I stared as Robert’s greasy mom, glared and took a step towards us. A mom fight was about to break out right here in the pasta aisle.

How would I explain to Joe that Mom got into a fight at the store? What happens when moms get into a fight?

“Is something wrong?” Mom asked.

“Yes,” greasy mom said. I could see from where I was that she had maybe three teeth in her mouth.

“Your boy beat up my son at school,” she sounded like Snaggletooth from the cartoons with her three teeth. “Then my boy got kicked out for ten days for defending himself. I don’t appreciate that. I think he needs to apologize to Bobby. I think you both ought to apologize.”

Mom looked back at me and I looked back at the floor.

“Well, my son’s out for several days as well,” Mom said. It sounded like she was talking to a growling dog. She stopped and thought before speaking once more. “I’m sure that the school has taken care of it. My son won’t bother your son again.”

“He better not,” the greasy mom said. “Bobby here can take care of himself. He won’t start nothing, but he will by God finish anything that comes his way. Your boy needs to understand that.”

I looked up to see Mom walking back to the cart. I kept squeezing the handle and chewing my mouth until I tasted blood. I sent my hot face back down.

“I hear there are special schools for retards like him,” the greasy mom said. “Where they have rubber floors and walls for when they have their fits. The walls can be hosed off. They can have all the fits that they want to have. Regular kids don’t have to be with them then.”

Robert snorted greasy laughter from behind his greasy mom.

I looked up at them, trying to keep myself from tackling him and beating him up again.

This freak can kick your ass, Robert. I was just so mad I couldn’t move.

The greasy pair turned to leave the aisle.

Mom stopped. I looked up and saw her face blazing red, shaking with anger. She turned around to look at the greasy mom.

“Really?” she said. “I heard that those schools were for greasy, toothless, in-bred white trash bullies. You really ought to look into it for your son. Regular kids, like mine, shouldn’t have to deal with the likes of him.”

My mouth fell open.

Did she really say that? My Mom?

She grabbed the handle from me and pushed the cart out of the aisle. I hustled to keep up with her.

We didn’t stop until we were in line and our groceries bagged and stacked in the basket. Mom thrust her fist-full of coupons to the beehive-haired lady at the register, then wrote her blue check with a trembling hand.

I stood on point, looking for the next round with Robert and his greasy mom. As the check-out lady tore off our foot-long receipt, I kept chanting, gotta go, gotta go, gotta go,go go go go before we see Robert and his Mom again. Go go go go...

Finally, we were finished and I shoved the cart hard out the door. We ran to the blue Chevy.

We unloaded the cart, stacked the groceries in trunk and were out of the parking lot in record time.

I smiled at my Mom, the first true smile I had given her since I moved in with her.

“Way to go, Mom,” I grinned broadly at her.

“God...I have never done anything like that before, Mark. Never,” she said. I saw that her hands were still shaking as she drove.

I smiled again. Mom sure told them. That was cool.

Chapter Fourteen

That night, after everyone else was in bed, I got up and stepped out into the hallway. It was time for my nightly eavesdropping session. I tiptoed, in the faint glow of the Bert and Ernie nightlight, rehearsing my lie for if I got caught.

“I had to pee,” I would say.

It was a completely believable lie since there was only one bathroom. When I lived with Dad, I had my own bathroom. Now I had to share with everybody in the house. Sometimes, it was disgusting. I mean, dear God, what do adults eat that could smell so bad coming out?

Once I reached my post I slid down the wall and sat on my heels.

When Mom and Joe were in bed away from everything, they were free to talk and I was free to spy.

“I swear it, Joe. I swear it,” Mom said. “I don’t know what possessed me to be so hateful. I should have just walked away from that awful woman and her nasty kid.”

Of course, they were talking about the mom fight at the store.

“I know what possessed you,” Joe said. “They called your son a freak. Any mother worth the title would have done the very same thing you did.”

“But what if you get in trouble at school?” she asked. “Because of my big mouth? We have to have your job, Joe.”

Crap. I didn’t think Joe might get in trouble for what we said, what we did. Crap.

Joe worked his ass off to support all of us and pay my bills. Since Dad snorted up all of his money, Joe got stuck with the entire bill for over three months in the hospital.

Crap.

That’s why he works lunch duty and runs the concession stand every time a game happens. We all depend on his job.

“Don’t worry about it,” Joe said, “I doubt that Robert or his Mom are that smart. With our different last names, most people don’t ever put the two of us together. And he likes it that way.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Mom said. “He doesn’t really mean anything by it.”

She’s right about that. It’s not that I don’t like you, Joe, I just don’t want the whole school to know you’re my stepdad. I really prefer to be a giant nobody. High school is hard enough without being known as the teacher’s fucked up kid. Or even worse, fucked up stepkid.

“Oh, I’m not upset by that, Barb,” he said. “He’s a teenager. If Mark wants to fly under the radar, I have to respect that.”

Thank you, Joe, I thought. Thank you for understanding.

“I do talk to his teachers, though,” he said.

Fuck, I cursed silently. What was all that respecting my wishes crap?

“I let them know about his epilepsy and I tell them what to do if one were to happen in their class. I gave them all a copy of the handout Dr. Stewart gave us,”Joe said.

I felt my face get really hot.

Why did you do that? Why did every teacher in the school have to know that crap? Nobody needs to know that, Joe. No wonder they all stare at me when they see me in the hall. Thanks a lot.

“Liz Riley knew just what to do at the assembly because I talked to her at the start of school ,” he said.

They were quiet for a long time after that.

I wondered in the dark hall what was going on. Maybe they’re asleep? I decided after several minutes to go back to bed.

I got up but froze when Joe started talking again.

“Barb,” he said.

“Huh?” Mom said, sounding like she’d been asleep.

“Make sure Mark has a dime when you go to the store. You know, just in case you get in a mom fight and I need to come and post bail for you,” he said.

I laughed out loud before he could stop it.

Crap. Now, I’m going to get caught. I froze and held my breath, waiting for them to come out.

I had to pee. I’m going on back to bed, right now, I rehearsed again and again but they never came. After they both laughed, I heard them kiss and I snuck back to my bedroom.

Chapter Fifteen

Day six of my sentence. I sat at the dining room table with my open copy of The Lord of the Flies, a blank piece of paper and a pencil. My head hurt and I couldn’t think straight yet. After supper last night, I was helping Mom clean up one minute then next, I was having another fucking seizure.

I opened my eyes to see Joe kneeling over me. Somewhere, David was bawling like he was dying and Mom was keeping him out of the way.

So there I sat, my throbbing head in my hands. I chewed on my mouth and kept thinking the same thing over and over again to myself.

I wanted to live but I didn’t know what I would be dealing with. Would being dead be so bad, after all? At least I wouldn’t have epilepsy.

My head hurt so bad that I had the lights off and I felt like I was going to throw up. I chewed at my mouth, choking on some bitter questions.

And why? Why do I have epilepsy? An accident? Something I was born with? Something that no one could have prevented? No. Everyone thought it was an accident but I knew the truth. It was no accident that caused this.

Stop thinking like that. Just stop.

I put my wobbly head on the dining room table.

Time to write my Lord of the Flies essay. I stared at the crumpled instructions Mrs. Newman sent home.

Time to write.

I read the words typed at the top of the page:

William Golding shows the reader his view of the true nature of mankind in his book The Lord of the Flies. What is your view of the true nature of mankind? Are people basically kind and good or are they basically selfish and evil? Support your opinion with two examples from the book and one example from real life.

So what is the true nature of mankind? Good or bad?

The boys on the island started out all right but quickly went crazy. They picked on Simon and Piggy. They picked on Piggy because he was fat but they picked on Simon because he had seizures.

That sounds familiar. Kids at Park Hill would fit right in.

The kids on the island took bullying and turned it into murder. Piggy and Simon were both murdered and no one ever paid for what happened to them.

Just like Dad never paid for what he did to me. And to Mom. He never answered for what he did to us. Ever.

So what is the true nature of mankind?

My life sure would be different if people were good. I wouldn’t have seizures. I wouldn’t be scarred and burnt. Mom wouldn’t have run away and Dad would have stayed away from cocaine. That is, if people are basically good like some people say they are.

So I guess my life just proves that people are just basically bad, I concluded.

I grabbed my pencil and wrote my essay.

In the book The Lord of the Flies, William Golding tells his opinion of the nature of mankind. He thinks that people are evil and selfish. I think he is right. My essay will show that people are basically bad and evil.

The first reason is that the boys on the island are mean to Piggy. Piggy is the fat kid on the island and everyone makes fun of him. Even Ralph is mean to him, even though he is one of the nice kids on the island. Piggy is the smartest kid on the island but that doesn’t matter to the boys, they just want to be mean to him because he is fat and has asthma. At the end of the book, the kids kill Piggy. That is very evil.

The next reason is that the boys on the island are mean to Simon. They are mean to him because he has epilepsy. They call him names like “batty”. They never listen to him. When Simon figures out what the monster on the island really is, he goes to tell everyone the news. The other kids don’t listen to him. They beat him, bite him and stab him to death. That was very evil. I have epilepsy and some kids at this school are very mean to me because of it. Nobody tries to help me, just like nobody tried to help Simon.

The last thing that shows people are evil is...

My hand trembled, my head throbbed and my eyes pooled.

What is the true nature of mankind? What was the true nature of my dad and my mom? What is my true nature?

I made myself pick up my pencil and finish my essay.

The last thing that shows people are evil is my family. When I was eight, my Mom sent me to school and then ran away. She did not ever call me or even send me a letter. I always waited for her to at least call but she never did. I was just a little kid and little kids need their Mom. I never moved, so she knew where I was. She just left me. That was an evil thing to do.

My Dad was very evil to me. He used to hit me and burn me. He yelled at me all of the time and called me names. This was all when I was a little kid. I was too little to fight back. He did other things to me that were even worse than that. My Dad was like the Devil and I am glad he’s dead now.

The Lord of the Flies told Simon that he was a part of the boys. I think that the true nature of mankind is to be evil and selfish and mean. When I grow up, I am not ever going to get married or have kids so that I don’t hurt anybody. That is what I think about the nature of mankind.

My stomach churned as the light from the windows made my head throb. I put my pencil down then I folded my essay in half and stuck it in the book. I stacked up my things then managed to walk to my bedroom even though my legs felt like slinkys.

The blinds were closed tight and my curtains were drawn. It was dark and that felt good to my head. I plopped onto my rumpled bed and lay on my face. I drifted off to sleep and slept for the rest of the day.

Chapter Sixteen

My room was dark when I woke up. Not dark like the windows were covered but the after sunset dark.

What time is it?

I rolled over to see my clock. It said 6:43. I had slept all day. That was the only certain thing about my seizures so far. After I have one, I needed hours and hours of sleep to get back on my feet.

The smell of tomatoes, onions and garlic floated into my dark room.

Mom’s delicious spaghetti for supper. That’s what that smell is. My stomach started growling since she let me sleep through lunch.

I sat slowly up as my stomach kept gnawing itself.

Spaghetti sounds so good. Maybe even some garlic bread, too.

I got up and started walking to the kitchen. The hall was dark except for David’s room. He was crawling on the floor with a Hot Wheel in each hand. I just watched him for a minute-- his white-blonde hair looked like a halo on his head.

He looks like an angel but nothing is safe with him around. Books,cash,records, homework all of them disappear with David.

I stood and watched him for a long time. He was a very happy kid. Spoiled but happy. Was I ever that happy?

I walked away from David’s room, to the kitchen.

I tried to remember what life before Mom left was like but those years were hidden behind thick, black clouds.

How was it with Mom when I was little? How did she treat me?

As hard as I tried, I just couldn’t remember. It was like it all happened to another boy in another life.

I made it to the kitchen, my stomach growling.

Mom stood at the stove, in her jeans and a striped red t-shirt. Her shoulders swayed as she stirred the boiling water and noodles.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said. “How are you feeling? You looked like you needed some rest, so I just let you sleep.”

“Better, I guess,” I said, watching her. Mom didn’t look at me, she kept stirring.

Did she cook like this before she left? In that big, red, empty kitchen? What did she cook?

Mom gave the water another stir, banged the wooden spoon against the side of the pot and sat it down on the spoon rest. She turned and looked worriedly at me.

“How’s your head? I’ll get you some Tylenol,” she said.

“No,” I said. “I feel better now.”

I walked in to stand by her. I looked at the thick tomato sauce and meatballs in the pot. My stomach growling again, louder.

“Is that your stomach?” she asked. “We’ll be eating in less than fifteen minutes. Go put up your schoolwork and set the table.”

I went to the dining room to find my stuff scattered around the table.

Great, David’s been here. I left it all stacked up and now it’s all over the damn place.

I groaned then started gathering my books and re-stacking them on the floor. My copy of The Lord of the Flies was on the floor with no essay sticking out of it.

Where’s my essay? I put it in the book, where is it?

Shit.

I looked under the table and on each chair.

Shit. Where is it?

I went back into the kitchen.

“Mom, have you seen my essay?” I asked. “It’s not where I left it.”

She looked at me from the stovetop and said, “ I haven’t seen it but I’ll help you look after dinner.”

I frowned.

Shit. I wrote about stuff I didn’t even want to think about again much less write about again. I grabbed four red place mats out of the linen drawer and slammed them onto the oak table. I looked around again but my essay was nowhere to be seen.

I’ll just take a zero. I’m not rewriting that essay. I’d rather get a bad English grade.

I went back to the kitchen cabinet and pulled out four white plates then four forks then put them on the place mats. After that, I got on my hands and knees looking for my essay again. It wasn’t in the dining room.

I scratched my head.

It has to be in David’s room somewhere. He must have run off with it.

“Scoot, sweetie,” Mom said. “Hot pot coming through.”

I slid away from the door and flattened against the wall so she could pass with the pasta pot.

“Would you go and grab the sauce and bring it in?” she asked, wiping her hands on her jeans. “I’m going to go and grab the garlic bread.”

I went back to the kitchen, grabbed a fuzzy yellow pot holder and carried the steaming sauce pot to the table.

Mom came back holding a basket of bread and said, “Go tell your brother to wash up and I’ll get everybody some tea.”

I sighed then made my way down the short hallway and leaned into David’s room.

“Hey. Dinner’s ready. Mom says to wash up then come and eat,” I said.

David threw down his cars and jumped to his feet.

“ Dinner! Yay! Dinner!” he yelled as he streaked down the hallway with his grubby hands unwashed. He disappeared into the dining room.

Pity if he gets a fatal dirty hand disease, I thought starting back to the dining room.

I heard Mom and David talking in quiet voices at the table and all of the sudden, I felt jealous.

She’s so sweet and loving with him. Was she like that with me? But even if she was, she ran away from me. If she had really loved me, she wouldn’t have done that.

I was frozen in the hall. I couldn’t make myself interrupt them. I tried and tried to remember what six had been like but I couldn’t. All I remembered was the sick feeling in my stomach that living with Dad brought me.

Did she hug me? Like she does with David? Surely, she did when she could get away with it. Maybe when Dad was gone?

“Mark,” she called at me, “Come eat, sweetie.”

I sat down at the table while Mom dished noodles onto my plate. I grabbed a piece of garlic bread and took a bite.

“Where’s Daddy?” David asked.

“He’s working a football game tonight,” Mom said.

Her voice was tired as she cut David’s long strands of spaghetti into short strands of spaghetti. “We’ll save Daddy a plate for when he gets home.”

“Ohhhh,” he groaned, “ But I want to see Daddy tonight.”

I flinched. Your Daddy works all of those games because of me and my hospital bills. “Well, your Daddy likes football, David,” Mom said. “Now quit groaning and eat your spaghetti.”

The room went quiet except for the sounds of forks scraping on plates and glasses raising and lowering. As I ate my plate of spaghetti, I racked my brain.

Where did David hide my essay?

Finding it would be my after-supper quest.

Chapter Seventeen

Something was wrong at the Paxton house at 10:30 that night. In Mom and Joe’s room, a lamp still glowed, a sure sign that something was wrong. I still snuck out of my room and stood in the hall, ready to run for the bathroom if I was caught. While I stood there I found out what happened my missing essay.

“Where did this come from?” Joe asked.

“I was making sure David was covered up and I saw this sticking out of his Curious George book. I knew Mark was looking for his essay,” Mom’s voice shook as she talked.

So, the devil child did steal my essay, I huffed. Brat.

“Sure enough it was his essay. I was going to take it to him but...”

That’s what a decent Mom would have done, bring me the essay and not read it, I fumed. You shouldn’t have....

Her voice broke, “But I saw he was writing about me, so I had to read it. I just had to...”

No, you didn’t, Mom. You didn’t have to read it...

When I heard her crying guilt over what I wrote smacked me I chewed on the inside of my mouth and defended myself to myself.

It’s all the truth. You left me, Mom. I was just a little kid and you left. I don’t have to feel bad about what I wrote because it’s all true. Every bit of it.

“Now, now, sweetheart. Don’t cry,” Joe said. “Let me see what he wrote. Please, please don’t cry, Barb.”

The truth hurts, doesn’t it Mom?

I chewed on, ready to run for the bathroom if I needed to. Mom started to talk as Joe read what I wrote.

“See? I told you that he hates me,” Mom said, still crying. “You didn’t believe me but there it is...in his essay. He hates me.”

I hurt her so bad that she’s crying in there. What does that say about me? What kind of monster am I?

“Now, Barb, Mark didn’t say he hated you. Now did he?” Joe asked.

“He didn’t have to,” she said back. “ He called me evil. That’s even worse.”

I stood frozen in the hallway.

I did call her evil and I called Dad evil, too. But is evil the right word?

For Dad, it was. Anybody who would beat the shit out of their own kid is evil as far as I was concerned. But what about my Mom, crying her eyes out in the other room? Was she evil? She never hit me. Maybe I was being too harsh to call her that.

“Barb,” Joe said. “The two of you have to talk about this tomorrow. You need to tell him the...the things that he needs to know. Most of all, Barb, you have to keep reassuring him that you love him. You do love him, don’t you?”

I held my breath and leaned towards their room,trying to hear her answer. I waited for her to say yes but all I heard was silence. My heart began to pound.

Did she nod instead of answering? Surely, she nodded?

“I know you do,” Joe said, “Tomorrow...”

I slid, shaking back to my room, my head spinning with the question.

Does she love me? Did she nod?

I lay down on my cold bed, pulled my blankets over myself and lay quivering in the dark until I went to sleep.

Chapter Eighteen

The overhead light ambushed me at 6:15. I was sound asleep one minute and blind the next. There was no sleeping in on suspension.

“Time to get up, Mark,” Joe called.

I opened my eyes, the painful brightness jolting my sleepy brain awake. I sat up and hung my head.

Why do they blind me every stinking morning?

Because it works. As I got more and more awake, I remembered Mom and Joe talking last night.

Shit.

My essay. Mom read my essay and was going to want to talk about it today.

Great. Just another thing to look forward to.

I flung myself back on the mattress and groaned. I knew she was upset about what I wrote. Well, the truth hurts, I thought. But then, so did losing your mom at the age of eight.

“Hey, bud,” Joe said, poking his wet head into my room, steam from the shower filling the hallway. “ The bathroom’s all yours”

I swung my feet onto the cold floor. I really did have to pee so I guessed that it was time to get up. I walked across the hall to the bathroom and onto the tan tile floor. The chill from the floor climbed up my legs,waking me up some more.

After my bladder was empty, I flushed the toilet then washed my hands. What do I do when she wants to talk?

I figured I had two options.

The first option was to try to make her feel better and play the whole thing down. I could tell her that I was just in a really bad mood when I wrote it.

That was true. I was in a really bad mood yesterday.

That’s what a good son would do. Spare her feelings.

Or I could stick with what I wrote. I could tell her that the truth hurts and what she did to me was evil. That answer would hurt her feelings. That’s what I wanted to do, hurt her.

I would say, “Payback hurts, don’t they, Mom? ”

Or, a third option, I could shrug and play dumb.

That’s probably what I’ll do. It’s more my style.

I turned off the water and dried my hands on the towel hanging by the sink before I left the bathroom to get dressed. I stepped into my bedroom.

Shivering, I reached down grabbed yesterday’s---well several yesterday’s--jeans from the floor and pulled them on. I grabbed my ash gray sweatshirt off of the floor and pulled it on over my sleeping t-shirt. I combed my tangled hair with my fingers and stepped over to my dresser. I pulled out two tube socks from the snake’s nest that was my sock drawer. I scooted against my bed and pulled a blue sock onto my right foot, then pulled a red sock onto my left.

Bed looks really good, I thought. I fell backwards on the soft mattress once more and shut my eyes.

Staying in here sounds better than going out there. Can I get away...

“Great, you’re dressed and ready for breakfast,” Joe said, stepping into my room. “You need to get your stuff ready for me to turn in today. Come on. Your Mom’s got breakfast ready for us.”

He disappeared, chasing the smell of coffee and toast that drifted down the hallway. I sat frozen, starting to feel guilty.

When she asks about my essay, I’ll clam up. She’s not going to be able to get me to talk about it. If Dad couldn’t beat things out of me, she won’t be able to guilt things out of me. That’s the plan. I won’t say anything at all. I’ll take the wimpy way out.

In a few steps, I was in the cluttered kitchen. A huge stack of toast and a pan full of oatmeal sat on the table. Joe sat there flipping through the newspaper while he shoveled spoonfuls of oatmeal into his mouth and chewed his way through three pieces of toast. He gulped two cups of black as tar coffee before he stood up and took his dirty dishes to the stainless steel sink. After he placed them in the sink, he slammed a third cup of coffee. I knew from our mornings together that there would be more coffee in the teacher’s workroom once he got to school.

I sat down in front of a bowl of oatmeal.

Mom sat at the other end of the table, her spoon roaming her bowl while I did the very same thing.

I just can’t wait for our chat to start, I thought. My stomach bucked and wasn’t the least bit ready for food yet.

“Hey, Mark,” Joe said. “ Go and get your papers for me to turn in today.”

I put my spoon down on the green tablecloth and walked into the dining room where my papers and books were stacked. I grabbed my stuff and went back to the kitchen just in time to see Joe giving my Mom a sloppy kiss on the lips.

Good God, I thought. Can’t you keep that in the bedroom?

I stuck my pile of papers in between them but Joe ignored it long enough to give Mom another squeeze.

“I am glad this is the last day of your sentence,” he said, tucking my papers under his arm “It’s about time you start carrying in your own stuff again.”

I sat back down and started doctoring my oatmeal with spoons of sugar and a slice of butter. Joe opened the refrigerator, grabbed his lunch,and shut the door.

“I’ve got a game tonight. I’ll be home after eight,” he called as he stepped out into the garage. “Love you both.”

“Love you, too. Have a good day at school,” Mom said.

I just sat with my mouth shut as Joe left us alone. I pushed my buttery and sugary oatmeal around my bowl without eating any of it. Mom slurped her coffee. My stomach flipped thinking about the talk we were about to have.

She’s going to bring up that stupid essay any minute now. I know it and when she does, I’m clamming up. She can’t get me to say anything at all.

She slurped her coffee,sighed a heavy sigh before putting her mug on the green table cloth.

“I found your essay, son,” she said without looking at me.

I gulped down the lump of oatmeal in my mouth. Just when I decided to take a bite, here we go.

“Where was it?” I asked, after I swallowed. “I looked everywhere.”

“Your little brother had it in his room. He colored a picture on it,” she said, not looking at me.

“Great,” I moaned, pushing the oatmeal around in the bowl, “I’ll have to recopy it then.”

“Mark,” she stammered, still not looking at me. “I...I read... what you wrote...”

“Why did you do that?” I cut her off. “ I didn’t write it for you. I wrote it for my English class. You shouldn’t have read it.”

So much for clamming up. Way to go.

“I... I couldn’t help but read it, Mark,” she said, finally looking at me, “What you wrote...did you...did you mean it? ”

I shrugged my shoulders and looked away from her pained eyes. Now is the clamming up part.

“You called me evil,” Mom said. “Do you really think that? You think I’m evil?”

Her question just hung there as I stared at the oatmeal.

Do I really think my Mom’s evil? Well, is she?

“Mark,” she prodded, “Do you?”

I just stared at my bowl for a long moment, before I looked up at her brown eyes.

She doesn’t look evil. Does she? She looks kind of nice, actually. Now, I had clammed up.

“You need to listen to me, Mark. You’re sixteen years old,” she said. “You’re old enough for me to tell you what happened. Joe doesn’t need to hear this and your little brother certainly doesn’t need to hear it. Just you and me.”

“What is there to explain, Mom?” I shot at her, before I could stop myself. “ You left me. End of story.”

Mom flinched like I hit her.

“I did leave, that’s true but...” she was saying.

“No, Mom,” I cut her off again. “There is no but. You ran away and didn’t care enough about me to take me with you.”

I stopped, feeling guilty again at her pale, pained face.

“Mark...” she said slowly. “I...I couldn’t take you with me. Your Dad didn’t give me a choice about it.”

“What do you mean? He didn’t give you the choice?” I asked puffing up with anger. “You could have chosen me, Mom but you didn’t. Did you?”

“Look, I have to talk and you have to quit interrupting me. Now you be quiet,” she said sharply.

That was a tone of voice I had never heard come out of her mouth. I closed my mouth and gave her a nod.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you some of this but I’m going to anyway. You need to know what happened.”

I sat there, holding my breath to hear everything she was going to tell me.

“When I met your father, I was 19 years old and the was 36. He was nice looking, had a new Cadillac and a pocket full of money. He left me a $20 tip the first time I cut his hair. This was when I was lucky to make that all day and he just handed it over to me with a smile. He was charming and he asked me out. I couldn’t believe somebody like him was interested in me.

“Well, we dated a few weeks before I found out I was pregnant. So we got married. Right after that... things changed. I moved into that huge house and he made me quit my job.”

I sat there, the story of my parents unfolding in her words. She was telling me things that no kid would ever know about themselves.

“Well, before I knew what had even happened to me, I was stuck in that big house with my baby boy, no job and no money. He even took my car keys. I had to ask him if I could have them back to take you to the doctor for check-ups and he only let me go to the store on Saturday when he could time me. He would only give me two hours to get everything done or I was in trouble. And then he was...was so angry at everything. First, it was yelling at me and then calling me names. Then he started shoving me around. Then, the next thing I knew he was hitting me. After he hit me the first time, that was it. He got to where he hit me, burned me, choked me, and...and even worse than that.”

I shivered at her last words. What had he done to her? He probably....

I shook my head to get rid of those thoughts. I didn’t want to know all that he’d done to my mom.

“What was I supposed to do, Mark?” she asked in a shaking voice. “He knew all of the judges. He knew all the lawyers, even the ones that worked for the Prosecuting Attorney and he knew all of the police officers. Your dad charmed them all. Who could I call for help?”

I sat there, shaking. She was right. Dad was charming and witty and handsome. Even when I came to school starving and without lunch money, he would charm his way out of suspicion. If charm didn’t work, he’d turn on the lawyer bullshit and they would back off. There was no one to help me either.

After a long pause, Mom could talk again, “He got to where he wouldn’t come home for days at a time and I was all right with that. I was glad to be left alone. Well....one morning, after you went to school, he came home after he had been gone all night. I was just sure he was going to beat me up but he didn’t. It was even scarier than that. He was dead calm. He told me all of the things I had done wrong and all of the ways that I had failed him. He talked just like it was the closing arguments in court and I was as guilty as I could be.

I felt the table start to shake as she went on, “I truly thought he was going to kill me that day. I really did and....and at that point in my life he had beat me down so far that I didn’t care about myself anymore. You were at school and he couldn’t hurt you so I didn’t....”

I held my breath. I thought he would kill me, too. I did.

She steeled her voice and went on. “But he didn’t kill me....”

I sat staring, unable to move as what she said sank into my cells.

“He...he told me he was divorcing me and even gotten some of his court friends to put together the papers. He made me sign them and it was over. He didn’t kill me....he...”

Her voice trailed off and she paused. I heard her sniffling herself back together before she went on. When Mom could speak again, her voice was barely a whisper. I was frozen as the weight of her words pressed down on me harder and harder.

“But he did something so much worse than that. He took away the only thing that I still cared about at that time of my life. You, Mark. You were the only thing I still cared about.”

She stopped talking and I chewed my mouth, fighting against tears of my own.

“He said he would rather have you dead than be raised by a mother as bad as me. He told me that he was going to keep you so....so he could make you a man. He said if I tried to come and get you...he would slit your throat and make me watch....watch you bleed to death. Then.....then..... he’d slit my throat, too....

“Mommy....” David’s sleepy voice came from the doorway. I turned to see him standing there looking like an angel. Mom turned towards him, wiping her eyes dry with the back of her hand.

“Hey baby,” she said. David stumbled over to her, barely awake.

I got up and stumbled out of the kitchen, down the hall and back onto my bed. I just lay there clenching and unclenching my fists at what she told me.

Chapter Nineteen

I sat by the row of windows in Mrs. Newman’s classroom, staring out at the gray November sky. With Thanksgiving break over a week away and Shakespeare dragging on and on, the outside world was calling my name for a short break.

A very short break. My part was coming up once more.

For some crazy reason, Mrs. Newman cast me as Brutus, Caesar’s best friend. The assassins were trying to talk him into helping kill Caesar. At first I wondered how in the hell I won the reading jackpot. Then I figured it out.

I was apparently one of the four students in the room who could actually read.

While I was suspended, Joe and Mrs. Clark switched my geometry and English classes and Robert was pulled out of the art class. Unfortunately, this switch left me in an English class full of kids who couldn’t read Shakespeare.

Mrs. Newman stood at her podium, head bent over the teacher’s edition of the textbook, looking sad as Shakespeare was butchered by Susan, a pimply-faced girl. She mumbled and stumbled as she read the main conspirator, Cassius.

“Thank you, Susan,” she said, once the girl was done. She looked over her glasses and lied, “Nice job.”

I took a breath and read my lines,

“What you would work me to, I have some aim

How I have thought of this, and of these times,

I shall recount hereafter. For this present,

I would not (so with love I might entreat you)

Be further moved. What you have said

I will consider; what you have to say

I will with patience hear, and find a time

Both meet to hear and answer such hight things.”

I let out a deep breath and swore to myself.

Dear Lord, why couldn’t this play be written in English?

“Great job, Marcus Brutus,” Mrs. Newman said. “What in the world did all of that mean, Romans?”

The room was as silent as a tomb at her question. Some of the kids kept sleeping. Others looked at anything but Mrs. Newman as she searched for any signs of life. I felt sorry for her so I raised my hand, “He’s saying that he’ll think about it and let him know what he thinks later.”

“Exactly, Marcus Brutus,” she smiled over her glasses. “The rest of you Romans should take note, here. This is the key to understanding Brutus’ character. He is very fair and always has to do the right thing and because of that, he’s not going to be pressured into anything. He’ll think it over. Keep on reading. Michael, you’re up.”

Mrs. Newman cringed as the Great Shakespeare Massacre continued.

Susan led the attack and picked her way through her lines. I read my lines and other kids read theirs. Mrs. Newman looked like she needed some aspirin as she glanced at the clock behind her. “We have time to finish this scene,” she concluded. “Take it away, Casca.”

Another boy took a deep breath and began to read a huge chunk of Shakespeare.

Since Brutus kept his mouth shut for awhile, I stared out the window at the iron gray sky and the black tree skeletons outside. As I looked, I spied Joe’s blue Volkswagen.

He spends a lot of time tinkering with that old thing. I think he loves it like it’s his oldest kid. He loves that car, he even talks to it when he drives....

The boy reading Casca asked a question about Caesar and asthma.

What did I miss? Caesar has asthma?

I came back to ancient Rome again.

“What is Casca saying about Caesar?” Mrs. Newman asked. “He tells us that Caesar fell down and almost choked, passed out in front of everyone. What is that he telling us about Caesar?”

My face caught fire.

What’s Caesar’s problem? Let me look it up in my Great Freaks in History book. I keep my copy handy.

I chewed the inside of my mouth.

“No,” she said. “Caesar didn’t have asthma. Caesar had epilepsy but it certainly didn’t stop him from being a military genius and leader of the Roman Empire. Today, epilepsy is treatable with medicine. Now where were we?”

I stared down at the green and tan tiles, my face on fire and my mouth bleeding.

Why is everybody staring at the school freak?

“It’s still pretty freaking weird,” a voice came from behind said. “Falling down and twitching like that. It’s weird.”

I felt myself getting mad. I knew who was talking. Karl, Robert’s best friend was taking it on himself to step in and mess with the freak for him.

“That’s enough,” Mrs. Newman said, trying to cut off the conversation.

“They burned freaks alive back then...”

“That’s enough!” Mrs, Newman said sternly.

I stared at the book. I was really getting pissed now.

Shut the fuck up, Karl or this freak will kick your ass...

“ Caesar had a medical condition. Just like you have acne, Karl. It didn’t stop him from being a great leader. We need to finish up this scene before the bell.”

I seethed as the reading continued.

Maybe they would have burned me alive back then for having epilepsy. There are worse things. They would have made someone as stupid as you a shit-shoveling, dirty ass slave. At least I can take medicine. There is no pill for being a fat, zit-covered motherfucker, Karl. I guess you’re just stuck being the way you are.

The bell rang and I waited, red-faced for everyone to leave before I headed for the door. Mrs. Newman met me said, “I am so sorry about what Karl was saying.”

She looked worried behind her glasses. Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything.

I shrugged my shoulders and looked up at her round face.

“It’s okay,” I said. “ At least I can take medicine. There’s not pill to fix being an idiot.”

“You’re right,” she replied. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay and say I’m sorry for what he said.”

“I’m fine,” I said walking away from her room.

Chapter Twenty

In art class, the A-Table worked on a beautiful still life--green bottles, rocks, fat purple plastic grapes, a bird’s nest and a scattering of shells. Mr. Stevens sat with them, coaching them.

A little darker shading here. A lighter gray here. Nice job on this part, he said. For the next 45 minutes, they’d get his attention, advice and praise.

If Mr. Stevens had cared to look at the back tables, he would have seen the word fuck freshly carved in the fat candle and that most of the plastic grapes had been stolen to be thrown later. On the other side of the candle, the outline of a penis was carved into its’ wax. I sat trying to make my pencil draw a straight line across my paper.

A table for the stuff to sit on. It’s a start.

It’s crooked, I thought, squinting at it. I put my pencil down and grabbed my tan, gummy eraser. As I made my line disappear, lots of gritty pieces landed on Glenda’s paper.

“Hey,” she said. “Watch out, buddy.”

Her words startled me. I looked up with a red face to see her smiling at me.

“Sorry,” I said, returning her smile.

She’s got dimples, I noticed as I looked at her rosy face.

I started to look back down at my paper but her drawing caught my eye.

“Hey, that’s pretty good,” I said.

The outline of several of the things on their table were on her paper. Slowly, she filled in the middle of the fake daisies then moved on to try her hand at the seashell.

“Thanks,” she said, looking down at her paper.

“Don’t get too good at this stuff,” I said. “Mr. Stevens will move you up there. Then who will I talk to?”

She flashed her dimples again, “Don’t worry about that. I suck at drawing.”

I looked at her outlined still life, then the pitiful scratches on my own paper.

“No,” I said. “I suck at drawing. I can’t even draw a straight line.”

She laughed, looking down at my paper. “Yeah, you kind of do suck at drawing.”

I smiled at her before attempting a straighter line.

While I did, the D and F Tables began buzzing. They were free to be jerks since Mr. Stevens only came back here if someone was bleeding.

Or dead.

I made myself ignore them and studied the redrawn line on my paper. It looks straight enough to work with, I decided.

I had stopped to decide what to draw next when I saw Karl behind her Glenda with a pair of scissors in one hand and a clump of Glenda’s hair in the other.

I felt my face and ears catch fire.

While she worked on her drawing, Karl had been cutting her hair.

His pimply, fat face glowed and the other boys howled with barely-controlled laughter. I was so mad, I couldn’t even talk for a long minute. Karl grinned a mossy grin.

and raised the scissors again.

I was on my feet and pushed back my stool even though I didn’t know exactly what I was going to do about it.

“Stop it,” I said.

Glenda looked up from the seashell she was shading, confused.

“What’s going on, Mark?” she asked.

Karl just glared at me, his scissors ready to cut again while I clenched my fists and my mouth.

“Karl cut your hair,” a girl from the B table said.

Her hand flew to her head. When she felt a chunk of hair missing, her face twisted with pain and her dark chocolate eyes fell to her paper.

“Don’t worry about it, Mark,” she said. “ It’s not worth getting in trouble over. Just go tell Mr. Stevens what happened.”

I looked back at her.

She’s right. It’s not worth getting into trouble about this, I told myself.

I stepped towards the front of the room where Mr. Stevens sat with his A students.

As I began to walk away, I felt my face start to cool off.

It’s not worth getting into a fight. It’s not worth it. It’s not worth it, I repeated to myself.

“Pussy,” Karl spat.

The anger started once more.

It’s not worth it, it’s not worth it, I chanted to myself as I walked past the B Table.

“Hey,” Karl said, loud enough for them all to hear, “What would you get if the cow and the freak had a kid?

The room went quiet, waiting for the punchline. I stopped and turned around.

“A milk shake!”

The back tables roared and he turned to celebrate with them.

I was so pissed, I couldn’t say a word.

Instead, I ran at Karl’s back and we both crashed through empty metal stools across the dirty concrete floor. I climbed up and started to punch Karl’s back, while he tried to buck me off. I kept hitting and hitting him, curse words flying out of my mouth.

I barely heard the screaming, shouting voices about us. Suddenly, somebody pulled me off of Karl and slammed me face-first onto the floor. Legs swung and kicked me while I squirmed and cussed and tried to get to my feet.

Slowly, pain and sound and blood dawned on me as Officer Bradley, Mr. Stevens and Mr. Raines pull me out the doorway and into the empty hall.

“Fucking psycho! He started it!” Karl yelled.

I lay there trying to breathe, unable to talk.

My face hurt from my bloody chin to the top of my head and I shook I was still so mad.

All of the sudden, I heard Glenda crying in the doorway of the room.

“It’s not Mark’s fault. Look what he did to me. He cut a huge hunk of my hair and then was calling us names. This isn’t Mark’s fault, Mr. Raines. It wasn’t,” she said.

Mr. Raines said, “Fill out a statement if you want to officially tell that. Go on to the office and tell Mrs. Wright you need to fill out a statement.”

Tears tumbled down her cheeks. “I will. This wasn’t Mark’s fault.”

She stepped back into the room as I just sat gasping ragged breaths, still seething mad. “Come on, Mark,” Mr. Raines barked.

Slowly, I got to my feet and we started to the office. As I walked, the pain of the fight took over. My back pulsed with pain and my knees threatened to give out.

“Even if what she says is true, there are better ways to deal with conflict, Mark,” Mr. Raines said. ”Talk to a teacher, or talk to me and we’ll take care of it. When you decide to get in a fight about something, then you’re in trouble, too. You should have just talked to Mr. Stevens.”

I shook my aching head, anger simmering inside me.

No one is going to harass Glenda. Nobody. And I am not a pussy.

I could breathe and speak once more, but it was painful.

“He was cutting Glenda’s hair and then he called her a cow,” I said as we reached the office.

“They know they can get you mad,” Mr. Raines said, pushing office door open. “Some people in this world like that. Come on inside and sit down.”

I plopped onto the stiff chair, then bent over to rest my aching head on my knees, making myself small. My body hurt all over.

I’ll be in trouble now. Joe and Mom were cool last time but two fights in six weeks will make them both mad. If I were them, I would be pissed about this.

The white-headed secretary stood up from behind the desk, handed me a clipboard and said, “Fill out the statement about what happened.”

I stood up and took the clipboard.

All of the sudden, I was crying. I kept my eyes down to hide the tears leaving a white trail on my face.

High school sucks. It’s a nightmare. A nice girl like Glenda can’t work on a drawing without being bullied or called names. Creeps like Robert and Karl are mean to other kids and none of the teachers step in to make them stop.

The story of my seizure’s grown to the point that I am an escaped murderer from a mental hospital and anyone who comes into contact with my vomit has to go to the hospital for a shot.

How l am I going to survive two and a half more years of this? I wondered staring at the blank form on the clipboard.

How in the hell is that going to happen?

Chapter Twenty-One

Joe sat next to me in Ms. Honeycutt’s office reading the statement I filled out. I stared at the wall, bouncing my legs. After a minute,he looked up and handed the clipboard back across the desk to Ms. Honeycutt.

She broke the quiet and said,“So this is your second fight this year. Why is that?”

I shrugged my shoulders, and gnawed at the inside of my mouth.

“No idea?” she asked, “I have a hard time believing that.”

I kept gnawing at the inside of my cheek until it was ragged and bloody, like raw hamburger.

If people would leave us alone....

“Come on,” Joe asked. “Tell us what happened. You filled out a statement this time, just tell us what you wrote.”

“Karl cut Glenda’s hair while we were working on our drawings,” I said not looking up. ”I heard him laughing, then saw him with the scissors and a big hunk of her cut hair in his hand. He was going to cut some more but I made him stop.”

“Was there another way to get Karl to stop?” Joe asked.

I shook my head, staring at the green and gray tiles.

“No other way?” Ms. Honeycutt prodded.

I shook my head again. No other way that would work.

“Look at me, Mark,” Joe said. “Could you and Glenda have gone up to tell Mr. Stevens what happened? Could you have walked away from the table and let your teacher handle it?”

“No,” I shot back. “Mr. Stevens doesn’t care. All he does is work with the front table. Robert used to call us names. Now Karl calls us names and does crap like this. Mr. Stevens doesn’t do anything about it.”

“Well, Mark,” Ms. Honeycutt said. “If you don’t tell your teacher that there’s a problem, how is he supposed to deal with it?”

A quiet settled over her office while I studied the floor.

“Mark,” Joe said. “You need to talk to your teachers when there’s a problem.”

Ms. Honeycutt studied my statement and asked, “Karl said this about you and and your friend?”

“Yes and he made Glenda cry,” I said. ”He cut off her hair and called her a cow. I couldn’t let him get away with that.”

She sat the statement down on her tidy desk.

”Well,” she sighed. “If you would have let Mr. Stevens deal with Karl, he would be the only one in trouble right now, Mark. When you decided to use your fists again that got you in trouble. You can’t start a fight for any reason. Period.”

“There’s always another way to deal with things besides fighting,” Joe said, quietly. “You know that.”

I looked at my stepfather’s weary face and felt guilt rising in my chest and throat. Anger would have been so much easier to deal with than this sad act. Suddenly, I had to look away.

Why can’t you just yell at me, Joe? Tell me how rotten I am? Smack me? Why can’t you just get pissed at me? Why? Why can’t you quit with this sad act?”

“Well, Joe.” Ms. Honeycutt spoke again. “You know scope and sequence for fights. It doesn’t matter what started the fight, or who did what. Once you get into a second fight, it’s a ten day suspension.”

“Karl started it,” I said. ”I was just standing up for Glenda, making him stop being a jerk.”

“Well,” Ms. Honeycutt said. “Mr. Raines is taking care of Karl. He’ll get to answer for cutting your friend’s hair and the fighting. Don’t worry about him.”

“Mark, you have to come up with another way to deal with things that upset you. You just can’t keep racking up suspensions,” Joe said, shaking his head.

“Karl started this. This wasn’t about me getting mad. No one was going to make him stop. So I had to,” I said.

“Karl did some bad things,” Ms. Honeycutt said. “You’re right about that, but there are better ways to deal with kids like him. Walk away. Tell a teacher or me what is going on. When you decide to use your fists, you get a suspension.”

Joe nodded as I chewed on the piece of hamburger that was the inside of my mouth. Ms. Honeycutt scribbled on the paperwork that sat on her desk.

“Let’s go. School’s almost over,” Joe said, touching my shoulder.

I almost ran from the office and down the hallway to Joe’s room. I got there first and stood clenching and unclenching my fists. Somebody has to stop Karl and Robert and all the creeps in this school. None of the teachers do anything about them. I had to do something.

A key came over my shoulder as Joe unlocked and pushed open the door. I went in, sat at a desk and put my aching head down. I closed my eyes. My body hurt all over.

Joe’s voice came into the aching darkness, “How do we tell your mother that you’ve been suspended again for fighting? How do we do that?”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Telling Mom was hard. She just looked at me, went to her room and cried while Joe tried to comfort her.

After a tense evening, the house was finally dark. I lay awake listening for the sounds of Mom and Joe brushing their teeth, going to the bathroom and Joe locking all of the doors. Next, I heard them change clothes then settle under the bed covers. Once their room went dark, I crept from my bed for my nightly spying.

David’s nightlight had burnt out earlier that week so the hallway was dark. I crammed myself into the linen closet niche and listened to them talk.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Joe asked.

I struggled to hear her voice, holding my breath.

What are they waiting for? Why are they not talking? I’m pretty damn sure that the tuna casserole isn’t the thing upsetting her.

“What is it?” Joe asked.

Quiet answered his question. I took another breath in the dark hallway.

Suddenly, he was talking again.

“What? What is it? Oh don’t....don’t cry sweetheart. Shhhhh.....”

Mom was crying.

I flinched in the dark.

I had learned that this happened a lot with her. She held it together during the day but she cried almost every night.

And usually, she was crying about me.

“M-Mark..” she stuttered.

“Shhhhh...” Joe said. “Talk to me about Mark. Shhhh...take a deep breath and talk to me.”

Mom sniffled loudly, then said, “I’m so worried about him, Joe. I’m so afraid for him....”

Why start worrying now? You didn’t worry for the last eight years, Mom.

“Why? Why are you so scared and worried?”Joe asked.

“This...this fighting,” she said. “This using his fists...to handle his problems. It’s....it’s....it’s just...”

I heard her start to cry again in the darkness and I began to defend myself.

Karl asked for it, Mom. When he cut Glenda’s hair, he asked for it. Robert asked for it, too when he decided to be mean to me. None of the teachers will make them stop. It wasn’t my fault, Mom.

“Joe...” she started again. “ What...what if...”

I went ice cold as I knew the awful question she couldn’t ask.

“No. No. No. No...” I said to myself silently. No, Mom. Don’t even ask. No, Mom.

“What?” Joe begged. “What, sweetheart?”

I was shaking, like I was freezing. She’s afraid to even say it.

What if my son’s just like his father? That’s what she is afraid to even ask.

“Joe,” Mom said, “What if he’s like his father? God, God....”

“Nonsense,” Joe cut her off. “He’s a kid dealing with some huge adjustments. He’s a kid whose entire world has been turned upside down. That’s all. He’s not like his Dad.”

I strained to hear in the dark hall, wishing I could see in their room. Mom didn’t speak for a long moment.

Is she crying? Is she trying to stop crying?

She said, “What.. he said about it..it not being his fault. Him....him saying that the kid...made...made... him do it. Joe...”

Her voice shook so that she couldn’t talk.

But it was their fault, Mom. It was their fault, Joe, I defended myself.

Why is it so damn cold in this house so I can’t stop shaking? We can’t be that fucking poor can we? It’s just so damn cold, that’s why I can’t stop shaking.

“Joe,” she found her words. “I can’t tell you how many times....times... it was all my fault. Her voice cracked with sadness, fear, shame, anger.

“He would look at me, light a cigarette and tell me...me...how what he was doing was was all my fault....” her voice failed her.

Now she was just crying. Crying hard.

In the shadows, my eyes pooled, listening to her.

All of the sudden, memories smacked at me.

I was on the tile, fighting to breathe. Cigarette smoke swirling about me from above. My ears rang, my eyes blurred and Dad’s scarlet palm print smoldered on my face.

“If you paid more attention to our house, I wouldn’t have to correct you, boy,” Dad spat down at me smoking. “I pay my hard-earned money for this house and you can’t even be bothered to wash the dirty dishes and put them up.”

I trembled and bit my mouth,trying to not cry as my face smoldered and ached.

“I hate to have to smack you, boy but it’s my job to teach you. If your face hurts, you can only blame yourself. I hate to have to teach you...”

Mom started to talk again and her words jerked me back to my new house and my mom and stepdad.

“You see this? See this spot?”she asked.

“Yes, sweetheart. I see it,” Joe’s voice was so quiet I could barely hear him in the hall.

“The gravy was too lumpy one night and he was forced to teach me a lesson about cooking,” she said in a shaky voice.

“Shhhh....shhhh,” Joe said.

I just hugged myself tightly, thinking about the lessons that Dad taught me.

“I’m....I’m so afraid, Joe,” she said.

I strained to hear her as she started talking again.

“What...what if..if he’s like that?”

“Shhhh,” Joe said, “Mark’s not like that. He’s not. Look, I had those two boys in my class. They’re rotten kids. I’m sure they did exactly what Mark says they did. I am positive of it.”

“I’m....I’m so afraid,” she said. “ Afraid that we were....were too late...”

Joe shushed her and I knew he held her close.

I shook, alone in the dark hall.

What if she’s right? What if I am like him? What if I have no choice? If it’s all in the DNA?

“Now,” Joe comforted her. “Stop it. He’s just having a hard time...”

“What if...if we waited too long to get him back? It’s bad enough that I caused his epilepsy...” she said.

“Now,” he cut her off, “ That isn’t your fault.”

I stood up at her words, shaking in the cold darkness.

Now, that is your fault. If you would have taken me with you. We could have ran away where Dad wouldn’t find us. We could have disappeared then that awful night would never have happened. I wouldn’t have scrambled my brain. I wouldn’t be the freak that I am right now. It is your fault, Mom.

“You have to stop blaming yourself,” Joe said. “His dad wrecked that car because he was a drug addict. He beat you because he was a drug addict. He beat Mark because he was a drug addict. Nothing was your fault. Nothing. The fault was his and his alone. Stop blaming yourself for things you couldn’t control.”

Joe’s voice was stern, as if dealing with an unruly class.

I stood there with clenched fists and a hot face. I wanted to go into their room and say to Mom, “You should’ve taken me with you, then I’d be all right now. I hate you for leaving me. And I’m not going to stop blaming you for this.”

I wanted to go in and tell her that I wasn’t like Dad,and I would never be like him. I wanted to tell them both that except....

Except...

Except that I wasn’t so sure.

Truthfully, beating the shit out of Robert and Karl felt pretty damn good.

When I was beating them, my mind was clear and laser-focussed on making those assholes pay for what they had done. My fist crashing into their stupid faces made me feel...

I struggled to remember what he felt like to let my fists do the thinking for me. It made me feel...

Alive. Powerful. Like I was in charge for the first time in my life. I hugged myself again and asked silently.

Is that how it felt for Dad? Did beating the shit out of me make him feel alive?

I slid shaking, down the dark hall, away from Mom and Joe and back to my icy bed.

I’m nothing like Dad. I will never be like him. How dare you even think that Mom?

But, almost every night, while I was in bed awake, I was afraid.

I was afraid that someday soon, Dad would show up. Deep down, I was afraid that I inherited his blue eyes, pointy nose and horrible temper.

I would pray to a God I wasn’t completely convinced was even there to keep that part of myself away. I prayed that I wasn’t really a monster.

Come on, I thought. Beating up a bully or two doesn’t make me a monster, does it? I mean, they had it coming. Right?

Even Joe said that Robert and Karl were awful kids. Beating them up doesn’t make me a monster. Does it? I couldn’t answer that question. Instead, I lay shivering under the cold sheets and thin quilt praying for sleep to make it all go away.

Chapter Twenty-Three

December

December began and I was back in school and I had not had to kick anyone’s ass. Yet.

I had made it through Mr. Hoover’s class without puking from the drool, then I had taken a test over The Tragedy of Julius Caesar. Mrs. Newman would find out when she graded my test that the real tragedy was my score on her test. I had read it at home but since I only spoke English it made no sense to me I lied my way through the essay and made a pretty diamond pattern on my scantron for the multiple choice part. Now, I was sitting in the only class I liked.

Strangely, it was the class I hated the most at the beginning of the year. The one I wanted to get out of. My art class. I still really hated art but I really liked sitting by Glenda. She was my only friend in the entire God forsaken school and we spent close to an hour talking while we worked on our mediocre projects each day.

I nodded hello to Mr. Stevens as I went to our table and sat down on the wobbly stool.

We spent the last part of yesterday’s class talking and laughing about Darth Vader’s love life. I was sure he had a thing for Emperor Palpatine and she was sure he had a long-term crush on Yoda. I tried to stop the smile that was creeping onto my lips. Today, I was going to say that maybe he really had a thing for Boba Fett or even Jabba the Hut.

I looked around the room and then on to the door, looking for her. It was almost time for the bell and she wasn’t here.

Where is she? She didn’t say she was going to be gone today.

Disappointment rose inside of me as I stared at what was left of the still life. It had been pitiful before but it was laughable now. The fat, pillar candle had dirty words carved on one side and a penis and testicles on its other side. All of the grapes had been harvested as projectiles and the sea shell had been stolen. All that was left was the messed up candle, the empty grape vine and a plastic daisy or two. Without Glenda, I was in for a miserable 48 minutes. I still couldn’t draw a....

“Hey,” Glenda’s breathless voice came as she plopped down.

I looked up to see her rushing to our table just as the bell rang.

“I had to talk to Mr. Hall after class so I almost didn’t make it on time,” she puffed, out of breath.

I smiled up at her. Glenda’s dark hair swung about her shoulders. After Karl cut a hunk out of her hair, she made lemonade from those lemons in a grand fashion by getting a stylish new short hairdo. I smiled a huge smile at her, wondering why I hadn’t noticed how pretty she was before.

“Well, you made it,” I said. “You just couldn’t wait to get here and draw that amazing still life.”

She laughed as she put her bag on the floor and her coat on top of that. I looked at her as she settled in next to me and could not help but notice the way her lilac oxford shirt hugged her curvy body. The unfastened top buttons pointed down to her...

Stop it. You’re sick. She’s your friend, stop that.

I threw my eyes to my the dented and scratched table top.

“You’re right,” she said.

I looked up, keeping my eyes on her face, and smiled at her.

“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Stevens said from the front table. “ Let’s get to work on those still life drawings. Remember they are due this Friday. I’ll be here until four everyday if you need some more time to work on them. Get busy.”

I stood up and said, “I’ll grab your drawing, too.”

“Thanks,” she replied, her smile showed her dimples and metal-covered teeth.

I pushed my way through the obstacle course of book bags and purses to retrieve our drawings from the storage rack at the back of the noisy, busy art room. I scanned the room while I walked back to her. The class was calm and quiet now that Robert and Karl had been removed. Class was pleasant now it was bully-free.

“Here you go,” I said placing her drawing in front of her.

“Thanks,” she said. She sat her art pencils out in front of her.

I sat down next to her, dug out my pencils then got busy drawing the pitiful scene as best I could. Glenda was almost finished as she darkened with her pencil and lightened with her eraser.

So far, my still life consisted of a line drawn across the paper and the outlines of the missing grapes. I started to draw the fat pillar candle.

“Should I include the dirty words?” I asked, looking up at her.

“It depends on how realistic you want to be,” she answered, her dark chocolate eyes meeting mine. “I left them off of my drawing.”

After a few minutes, the crooked and squashed outline of the candle stared up at us.

It looked like some giant had stepped on my candle.

I put down my pencil and said, “I suck at this drawing stuff.”

Glenda lay her pencil down and peered over at my efforts.

“No, you don’t suck at this---too much,” she said. “ You just need to add some shading. Here, let me show you.”

She leaned over and shaded my squashed candle dark to light then paused looked at the new and improved drawing. I really tried to look at my drawing but the flowery scent of her shampoo and soap drew my eyes from the paper to her oxford shirt.

“Now you just need to do the same thing to the other side of it,” she said, unaware of the location of my eyes. “And shade in all the dirty words if you want to be really realistic.”

Glenda leaned over further to look closer at the grapes while my eyes were drawn to her shirt and the hinted curves of her breasts.

I peeled my eyes away from her, grabbed my pencil and furiously shaded on my candle outline. I knew my face was on fire as I tried to look studious.

What the hell is wrong with me? She’s my friend. You don’t sneak peeks under your friend’s shirt.

“It doesn’t suck nearly as bad as it did,” she said.

Trading smiles, we settled into a content quiet as we worked on our drawings.

Sitting here with her is pretty good, I thought glancing over at Glenda. Her dark hair swung about her shoulders and her owlish glasses, perched at the end of her nose.

“Hey,” she broke the quiet. “I got my license and my folks even bought me a car. I don’t have to ride the stinking bus anymore.”

“Wow,” I replied, still shading. “What did they buy you?”

“Nothing too special. They got me a used Jeep,” she said, still drawing. “It’s got a ton of miles on it but anything is better than the bus.”

“Good for you,” I said. “The bus is the worst thing ever.”

“You ride to school with your Dad, don’t you?” she asked, still shading.

“Stepdad,” I said before I could stop myself. I was 16 but Dr. Stewart and my parents wouldn’t let me drive. They said it was too dangerous but I thought they were full of it. They just wanted to keep me riding in the freezing cold VW with Joe.

“I ride with him every morning but it’s a pain. He runs the concession stand for all of the games so some nights, I’m here really late with him. Or he has to take me home and then come back. Or sometimes my Mom and brother come and get me. Like tonight, I’m stuck here til after six. My Mom can’t come get me until then.”

“Oh, I can give you a ride home. I don’t think we live too far apart,” she smiled at me, her dark chocolate eyes looking up from her paper.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I said, shaking my head. “ My Mom’ll come and get me later.”

“No,” she said. “It’s no big deal. I’d be glad to take you home.”

I looked at my paper, trying to look normal while my brain was spinning at this new frontier. A girl is not only speaking to me, the School Freak, this same girl won’t mind being seen with me after school. What in the world is this all about? Why would she do this?

She must be the nicest girl ever, that’s why.

“All right I’ll meet you in the student center after I talk to my stepdad,” I said making my thoughts settle down again.

Her eyes twinkled at me. Then Glenda turned her attention--and pencil--to my pitiful attempt to recreate the missing bunch of grapes. She leaned over with her pencil and started shading my drawing.

“Here,” she said, “Let’s draw the vine first.”

Let’s. Let’s work on that vine and not look at parts below her neck again. I managed to keep my eyes on the grapes she was shading but I kept reminding myself to behave.

This is your friend here. Stop being a sicko and trying to look down her top. Stop it. She’s just being nice. She’s your friend not your girlfriend. You’re the School Freak, remember? Not boyfriend material.

Between the two of us, my still life began to take shape. By the end of the class, a candle and a bunch of grapes inhabited my paper.

“We’ll work on it again tomorrow,” she said. She got up, grabbed our papers and took our masterpieces to the racks at the back of the room as the bell rang.

I grabbed her bag and mine and walked over to her. I handed her bag to her then we joined the current of teenagers.

“See you in the student center after school,” she said, waving.

I waved back at her, unable to make my legs work for a long moment. People pushed and shoved around me as I stood there like a moron. Now I just need to tell Joe that a girl is giving me a ride home. How in the world is that going to go?

Chapter Twenty-Four

I sat staring a hole into the brick that was my World History book, supposedly reading about Queen Elizabeth I in study hall. Three minutes before the bell.

I bounced my legs, my stomach churning.

Cool it. It’s just a car ride home from a friend. It’s not like she wants to be my girlfriend or anything like that. Nobody would want to be the School Freak’s girlfriend, even a girl as nice as Glenda.

I looked up at the white-faced clock, my hands cold from sweat and my heart climbing into my throat. One more minute until the bell.

One minute before I had to go and tell Joe a girl was giving me a ride home.

What will he say? What will he think?

I bounced my legs faster, shaking my desk as the seconds stretched out painfully.

Glenda is a really good friend---the only friend I have at this school. The only person here who is nice to me. Nice enough to give me a ride and save me from riding with Joe all the damn time.

She is kind of cute, too. Dimples, dark eyes and dark hair. And a really nice, round body too. She’s not one of those skinny girls who look like they’re ten.

Stop it, genius. There’s no way she’s being anything but nice. That’s all.

The bell sounded startled me out of my thoughts. Grabbing my book bag, I dove into the human flood, through the crowded halls and into my stepfather’s classroom. Joe looked up from a mountain of papers on his desk.

“Hey, Mark,” Joe called. “Did you know that Abraham Lincoln was the first president of the United States? The back row of my second block thinks he was.”

“No,” I said, breathlessly. “I’m going to get a ride home with a friend today. Can you call Mom and tell her? She won’t have to come get me tonight.”

He looked up from the stack of papers, his eyes going wide with surprise, “You’re getting a ride home from a friend? Who is this friend who’s going to drive you home?”

“My friend from art class,” I said, still breathless. “She got her license and a car now and she doesn’t live too far from us.”

“She?” Joe asked, raising his eyebrows, surprise growing, “You have a friend who’s a girl?”

“Uh-huh,” I nodded, my breath settling down but my heart still racing. She’s just a friend, Joe. Don’t think anything else here.

“Who is this friend who’s a girl?” Joe asked, smiling as he interrogated me. “Does she have a name?”

“Glenda,” I said, my face going red. “Glenda Stone. She’s in my art class.”

“Ohhhhh,” Joe said, getting up from his chair.

Crap, here we go. What is he going to say? Try to talk me out of this?

“I know her. I had Glenda in class last year and I like her very much,” Joe said, smiling at me. “This friend of yours who’s a girl is very nice. Smart and cute, too.”

I cringed. Yes, she’s cute but that’s not why we’re friends. It wouldn’t matter if she looked like Jabba the Hut.

I smiled up at him, relieved. “Cool. I’ll see you at home later.”

“Mark,” Joe called. “Tell her to be careful driving you home.”

I nodded, walking out into the mostly-empty hallways. My palms were freezing wet and my heart beating like I was on speed.

It was a short walk to the student center. Entering the cavern, I stopped and searched the room, trying to slow my crazy breaths into a normal rhythm.

Cool it. It’s not like this is a big deal. She’s just being nice.

I breathed in and out slowly, searching for her in the giant room. Finally, I saw her standing near the giant trophy case, twirling her car keys. Smiling, she walked over to join me.

“Hey,” she said. “Are you ready to go?”

“Sure,” I said. I smiled at her and tried not to look like the pile of jello that I felt like inside. I just stood there with a stupid grin on my face since I had no idea what to do next. Twirling her keys in her gloved hand, Glenda flashed me her dimpled smile.

I can’t believe that she’s so oblivious. How does she not know she’s pretty? How does she not have a dozen boyfriends? How is that?

“All right then,” she said. “Let’s go.”

As we walked out the door, Glenda burrowed further into her puffy black coat against the cold December air. I started to shiver and wish I had worn my own coat.

“I had your Dad’s class last year,” she said, her words came out in cloud of steam.

“Oh, yeah,” I said, not correcting her. “How was that?”

“Oh, Mr. Paxton was my favorite teacher last year. He’s funny and always cracking jokes,” she gushed. “But he’s really, really smart too. I liked how he taught history like he was telling a story. Wouldn’t it be weird to have him in class?”

“Uh-huh,” was my best response. That’s not happening. I’d rather have my nails pulled out of my fingers with safety scissors.

We stopped, at the end of the crosswalk, waiting as the cars passed. Once the road was clear, we fell into step again crossing to the parking lot. I tried to think of something to say, something clever and entertaining but I guess I’m just not clever or entertaining.

I followed her through the few remaining cars on the lot. I tried to look at the pavement but my eyes were drawn to the sway and swing of her hips.

“I’ll bet he’s fun at home, too,” she said. I tore my eyes away from her jeans at her question.

Is Joe a fun stepdad? Fun? Not really. Kind? Fair? Yes, but not fun. There wasn’t much fun at the Paxton house right now. Just lots of stress.

“He’s a really good stepdad,” I said.

That’s the biggest understatement ever. He’s kind, generous, understanding, more loving even than...

“Here it is,” she said.

I looked up from the pavement to see a shiny red Jeep Wagoneer in front of us. There sat independence made reality.

“I thought you said it was nothing special. It’s really nice,” I said, my mouth hanging open.

“Well, it’s got almost 100,000 miles on it,” she said, her cheeks turning a rosy red. “It’s not new, our neighbors sold it to us when they bought their new Jeep. Daddy said he wanted me to have something dependable that I can drive in college.”

I reached out to touch its’ cold red side. A car. Freedom made solid right in front of me. Glenda’s hand reached out, key extended, and opened the passenger door.

“Get in,” she said, disappearing to the other side. I climbed into the cab, lowering myself onto the soft, gray seat.

This is definitely something nice. There’s a lot more room in here than Joe’s Beetle. I stretched out my legs and looked around. It was clean, like a new car. No wadded up papers, no food wrappers, no petrified french fries, no soda cans like in Mom’s car or Joe’s VW. The inside of this car was spotless.

Glenda opened her door then settled behind the steering wheel. She pulled the door shut and carefully put the key in the ignition. The sweet smell of her perfume surrounded me.

“It’s really nice,” I said again, rubbing the soft seat.

“Buckle up,” she said, pulling the seat belt over her lap.

I did the same.

Glenda smiled, started her car and twisted to see that nothing was behind us. Carefully, she shifted into reverse and crawled out of her parking place. Stopping again, she looked around in all directions. Seeing the lot was clear, she shifted into drive and crawled out of the parking lot with the caution of a new driver.

Steering the car she talked to me but never looking away from the road.

“You’ll have to tell me the way to your house,” she said.

“Take a right on Grant Street at the next light,” I said, trying to look casual as I swam in her scent. What is that smell? Flowers? Spices? Soap? Shampoo?

She stopped at the red light and said, “I’m glad your back in art class. It sucked without you. There was nobody to talk to.”

She missed me? Is she for real?

Smiling, I turned to answer but my eyes came to land on her chest. She was built like grown woman compared to the skinny girls at school and her puffy coat only added to her curviness. My face grew hot and hotter. I tore my eyes away from her and looked out the window.

“ Staying at home with my Mom and little brother sucked. I mean there’s only so much Mr. Rogers a guy can stand,” I said.

I kept my eyes away from her. I didn’t want to look at my friend in the wrong way. It might make her stop being my friend. Her sweet, floral scent was something I couldn’t get away from, though.

The car jerked as Glenda gave it too much gas and we veered to the right. She straightened us again and we both quit talking.

“Thanks for the ride home.” I said, after a long quiet.

“Sure,” she answered. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for sticking up for me.”

“Well, somebody has to stand up to the assholes at school,” I said. “The teachers won’t ever do it.”

The Jeep paused at a four-way stop. She nodded but didn’t look over at me.

“Which way?” she asked.

“Left,” I answered. I looked at the other cars, the trees, the houses, the billboards, anything but her chest. Unfortunately, my eyes kept sneaking back there and I would have to tear them away again. Glenda’s eyes were stuck to the road so she didn’t know where I was looking. I scolded myself.

Stop being a pervert. She’s your friend and friends don’t stare at their friends like that. If she knew what you were doing, she’d quit being your friend, genius.

I nibbled on the inside of my mouth and dug my nails into my palm to try to get a grip.

She turned the Jeep on to my street. My ride was almost over.

I tried and tried to think of something to say but I had no idea what as I stared out the window, houses and cars blurring by. Glenda concentrated on the road and finally I was inspired to say something important to her.

“There’s my house,” I said. “The white one with the gray brick and pink shutters.”

That was brilliant. Way to be witty. I chewed my mouth harder at how stupid that sounded.

She stabbed the brakes and the Jeep to lurched to a stop behind Mom’s blue Chevy

Glenda shifted the car into park before turning to smile at me, flashing her dimples and gleaming, metal teeth.

“Here you are,” she said. “Safe and sound.”

I touched the door handle, but didn’t open it yet. I smiled and studied her sweet face, her chocolate eyes, her scent swirling about me.

How does she not know how pretty she is? How is that even possible?

I chewed my mouth as I tried to think of a clever goodbye. What should I say to her? Finally, I knew exactly what to say.

“Well, thanks,” I said.

I felt my face get hot and I opened the door, the cold air taking over the inside of the car once more.

“No problem,” she said. “I’ll give you a ride tomorrow, if you want me to.”

No, that’s okay. I’ll just ride home with Joe I don’t want to put you out. I don’t want to wear out my welcome with you, Glenda.

“Sure thing, if you don’t mind,” I heard my own voice say.

“I don’t mind,” she answered.

“All right, see you in art tomorrow,” I called.

I stepped into the cold air. Shutting the door gently, I gave her a wave and a smile before I hustled up the driveway and into the warm house.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Our after school ride turned into habit as Christmas vacation got closer and closer. Every day we spent fifteen minutes talking and laughing about everything and nothing during the ride to my house. It felt really good to have a friend again.

I hadn’t ever really had one. Living with an addict made it impossible to have any real friend. There were no sleepovers, no playdates, or no Little League when I was in elementary school. When I junior high and high school, I stayed home so much that when I was there, I was a complete loner. I had to keep too many secrets to have any friends. So I stuck my nose in a book to keep other kids away. Now that I had Glenda as my friend, I didn’t want to mess it up by trying to be anything other than her friend.

Even though she had a beautiful face and a beautiful body, I knew my place and knew she could never be the School Freak’s girlfriend.

Everyday, when she pulled into the driveway, I would give her a wave and a stupid ‘thanks for the ride”. That was it. But I began wanting more than fifteen minutes a day with my first real friend in years.

But what could I do about it? It’s not like I could move further away.

Yet.

So I thought about it, wrestled with it and came up with a plan. I would ask her if I could buy her a soda at McDonalds or Dairy Queen. Just as a thank you for all of the gas she was burning on my account. That would give us more time to talk and laugh. Just as soon as I got up the nerve to ask.

Four days went by and I was too big a wimp to ask the question. What made me think she would want to spend any more time with the school freak than she had to? For all I knew, she had a boyfriend on some army base who would be pissed if she went for a soda with me. Or she might just tell me to go to hell.

Or she might just say yes.

It was Thursday and I was going to force myself ask her if she would like to stop and have a soda. No matter what. No more excuses. I practiced in my head what I would say and how I would reassure her that it wasn’t like I was asking her out.

‘Glenda can I buy you a soda? It’s not like date or anything. It’s just to pay you back for being nice. That’s all.’

I rehearsed all day and rehearsed again walking to the student center to meet her. As I got there, I saw Glenda bundled up waiting for me by the giant trophy case.

She smiled a huge smile when she saw me. I almost dropped the books I was carrying under my arm and the lines I rehearsed all day vanished.

“Hey,” she said, smiling up at me.

“Hey,” I said. I glued my eyes on her face. Questions bounced about my head as I stood next to her.

When to ask her? Now is too soon. Right? Not now. Not yet. She’s probably got stuff to do. I should keep my mouth shut and not embarrass myself.

“Homework this close to Christmas? Your teachers are cold-hearted,” she said with a shake of her head.

I nodded, looking down at my books, “You’re telling me. Mrs. Riley is trying to kill us.”

“I had her last year,” Glenda smiled as we began to walk. “Sometimes she goes crazy and tries to cram too much geometry in our brains, she should just relax about it.”

“That’s no lie,” I agreed. I reached up and opened, then held, the door for her. Cold, damp air smacked me in my face. Both of us were quiet as we hunched deeper into our coats and hurried to her Jeep.

I couldn’t talk at a time as scary as this. I was trying to figure out how to ask her out for a soda and not look like a moron when I did it. I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets as I made my decision.

It’s too cold to ask her today. Probably tomorrow will be better. It might be warmer than it is today. Who wants a soda when it’s this cold anyway? Tomorrow’s the day.

Looking up, I saw the red Jeep in front of me. How did I get here so quickly?

Glenda was already in the car when I opened the door and slid in to sit next to her.

“Wow,” she said, shivering. “It’s cold out there.”

She put her key into the ignition and started the car. Cold air came blasting from the vents, making the car even colder than before.

My teeth chattered and all I could do was nod.

Tomorrow is a much better day to ask her. Who in their right mind wants a soda when it’s this cold? I’ll wait until it warms up. Like this summer.

Or next summer even.

“It’ll warm up in a minute,” she said, fixing her seatbelt as I did the same. She blew her hot breath across her icy hands, while the Jeep struggled to warm up.

“I forgot my gloves,” she said, rubbing her hands together.

I felt inspiration hit. Maybe it wasn’t a stop for a soda.

How about we warm up with some hot chocolate? That is the thing to ask.

She backed out of the parking space and we began the short drive to my house. The Jeep purred contentedly as the inside of the car became cozy but I was still cold from nerves.

Quit being a coward. Ask her now. Before you chicken out.

I shivered and began to feel around for a spot to chew in my mouth.

“Hey,” I heard my voice say. “Can I buy you a hot chocolate? There’s a McDonalds around the corner.”

The inside of the car was silent. I bit at the chosen spot scolding myself.

Way to go, dumbass. Now this is awkward. Way to...

She looked at me and I faked a smile for her.

“Sure,” Glenda said, looking back at the road. “My mom’s at work until five and Daddy’s out of town. I can go to McDonalds for awhile.”

My smile became real at her words.

I looked out the window watching cars, trees and buildings flow alongside us until we sat waiting to turn into the parking lot. My stomach started bucking as we sat and sat and sat as cars whizzed by us. What have I done?

What have I done? I’ve messed up a kindly ride home by making it look like I’m trying to turn this into some lame ass date at McDonalds. Why in the world would she want to date the me anyway?

“Here we are,” she said, pulling into an empty parking space.

“All right,” I said.

I smiled again seeing how the cold gave her round face a deep rosy glow, making her even prettier than before.

“Let’s go,” she said.

We both opened our doors and stepped into the cold air. Shivering, I shut the door and shoved my hands deep into my jeans pockets, keeping them there until I held the door open for Glenda.

The inside of McDonalds was warm and deserted, except for an elderly couple eating hamburgers hunched over their steaming cups of coffee.

Are they on a lame McDonalds date?

“What’ll it be?” I asked Glenda as she studied the menu. “A hot chocolate? A soda? How about a sundae?”

She slid closer to me and said, “Oooohh, a hot fudge sundae would hit the spot.”

“That sounds great,” I said, reaching back for my flat wallet.

A blonde, uniformed girl appeared and stood expectantly in front of us.

“Two hot fudge sundaes, please,” I asked, pulling out a five dollar bill.

“Do you want nuts or whipped cream on your sundaes?” she asked.

“Yes and yes,” Glenda answered, flashing her braces and dimples at me.

“Nuts and whipped cream on both,” I answered handing over my money.

The blonde girl pushed buttons, dug my change out of the drawer and placed the wad of money into my palm. I stood, bouncing on the balls of my feet, as she assembled the sundaes. I tried and tried of something to say to Glenda while I pocketed my change.

Before I had thought of anything, she handed me a tray of sundaes.

“Thanks,” I said.

I grabbed the tray and we walked into the empty dining room. When we got to the very back, I put the tray down on a table next to the wall of windows.

“How about here?” I asked.

“It’s great,” she said, wriggling out of her fuzzy coat before sitting across from me.

I sat down and watched her, my face heating up when I saw how her lilac shirt hugged her curvy body. She sat down and I smiled, handing her a sundae and a spoon.

“Thanks for the ice cream,” she said, unwrapping her spoon.

“Thanks for the rides,” I said, popping the lid off my sundae. “It’s nice to not have to ride with my stepdad all the time.”

“I like your company on the ride home,” she said digging into her tower of ice cream.

I looked down and filled my spoon with ice cream. What does that mean? Likes my company?

Glenda closed her eyes letting the vanilla and chocolate melt into her mouth. I looked down at my sundae to see it was almost half gone. I had gulped bite after bite after bite while she still savored her first one.

She’s even prettier with her eyes closed.

“This is really good,” she said, filling her spoon for a second time.

I dug at my sundae and looked away. We ate our ice cream listening to the non-stop stream of orders coming over the intercom. I concentrated on looking at anything but Glenda until finally, I had to break the quiet.

“You’re an army girl?” I asked, putting down my spoon not to look like a total pig.

“That’s right. We lived all over the place until Daddy retired last summer and my grandpa got cancer. He lived up here so we packed up and moved to be closer to him. Daddy decided to try and sell insurance up here. Since he gets his retirement, he’s doing all right while he starts his insurance business. ”

“Oh,” I said. “How’s your grandpa now?”

“Dead,” she said, sitting her spoon in the plastic cup.

My face went hot. What kind of stupid question was that?

“I’m sorry,” I stammered. I picked up my spoon and started eating my sundae to try and look normal again and not like an idiot.

“It’s all right, he was really sick towards the end,” she said. She picked up her spoon and started in on her sundae once more. The only sound was the bursts of orders coming over the intercom as I finished my sundae and wished for a tall glass of water. Why does ice cream make me thirsty? The quiet stretched out until I had to break it again.

“So tell me about your family. Your Mom and Dad. Do you have brothers or sisters? Or are you a spoiled only child?”

Glenda stirred her sundae, watching the ice cream melt and the hot fudge harden until their temperatures declared a truce.

“ I am a spoiled only child. I mean, look at the car they bought me,” she said, stripping the hot fudge from the sides of the cup. “How about you? You don’t act like a spoiled only child.”

“No,” I said, looking at the table. “ I’m not a spoiled only child. I have a younger brother, who’s five.”

I glanced up from my empty sundae cup, looking at her dark chocolate eyes and dimples. Surely, there was a boyfriend hiding somewhere for a girl this pretty.

“I always wanted a little brother. Being an only child can be a pain sometimes when there’s no one to hang out with but your parents. That and it would be handy to have someone I could blame when something goes missing or gets broken. So, I guess you have the same mom and different dads--since your not Mark Paxton,” she said, taking another spoon full of sundae.

“That’s right,” I said, picking up my spoon and scraping the very last of the hot fudge from the sides of my sundae cup. “We have different dads.”

“Do you see him very often? Your real dad?” she smiled as she dug out another bite and put her spoon back into her mouth. “I always thought it would be weird to not live with both parents.”

I looked down at the table. Here we go, awkward questions.

“No...ummm...” I said. I felt my face drain of color. My voice hung in the air between us, somewhere between the intercom and the deep fryer as I tried to figure out what to say. I put down my spoon and looked down at my empty, plastic container.

She’s your friend. You can tell a friend the truth-- that’s part of being a friend. See what happens.

“He’s dead. I lived with him in St. Louis but I moved in with Mom and Joe after he died a few months ago.”

“I’m sorry, Mark,” she said. “What happened? Was he sick? ”

Yes, he was but that’s not why he’s dead. I swallowed hard and looked up to see her

eyes were genuinely sad for me behind her thick glasses.

“We...we were in a wreck....” was all I could say before I had to look away so I wouldn’t start bawling. I hadn’t talked to anyone about what happened for a long time and it was like being hit in the gut.

“I’m so sorry, Mark,” she said.

“It’s all right, really. It’s fine, Glenda,” I said.

I felt her hand wrap around mine and her slender fingers gave me a squeeze. Her soft skin was warm on my suddenly-damp flesh. Our hands fit together like they were made for each other.

“I don’t know what I’d do without Mom and Daddy,” she said. “I love them both so much.”

She let go of my hand to turn her attention back to her almost-gone sundae. The sounds of people ordering over the speaker settled over us like a fog. As I looked up, I saw Glenda narrow her eyes, running her spoon along the side of her sundae cup, seeking out the very last scraps of hot fudge.

Watching her hunt down the last of the chocolate made me smile and a laugh escaped my lips.

“What?” she asked, looking up from her quest.

“You’re relentless,” I smiled up at her.

“Hey,”she said. “There’s no reason to leave any perfectly good hot fudge uneaten. That just can’t happen, Mark.”

I chuckled while Glenda scraped and peeled the remaining fudge off the side of the plastic cup then put her spoon on the brown tray in front of us. I sat trying to think of something to say. Something to make her laugh. How about a Star Wars joke?

Glenda beat me to the punch.

“Well, I need to get home,” she said, bending over to get her coat.

I nodded, picked up the tray of sundae debris and got to my feet.

“Me too.” I answered as I walked to the trash can. So she knew about my dead dad and about my epilepsy and she still was still willing to hold my hand at McDonalds to make me feel better.

I dropped the trash into the gaping can and sat the empty tray on top. Glenda joined me, buttoning her last button on her coat and we walked out into the damp cold air. There was no need for words, we had said all that we needed to say for now. We walked out the door and crossed the parking lot to climb into her car. She started the purring engine and turned to look at me with her rosy face.

“Thanks again for the ice cream but you really don’t have to pay me back for the rides home, I like talking to you. I mean, who else can debate Darth Vader’s love life with me?”

I smiled over at her and she flashed her braces at me again, her dimples going deep.

“Just you, Mark. That’s who,” she answered her own question.

I laughed and she inched her way out of the parking spot.

“Well, I still think he’s pining for Yoda...” I said. We talked and laughed about it the rest of the ride home.

Chapter Twenty-Six

December 10 and there was finally an afternoon in Joe’s schedule for decorating the house.

After breakfast of bacon, eggs and biscuits, I was shivering in the garage, at the bottom of the spindly, pull-down staircase. There I stood waiting as Joe hunted for the right boxes. The sounds of him bumping around and shuffling cardboard boxes rained down from above.

The garage was freezing cold and my breath showed in front of my face so I bounced on my feet to try and warm up.

Come on, Joe. I’m freezing my butt off down here.

Finally, his face peered down from the hole in the ceiling and called down, “Are you ready?”

“Sure thing,” I answered, climbing up to stand on the wobbly ladder.

“Here you go,” Joe called down, handing me a musty smelling box from above. I grabbed it by its’ bottom and climbed down to put it at the side of the ladder. I saw Mom’s even handwriting spell out “Christmas Lights”. I climbed back up and down taking boxes from above more than a dozen times, until a cardboard mountain filled garage floor.

“I think that’s it,” Joe called down before backing down the ladder.

We both grabbed a box and carried it into the newly-cleaned living room. Mom and David went back to the freezing garage with us and drug boxes into the house until the living room was cluttered with cardboard.

I stood looking at the mess, uncertain of what to do next. I was new to the Christmas stuff since Dad had outgrinched the grinch at Christmastime.

How long has it been since I decorated a Christmas tree? Eight years? Nine? More? Who knew.

“”What’s first? The mantle or the tree?” Mom asked with her hands on her hips.

“Let’s start with the tree,” Joe said. He stepped over to a long, narrow box that supposedly held an entire evergreen tree. Crouching, he opened up the musty cardboard.

”Hey, guys,” he called. “Sort the branches for me and we’ll put together the pole.”

I just stood there unsure of what he meant. Hey, I’m a rookie tree assembler here.

Squealing, David ran to his room and returned with a Darth Vader action figure in each hand. My little brother bounced like he was on an invisible pogo stick.

Joe walked over to stand next to me and said, “There’s a color painted on the end of the branches. You and David need to sort the branches by those colors. Make a stack for each.”

David pulled prickly branches out of the box while I worked on sorting them. Even though, I knew the plastic tree was stupid and all, I couldn’t stop smiling thinking about gifts. For the last eight years there was no Christmas tree. No Christmas presents. No Christmas ham or Christmas turkey to eat.

If I was really lucky and Dad was home and sober, and in a good mood, there might be a trip to eat at a Chinese buffet. Since those were all big ifs, it was exciting to think of having Christmas once more.

While we sorted and stacked branches, Mom and Joe assembled the pole, slid it into the stand then drug the whole thing to sit in front of the huge window.

“All right, David,” Mom said sitting on her heels, “Bring me a brown branch.”

David bounced and cheered as I handed him a brown branch and he handed it to Mom. We repeated that until an entire evergreen tree stood naked in our living room. I gave in and grinned as the tree was jolly in the window.

Christmas sounds nice for a change. It’s already a huge improvement over the last few years.

“Nice job, boys,” Joe said. “Now, Mark help me string the lights. David, help your mother find the boxes of ornaments.”

The room hummed happily as I held the strands of clear lights and Joe threaded them through the branches. We danced around the tree, threading and weaving, until there were no more strands.

“Plug it in, Barb. Let’s see what it looks like,” Joe said, stepping away.

The tree flickered and twinkled, as if lit by candle light once Mom plugged it in. David jumped up and down cheering while I tried not to smile at the glow filling the living room.

Joe backed away and lowered himself onto the couch. Patting the cushion beside him he beckoned Mom to sit down, too.

“All right, boys,” he said. “Put the ornaments on the tree. David, give your brother the ones for up top.”

Joe put his arm about Mom’s shoulder and they watched us hang a rainbow of glass balls on the tree. Then we hung snowflakes, snowmen, toys and Santas against the twinkling lights.

Amazingly, the world’s biggest pest was almost bearable, I thought hanging a blown-glass Santa.

“David, what are you going to ask Santa for this Christmas?” Mom asked from the couch.

He stopped hanging ornaments and turned around, scrunching his face in deep thought.

“Hot Wheels!” he finally yelled, jumping up and down like a rubber ball.

“Hot Wheels?” she smiled. “I’ll bet Santa can bring you some Hot Wheels for Christmas, if you keep being a good boy. Mark, what do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?”

I hung a red stick horse with a prickly mane on a high branch, then paused while I thought about her question.

What do I want for Christmas? A ticket out of here? Enough money to live on my own? New socks and underwear? No. I turned to face Mom and Joe.

“I want my driver’s license,” I said, smiling hopefully at them.

They exchanged troubled looks and my smile faded as quiet stretched out in the room.

“ Well, son,” Joe spoke for both of them. “We’ll have to talk to Dr. Stewart about that. I think you have to be seizure-free for at least...”

Shit, here we go again.

My face clouded. I frowned and turned back to the tree where David scurried like a squirrel, hiding ornaments in the branches.

“You asked me what I wanted,” I grumbled.

“He’s right, Mark. We’ll have to talk to Dr. Stewart about that,” Mom said.

What do doctors know about it? Nothing bad is going to happen, I’ll be careful. “

“Well,” Joe said gently. “You have to go six months without a seizure before you can drive. When was your last one?”

I hung a glittery snowflake on the other side of the tree and hunched my shoulders at the question. I shrugged. You keep such great track of my life, you shouldn’t have to ask me that.

“You asked what I wanted,” I managed. “And I told you.”

“He had one about three weeks ago, when he was at home with me,” Mom said.

“We’re not trying to be difficult,” Joe used his his best lunchroom monitor voice, “Or unfair. But we’ve got to keep you safe. It’s my job to keep everyone in the family safe so I can’t allow you to drive yet.”

I stared at the floor. My body shook and my brain wobbled as floods of emotion bubbled up inside of me. Joe was trying to sound like a dad with all his “keep the family safe” crap. He wasn’t my father anyway.

“Quit trying to be my Dad! You’re not anything to me! You’re just the loser who married my mom. Quit telling me what to do!” I yelled at him.

No one tried to stop me as I turned and walked away. Somehow, I made it back to my room

Shit.

I slammed my door shut.

All I want is to get my driver’s license.Then, I can get a job and move out and live in peace and quiet in some crappy apartment. That’s all I really want is to be by myself. No more annoying little brother. No more guilt trips from Mom. No more Joe being in my business all of the damn time. A driver’s license is the first part.

I paced my bedroom, fists clenched.

If Mom and Joe won’t teach me how to drive, how will I ever get my license? Talking to Dr. Stewart isn’t going to do any good. He keeps messing around with more pills but I keep on having seizures. He just doesn’t want me to get to be on my own either. He wants to keep me stuck with Joe and Mom. Stuck forever.

I sat on the edge of my unmade bed.

How can I get my license if I can’t learn to drive?

How can I learn to drive if Mom and Joe won’t teach me?

I bounced my knees. There has to be a way around the parents on this one. Right?

For a second, I missed my dad. He would have let me drive something. Not his Cadillac but something else.

But then again, Dad didn’t give a shit what I did.

I stared at the pale walls, rubbing my newly-aching forehead.

There has to be a way around them. Kids do stuff all of the time and don’t tell their parents. I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes. There has to be a way around this.

But how?

Chapter Twenty-Seven

That night, I stood, ready to bolt for the bathroom if I got caught. I held my breath and strained to hear but so far, their room was quiet.

Maybe they’re asleep? Maybe they’re having some sort of weird, silent sex?

Dear God, that’s disgusting.

I shrugged and started back to my room, when Mom’s voice stopped me. I inched back towards their door.

What is she saying?

“He didn’t mean to upset you like this,” she said.

That’s a switch. She’s trying to make him feel better.

“I’m sure you’re right, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He was just upset about the driver’s license stuff. I can understand that.”

Sure, Joe. Sure you can understand what it feels like to be trapped where you don’t want to be. Sure thing, Joe. You know just what it feels like to be the biggest freak in the school. You know exactly what it feels like. Bullshit.

“I know Mark’s disappointed but if we can’t get his seizures under control...” Mom said. “ then...then he’ll never be able to drive. Ever.”

I flinched at her words in the dark hall.

Never be able to drive? Ever? How was that even fair? How was that even right? Stuck on the bus or walking? Bumming rides from my stepdad forever? How will I ever get to move out?

“Barb,” Joe said. “If Dr. Stewart can’t get his seizures under control, he might not even be able to get a job. I don’t honestly know how he’ll ever be able to live on his own. People die all the time from this.”

What is he saying? What did he mean, I won’t be able to get a job? That I’ll be trapped here with them forever? I can’t be trapped here forever. I don’t even want to be stuck here now.

I started to tremble and I felt myself slide down the wall at the idea of living with Mom and Joe forever.

“I know,” she answered. “ Dr. Stewart’s upped his doses but they haven’t stopped. While this is going on, he can’t get behind the wheel of a car. If he had a seizure while he’s driving...”

Her voice trailed, then sputtered to a halt. Joe’s voice took over,

“Shhhh...it’s all right. We just can’t let him drive yet. He could kill himself, or somebody else on the road. It’s just too dangerous.”

“Yes, it is,” Mom agreed.

I clenched my fists in the darkness.

They’re freaking out for nothing. There’s no reason to think I’ll have one driving. Is there? How unfair is this conversation? They’re not even asking me about it. They’re not even giving me chance to try and drive. This is completely unfair and fucked up.

They were quiet for a very long time while I clenched my mouth and my fists.

“What he said to you,” Mom said. “I know that hurt you.”

I wished I could see in their room. What are they doing? I strained to hear them, in the dark hallway.

“He’s right,” Joe replied. “I’m not his father and I shouldn’t try to act like it.”

“What on Earth do you mean?” she asked.

“I’m not his father but I try to act like it at times. Sometimes, I call him son,” Joe said. “It just comes out of my mouth before I can stop it.”

Guilt smacked me in the face.

I shouldn’t have said those things to him. Joe is kind and decent. He never gets mad at me, ever. He never hurts me. He’s better to me than Dad ever was.

“Joe,” Barbara said, “You are a wonderful dad to both of the boys.”

That was true.

Guilt smacked me harder and harder.

I owe Joe more than I could ever repay. I need to tell Joe I’m sorry for what I said to him.

But I probably won’t.

“I have a thick skin,” Joe said. “Remember, I teach for a living. My skin’s a lot thicker than anything my stepson can say to me.”

“Still, you’re a great father,” she said. “Don’t forget that.”

“Thanks,” he said.

They went quiet and I strained to hear what was going on in their room.They weren’t talking anymore but there was some noise. It sounded like...

Gross, they’re kissing.

I rolled my eyes and stood up, ready to slink back to my bed. I didn’t even want to think about them doing anything even slightly sexual. How gross.

I stayed put when Mom started to talk again.

“Do you remember when we decided to get married? You said that you loved me. Do you remember what else you said?” she asked.

What was that? I held my breath to hear the answer.

“Yes,” Joe answered.

“You said that included Mark,” she said. “ You promised we would get a lawyer and get Mark back even if you had to get a second job. You promised me that you could protect all of us from his father if he tried to hurt us.”

“I wasn’t about to let anything happen to any of us, “Joe said. “I made it home from Vietnam in one piece and if Charlie couldn’t get me, some coked up maniac certainly wasn’t going to be able to hurt me. Or my family.”

“Mark is just still so hurt by everything,” Mom said. “He blows up at little things all the time.”

“He’s still adjusting to life with us,” Joe said. “I’m not hurt by what he said and, even if I was I still love him. He’s my oldest son.”

I leaned against the wall, chewing myself out again.

What kind of jerk am I? Getting after Joe when the only thing he ever did was try to love me. Who else has ever loved me?

I slunk back down the hallway, crept back into my cold bed, feeling mean and spiteful.

Who else loves me? Mom?

Hardly. If she loved me, she wouldn’t have run away and left me to live with Dad. If she really loved me, she would have taken me with her.

Did Dad ever love me? My real, DNA supplying father?

Sure he loved me. Beatings, burnings, starvation and humiliation are the surest ways to show you love someone.

Grandparents? There are none that I know of. I think Mom’s parents are dead and I think Dad was hatched, not born.

Girlfriends? None yet.

Well, I have a good friend whose a girl but that doesn’t equal a girlfriend.

So who does that leave? Joe Paxton. The man who married my Mom and doesn’t have to love me. In fact, if anyone had a good reason to not love me, it’s Joe. He could use the “he’s-not-my-real-kid” excuse but he never does.

Guilt stabbed me once more as I flipped onto my stomach, buried my face in the mattress and quivered under the blankets.

Joe is the kindest, most decent person I’ve ever known and it’s about time I start being kind and decent to him. So can I be kind and decent to him?

Can I be kid and decent to anybody? What kind of person am I anyway? I rolled onto my side, pulled my knees up tightly, unable to answer that question.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The icy blue December sky was so bright I wished for sunglasses. We were warm in the Jeep and headed to McDonalds for our after school sundaes. Hot fudge with whipped cream and nuts.

No expense spared for my best friend. If she wants both, she shall have both.

My stomach growled but not loud enough for Glenda to hear over Billy Joel playing his piano and singing, “I don’t care what you say anymore, this is my life. Go ahead with your own life, leave me alone.”

Good words to live by, in my book. I tried to tell Mom and Joe the very same thing almost every day.

My stomach growled again, louder than before. I was really hungry since my daily sundae was lunch. Back when I lived with Dad, I was always hungry because he couldn’t spend his precious cocaine money on groceries. I was hungry now because I was saving my money so I could get a car and move out on and live like the Billy Joel song said to live.

Every Monday morning, as we left for school, I got fifteen dollars for lunch money and allowance for the week. What they didn’t know was that every afternoon, when I got home, I stuck ten of the dollars into my sock drawer. The other five dollars went to pay for our after school dates.

From adding the weekly money to the 100 dollars Dad gave me, I had 154 dollars hidden in my sock drawer. It was a decent start on getting a car. If I could just learn how to drive, I would be on my way to freedom.

I studied Glenda as she drove. She’d been driving just a few weeks and already she was a good driver. She turned the black steering wheel with just one hand now and looked at her mirrors now and then. Her right foot moved between the gas and the brakes like she didn’t have to think too hard about it and she was even able to look at me some while she was driving. All in all, driving looked fairly easy.

Drawing my stupid self-portrait looked like it was harder than driving a car.

The Jeep rolled to a stop at a red light. Glenda looked over at me and flashed her braces and dimples at me. I smiled back as the light changed and she looked back at the road.

“Is driving hard?” I asked once we started moving again.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s really easy if you just pay attention to what’s going on. Daddy always tells me to watch the other cars, because they aren’t watching for me.”

I nodded at her she had to stop the Jeep for another red light.

Driving looks pretty easy.

The car started moving again when the light turned green.

“When are you going to be 16?” she asked without looking up at me.

My face began to heat up at her question. That’s right. She didn’t know I was the world’s oldest tenth grader, that I had managed to flunk out of school last year. I swallowed hard and made myself venture deeper into the unexplored territory commonly referred to as the truth.

“Oh, I’m already 16,” I tried to sound normal. “I’ll be 17 in February. My parents are just too busy to teach me to drive and take me for my test.”

So I told some of the truth. I really am 16 and it really is true Mom and Joe won’t teach me. What’s the difference if they are too busy to teach me or they refuse to teach me? That’s just tiny, picky details.

“Really?” she said, still looking at the road. “Well, I guess school keeps your Dad busy. And your Mom is pretty busy with your little brother.”

She steered the Jeep into the turn lane in front McDonalds and flipped on the turn signal.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “They’re really busy.”

Really busy keeping me away from driving.

She turned into the parking lot and parked the Jeep. Once she shut it off, we left the warm car and hustled into the lobby. We stepped up to the shiny metal counter and stared at the menu hanging on the wall as if it had changed. It was still the same as the day before, and the week before and the month before. Big Macs, fries, drinks, coffee, hot chocolate, ice cream.

I bounced up and down, shivering and said, “It’s awfully cold for ice cream today.”

Glenda looked over at me, her cheeks red and her dark hair a mess thanks to the wind. She smiled, “It’s never too cold for ice cream, Mark.”

“All right,” I shook my head, laughing at her, “ Two hot fudge sundaes with whipped cream and nuts, please.”

I traded money for a tray of sundaes then we walked to our table near the glass wall. Glenda shrugged out of her coat as I took off my jean jacket. Then we threw our coats over the back of the booth seat, sat down and dove into our sundaes. When I put my spoon down, I saw half of my sundae was gone. Looking over at Glenda I saw just the tip of her sundae was gone. I watched her and held my breath as she held her spoon to her mouth, savoring small, melty bites. She’s pretty when she eats. The way she lets the ice cream melt in her mouth before she takes another bite.

There has to be a boyfriend lurking somewhere. Or there will be a boyfriend come along soon to take her away from me. I swallowed hard at the idea

“What?” she asked, putting her spoon down.

I stared at her for a minute. I didn’t want to whine about how I knew she was going to get a boyfriend sooner or later and not have time for me anymore. I didn’t want to sound like a baby. I saw the tiny amount of ice cream that was missing from her cup and I made myself talk again.

“We may be here awhile,” I teased her.

“Hey, buddy, ice cream was made to be savored, not devoured,” she smiled back.

We fell quiet again as I polished off my sundae and she ate more of hers. My stomach began to churn as I thought about what I wanted to ask her. It wasn’t whether or not she had a boyfriend hidden away somewhere who’d be visiting for Christmas. It wasn’t if she wanted to go out on a real date, it was a lot more important than that. It was...

“Thanks for the ice cream,” she pulled me out of my fretting. “We’ll have to get together for sundaes over Christmas vacation.”

“Sure, I’d like that,” I said.

I looked away nervously, needing to ask her a question. An important question. A life-changing question.

Ask for a favor, really.

I realized I had chewed a part of my lip bloody as I sat there fretting. I hated asking for things. Life with an addict taught me to get along on my own and never ask for anything. Whenever I did ask Dad for something, the answer would usually result in me bleeding from somewhere or other.

But this was different. This was important.

The rest of my life depended on this favor.

My hands shook as I dug out more ice cream to try and calm down. I swallowed without tasting and looked up at Glenda.

“Look....Glenda...I ...I was...” I heard my voice start to say before it broke apart in my throat.

She frowned then sat down her spoon, “What is it?”

Just ask her. Quit being a coward and ask her.

“Glenda...Could...could you... I was hoping you would do me a favor,” I said, once I found my voice.

“Sure, what is it, Mark?”she nodded over at me before bringing a spoon of ice cream to her mouth.

I looked away and scraped the empty side of the plastic cup while my heart was trying to beat its’ way out of my chest and I felt like I needed to puke.

Come on. Your life depends on this. Ask her, dumbass.

“Could you... you show me how to drive?” I heard myself say.

Glenda let out a deep, long sigh and I took a sharp breath at the sound.

What kind of question was that? Of course she’s not going to show me how to drive. What a stupid thing to ask. She’s going to say no. Way to...

“Holy cow, Mark,” she said, grabbing another spoonful of ice cream and fudge. “I thought you were going to ask me for a kidney or something. Sure, I’ll show you how to drive. Sure thing.”

A sigh of relief left me and I felt my body begin to warm up once more as the blood flowed again.

“Thanks,” I said. Learning how to drive is the first step in moving out on my own.

“When?” my own voice surprised my again.

She dipped her spoon in and scooped up a glob of hardened hot fudge while she thought about it.

“How about after school tomorrow?” she said. “I’ll take you where Daddy took me to learn.”

I nodded at her, smiling and couldn’t stop. I had to look like some kind of moron. I just sat there unable to talk, confirming the fact that I not only looked like a moron, I was indeed a moron. She didn’t notice as she dug at the rest of her ice cream and fudge.

Once her cup was stripped clean, Glenda glanced at her wrist.

“I need to head on home,” she said.

“Let’s go,” I managed.

She slid out of the booth, and started wrestling with her parka as I grabbed the plastic tray and got to my feet. After I emptied the trash and stuck the tray on the garbage can, I walked back over and grabbed my jacket off of the back of the booth. Glenda stood rummaging through her purse, looking for her car keys.

“So tomorrow, we’ll drive a few minutes and then we’ll get our sundaes,” she said. “I can’t miss out on my daily ice cream, Mark. You’ve spoiled me now.”

I smiled over at her. She was so pretty bundled up in her coat, her cheeks pink and her metal smile flashing at me.

Somebody should be spoiling you, Glenda. I wished I could open my mouth and say that to her but I couldn’t. She was my best friend and that was something I didn’t want to screw up by trying to be something I wasn’t.

“Absolutely,” I said with a smile. “Far be it from me to keep you from your ice cream.”

She smiled at me as we plunged side by side into the cold, damp December afternoon.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

After school the next we were at Restlawn Cemetery.

Glenda’s dad was right when he said it was the perfect student driving road. There was hardly ever any traffic. There were no stop lights, no four-way stops, just miles of paved roads for a new driver to practice on. This is where she learned to stop, start and steer before she started driving in real traffic. It was also where I sat in the driver’s seat of Glenda’s Jeep.

“Are you ready?” Glenda asked.

”Sure,” I said, giving her my fake smile.

I stroked the plastic steering wheel and pulled my feet away from the pedals so I couldn’t accidentally start the Jeep rolling. Remember, this is easy, morons drive every day. I am as capable as any moron.

I hope.

Glenda smiled her metal smile and began to talk to me.

“Well,this Jeep is an automatic, so you don’t have to worry about shifting. You just use this to put it in whatever gear you need. There’s drive, reverse, park, neutral and a couple others. Daddy told me what they are, but I don’t remember exactly. You just push down this button and put it in gear.”

I took the shifter into my slippery hands without pushing the button down.

“All right,” I said, looking down at the floorboard. She began talking once more. “There are two pedals. The right one is for the gas and the left one is for the brake. Use your right foot for both.”

I stared at the pedals, my heart picking up its’ pace at the thought leaving one pedal unattended while I moved my foot to the other. I looked up at her to see she was grinning at me but I couldn’t make myself return her smile.

“You’re so nervous. It’s really no big deal,” she said. “Whenever you’re ready, just turn the key and it will start the car. All right?”

I just nodded. This is easy. Just quit being a wimp about it and drive. It’s no big deal. Any moron can drive a car.

“One more thing,” she said. I froze.

“The very most important thing to remember is that we can’t tell my parents about this. They’d kill me if they knew I was letting you drive my car,” Glenda said.

“That’s not a problem,” I said. “Since we can’t tell my parents either. They’d kill me if they knew I was driving your car.”

We shared a smile as our secret hung in the air.

What parents don’t know can’t hurt them.

I reached down for the dangling keys. Glenda fastened her seatbelt across her lap and pointed for me to do the same. I had almost forgotten.

“Buckle up,” she said. “Then start the engine whenever you want to.”

I fixed my seatbelt but didn’t start her car yet.

Come on, moron. This isn’t a hard thing to do, starting a car and driving down a deserted street a few times. No big deal at all. Come on.

I reached down and made myself turn the key and the engine started to purr.

So far, so good.

“Just squeeze down and shift into drive,” Glenda said. “Keep your foot on the brake but go ahead and put the car in gear.”

I did what she said and pushed the brake harder and harder like I was pushing it through the floor.

“Look and see if there is anything coming,” she said. “If we wreck my car, we’re both dead.”

I turned and twisted to look out the window and see we were all alone on the cemetery road. I froze. I didn’t know what to do next.

“All right,” she coached. “Pull your foot off the brake, then move it over and push the gas. Then it’ll go.”

Just quit being a coward and drive the car.

I moved my foot off of the brake and pushed the gas pedal. The Jeep jerked us forward.

Shit, I must have given it too much gas. I stuck my foot back on the brake and we bucked to a stop. I saw Glenda jerk forward as we stopped.

“Sorry,” I managed to say, pushing the brake even harder than before.

I just thought I was as capable as moron. Apparently, I was wrong.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I gave my Dad whiplash the first few times I drove. Just be more gentle and it’ll be fine.”

My wet hands gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. All of the sudden, Dad began talking in my head.

“See, boy, you are stupid. Any idiot can drive a car. Except you. You’re too fucking stupid.”

Shut up, Dad. I slowly pressed the gas pedal and we inched forward.

“There you go,” she said. “No more whiplash.”

We crawled along fine until the road curved. I jerked the steering wheel too hard and the Jeep to ran off the road and onto the grass.

“Crap,” I cursed. My face got hot as I jerked the Jeep’s back onto the pavement. I took a deep breath and tried again. We settled into to a steady 25 miles per hour crawl down the empty road. Once I drove it a couple of times, I had the hang of the course. My face even cooled off again.

“There you go,” Glenda said. “You’re getting the hang of it now.”

“A little bit I guess,” I said, not taking my eyes from the road.

“It’s getting late. One more lap and we need to stop,” she said.

I nodded as I pressed the brake pedal too hard again and we jerked to a stop.

“Sorry,” I said, my face hot once more. “I’ll do better next time.”

“It’s all right,” she smiled. “Put it in park, then turn it off.”

I did what she told me to do and we sat without talking. As I breathed in, the flowery smell of her shampoo and soap swirled through the cab of the Jeep. She was so close to me,I could have reached out and taken her hand into my own. I remembered how soft and warm her hand was in mine when she was trying to comfort me at McDonalds. I inched my hand over closer on the soft bench seat but froze before I could touch hers.

Glenda unbuckled her seatbelt and twisted around to face me. I did the same.

Now what? What do I say? Or do?

“Not bad,” she said. “For a rookie. No wrecks. No deaths. All in all, a good first time.”

“Well,” I grinned, “I’ll just have to try harder next time.”

We both laughed and I looked out the window so I could figure out what should come next.

Glenda answered my unspoken question.

“Let’s switch spots,” she said. I opened my door and stepped out into the cold air. As I walked to the other side my fingers skimmed the cool metal.

When I came to the other side, I opened the door and climbed in. We sat there for a long minute before Glenda started to talk, looking straight ahead as she did. My heart began to beat faster and faster.

“Mark...” she started. “Can I ask you a question?”

More questions? Maybe even the big question, why are you a total freak, Mark Henderson?

I looked up at her face and said, swallowing my fear. “Sure. What is it?”

I tried to sound calm, at ease with the world but my heart was in my throat and my stomach churned. How exactly do I explain...

“I...I want to ask before...” she said, still not looking at me“...before I chicken out.”

“Sure,” I replied. “Ask me anything.”

I might not give you a true answer, but you can ask anything.

“Am I your friend or...or....” she asked, turning to me, “ Or...or am I your girlfriend?”

Her smile faded and I could have sworn she looked sorry for asking me that question.

My smile faded too. I swallowed hard as I thought about what she was asking me.

Well what is she? What did she want to be? What did I want her to be? Well, what was it?

I found my voice, weak but functional as I asked her, “Well, which would you like to be, Glenda?”

I saw her face cloud up at my question then she looked away from me. I started bouncing my knees and chewing on my cheek.

I shouldn’t have asked her that question. That was stupid. Why would she want to be my girlfriend? Who in the world would want that? Certainly not...

“Well, Mark,” she said,looking over at me again. “Girlfriend is better.”

My mouth fell open at her response. And one thought spun through my head. I must have heard her wrong. She didn’t just say that she wants to be my girlfriend? She can’t have said that. Right?

“What?” I managed softly.

“I said that being your girlfriend would be better, Mark,” she answered, her words a little louder.

“Really?” I asked, still uncertain I had heard her correctly. “You want to go out with me?”

“I would,” she nodded at me. She looked over at me and smiled, flashing her dimples and braces at me. Her rosy face was even rosier than before.

I couldn’t say anything at this revelation. A girlfriend? That’s a new one. How does somebody deal with a girlfriend? What do I say now that she’s my girlfriend? How do I do this? This is Glenda Stone, my girlfriend. I’ll get a ride with my girlfriend. I don’t know, I’ll ask my girlfriend.

I scooted closer, until my leg brushed against hers, and I took her hand. Glenda’s slender fingers fell into stroking my hand softly and slowly. My mind twirled as I could hardly keep from floating out of my seat.

I looked up at my girlfriend’s rosy face, full lips and her mink hair spilling over her shoulders. So that boyfriend I expected to show up any day now was me.

There is a God.

I sat smiling at her like a moron. We didn’t speak, we just held each other’s hands.

Finally, she pulled her hand out of mine and grabbed the dangling keys.

“Well, I need to get home,” she said. “We’ll skip the ice cream today.”

“But just for today,” I said as she started the engine. “Tomorrow we’ll have sundaes after we drive.”

No expense spared for my girlfriend. Anything my girlfriend wants, she shall have. I smiled all the way home.

Chapter Thirty

My girlfriend gave me driving lessons in lots of places. The cemetery, the fair grounds, the parking lot of an abandoned factory and I got the hang of driving. Nobody knew or guessed that Glenda was my Driver’s Ed teacher every day. We kept our mouths closed and stayed away from any real traffic. It was too risky.

It was a week before Christmas vacation and Glenda drove us towards McDonalds for our after driving sundaes.

I said, “My Mom wants to meet you.....sometime.”

“Sure,” she said, eyes staying on the road. “I’d like that. When?”

I shook my head. How about when they’re having snowball fights in Hell? Or when pigs fly over the moon? How about never?

“How about today?” I asked.

Then Mom can get off my back about it. Once and for all.

“Sure,” she said. “We can go there instead of McDonalds today. It’ll be nice.”

Well, nice isn’t the exact word I would pick for it. Scary, maybe, but not nice.

“Good. She can quit bugging me about it once she sees you’re a real, live person and not a figment of my imagination. My brother’ll be there to,” I said. “I’ll just tell you now that he’s a real pain in the ass.”

“Oh,” she smiled at me, stopping for a red light. “I always wanted a little brother. I’ll bet he’s adorable.”

“Well, if you still think he’s cute after meeting him,” I smiled at her, “You can have him. Really, he’s all yours.”

We started driving again and we were parking behind Mom’s Chevy before I was ready to be there.

“I can stay a few minutes,” she said, shutting off the Jeep.

“ A few minutes’ll be enough time for Mom to be nosy and for David to be annoying,” I said, my voice cracking as I did. “ And for you to rethink the whole being my girlfriend thing.”

She flashed me a smile and said, “ I’m from Texas, remember. I actually have relatives who are still fighting the Alamo and who think Tom Landry is one step above God. I think your Mom and brother will be fine.”

I grabbed the door handle and sat waiting for her to make the first move. My face was cold and my hands were slippery.

”You’re so nervous,” she grinned. “Relax.”

I shot her my fake smile and opened the door. The cold air made me shiver as I walked around to grab her hand. I was glad she was wearing gloves as we walked up the sidewalk together. Gloves would keep her from feeling just how sweaty my hands were.

The Christmas wreath greeted us at the door. I fumbled with the door knob, my hands were so slippery but I finally got the door open. I stepped in ahead of Glenda, peeking about. We stood on the white marble entryway and I wiggled out of my jacket. Hanging it up on the coatrack, I stepped in.

The sounds of Mr. Peabody and Sherman floated out the door to us. Rocky and Bullwinkle was David’s favorite cartoon even though he didn’t get any of the jokes.

“It’s weird,” Glenda said in my ear. “I’m in Mr. Paxton’s house. What’s it like in a teacher’s house?”

“It’s like Dracula’s castle here,” I said. Telling a joke made me less nervous. “It’s terrifying.”

“Hey, Mom,”I called out.

“Hey, yourself,” she called from somewhere down the hallway. “I’m in here with your brother.”

I walked past the wall of pictures and into the empty living room. The TV was on but Mom and David were nowhere to be seen. Here I am with my fabled girlfriend and I can’t find anyone to show her to.

“Mom?” I called as I stepped down the hallway.

“I’m in here with David,” she said.

“Okay,” I said, walking back to Glenda as she stood looking at the pictures.

“Oh my word, is this Mr. Paxton? I didn’t know he was an army guy,” Glenda said. “Daddy was in the army too.”

We walked to the living room and into the hall.

“I brought Glenda home to see you,” I called to Mom.

I saw the door to the bathroom was open and heard splashing. David must be making or cleaning up a terrible mess. He loves to go to the bathroom, run the water and splash like a wild animal.

“Oh,” Mom said, appearing in the hall, wiping wet hands on her jeans.

“Come on in. I’m Barbara ,” she said, extending a now-dry hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Mark and Joe.”

“I’ve heard all about you, too,”she said shaking the offered hand.

We stood in the hall, Mom and Glenda smiling at each other. I bounced on my feet and was about to suggest we go sit down when there was a tremendous splash.

Before I could blink or Mom could stop him, David came streaking into the hall. He was completely naked and completely dripping water all over the place.

“Oh my God,” I moaned. I gripped my forehead in my hands and felt my face catch fire.

David bounced up and down in front of Glenda, water -and some other things--flying all over the place.

“Oh, no!” Mom screeched. She ran for the bathroom.

I wanted a hole to open up in the floor and swallow me. Glenda laughed and said, “You must be the little brother.”

“Yep! Yep! Yep!” she said as he bounced.

“You’re right. This is David,” Mom said, twisting a yellow towel over my naked brother.

I could not even talk as Mom covered the brat up.

“You’re so cute,” I heard Glenda say.

I shook my head and looked up at her. She was wearing the biggest grin I had ever seen on her face, laughing at my embarrassment.

“Sorry,” Mom said. “He got so much magic marker all over himself that a bath was the only option I had. You two head on into the kitchen. Mark, get Glenda a drink.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Paxton,” she said. “I’d love a soda. How about you, Mark?”

I gave her a too big grin and we walked into the cluttered kitchen. Glenda hung her coat on the back of a green barstool, then sat down.

“I can fix you up with a soda,” I said. “We have Dr. Pepper, Sprite or orange. What sounds good?”

“I’d love a Dr. Pepper,” Glenda said.

“Me, too,” I said. my face finally cooling off. I shook my head as I turned to the cabinets, looking for the decent glasses.

“Your little brother is so cute,” she said.

“Then, he’s all yours,” I said over my shoulder. “I’m a man of my word.”

Before she could answer me, David came running into the kitchen. He was still annoying but at least he was dressed now. Mom was right behind him.

“Me, too!” David said, bouncing into a seat. “Dr. Pepper! Dr. Pepper!”

Like he needs caffeine.

“All right,” Barbara said. “Mark grab the glasses and the ice. I’ll go get the soda.”

I pulled out four decent glasses, then walked to open the freezer. Cold air swirled about me as I grabbed an ice tray. I slid over to the sink and twisted and bent the frozen tray until it cracked apart.

Mom reappeared, a bottle of Dr. Pepper in her hand as I divided the ice cubes among the glasses. Turning, I put the empty ice tray in the sink.

“Here we go,” she said.

She twisted off the lid then poured our fizzy sodas. She handed the first glass to Glenda, then me, then David and then herself. Stepping to the cabinet over the oven she brought out a box of Cheezits from where she had hidden it from us. I saw Little Debbie cakes and a bag of Oreos staring at me from that cabinet too.

I stopped my mouth from falling open, seeing her hidden stash of junk food. What else is in there?

“Here,” she said. “Have some Cheezits before the boys eat all of them.”

She pulled off a square of paper towel and poured the orange crackers onto it.

“Mark tells me you’re new to town.” Mom said as she sat down at the table.

“That’s right,” Glenda said.

I chomped on my cheezits while Mom and Glenda started in on their get-to-know-you talk.

“Where were you living before?” Mom asked, grabbing a cheezit from the paper towel.

“All over the place. Daddy was career army so I’ve lived in Germany and Hawaii and DC and Fort Leonard Wood.”

“So, how did you end up here? Those places sound a lot more interesting than Cuthbert.”

Glenda sipped a drink and put her glass down on the bar before she answered Mom’s question.

“Well, Mom grew up here. Daddy grew up in Texas and they met when he was stationed at Fort Leonard Wood. He retired last year and we moved here so Mom could be close to grandpa since he was really sick,” she said.

I sat eating Cheezits feeling like a moron being unable to think of anything to add to the conversation between Mom and Glenda. I never thought to talk about this kind of stuff. We all fell quiet, save the chewing of Cheezits and the sipping of Dr. Pepper. I opened my mouth to say something but Mom spoke first.

“So,” she said, restarting the conversation. “Joe tells me you’re a junior.”

What else has Joe said to Mom about her? Her grades, how she did on the tests she took for him? I frowned at her words.

Glenda picked up a single Cheezit and popped it into her mouth while David and I chomped handfuls at a time. She nodded as she chewed, then swallowed.

“That’s right. I’ll graduate next year,” she said before selecting her next cracker.

“So what are your plans for after high school?” Mom asked.

“Well,” Glenda started. “I’m headed to college somewhere. Maybe Mizzou if I get a good enough ACT score. If my score’s not so great, I don’t know where I’ll go.”

Mom put her half-empty glass down on the table.

“Mizzou is supposed to be a great school,” she said. “What do you think you might want to study?”

Glenda drained her Dr. Pepper, shrugging her shoulders. “I have no idea what I want to study. Maybe teaching.”

It was quiet except for David chomping Cheezits with his mouth open and me draining my soda. I sat, listening and learning things I didn’t know about my girlfriend.

Why haven’t I ever asked her this stuff? This kind of stuff never comes up. Ever. “Teaching seems to be a great job,” Mom said. “Joe really likes it. You’ll never get rich teaching but it is a wonderful career.”

“Well, I loved his class,” she said. “He’s always telling jokes and he’s really nice to all of his students. Always.”

“So what would you teach? High school? Elementary school? Junior high?” Mom asked. She reached over and shook more Cheezits out of the box and onto the paper towel.

“Probably high school, I’m not any good with little kids and who in their right mind wants to teach junior high? Maybe English or math. I don’t know just yet,” Glenda said, looking at her watch.

“Well, you don’t have to decide anything yet. Just enjoy being a kid as long as you possibly can,” Mom said.

“I need to head home, Mrs. Paxton. Thanks for the snack,” Glenda got to her feet and grabbed her coat.

“It was nice to finally meet you,” Mom said. “You’ll have to come back some time when you can stay for dinner.”

“I will,” Glenda said.

After she wriggled into her coat, I took her gloved hand and we walked down the hall and to the door. David ran and overtook us, bouncing in front of us.

Yes, giving the brat caffeine was a great idea.

“Bye!” he yelled, bouncing, blocking our way.

Smiling, Glenda reached out to pat his blonde hair.

“See you later, big guy,”she said.

I opened the heavy oak door and we stepped outside, shutting the door behind us.

We walked to stand by her Jeep and just stood there, shivering in the cold. I tried to think of something to say.

“Your Mom’s really nice,” she said. How is it whenever I run out of something to say, she steps in and rescues me?

“Thanks for coming by. My Mom can get off my back now that she knows you exist,” I said.

“And you’re little brother is adorable,” she said.

“Really,” I said. “I stand by what I said earlier. You can have him if you think he’s cute.”

We both laughed. She pulled her keys out of her coat pocket and jingled them in her hand. I stood there shivering in the damp air, unsure of what to do. How do I say goodbye to my girlfriend? A hug? A kiss? I looked at her rosy face and her hair blowing about her and really wanted to kiss her. I wanted to lean in and press my lips to her rose petal pink lips.

She stepped over to me and put her arms around me. I put my arms up and around her and gave her a squeeze. Her body was warm pressed up against mine, her scent swirled around me in the breeze. I hugged her closer. I felt my head start to float away as I stood there, my girlfriend in my arms. I trembled at the feel of her against my body and hoped she just thought I was cold.

Glenda pulled away and jerked me back to reality.

“So when are you coming over to meet my parents?” she asked. “They’re getting pretty curious to see if you really exist.”

I thought for a moment, then said, “Maybe tomorrow? How about we figure that out later when we’re not out here freezing our butts off.”

She leaned in and hugged me again before she pulled away, opened her door and climbed in. I shut it for her and stepped back as she started the engine.

Waving, she put the car in reverse and backed away from our house. I watched her disappear down the street and flew inside once she was out of sight.

David stood at the window, his snotty nose pressed up against the glass, looking like the fourth little pig. He peeled himself off of the glass and bounced and bounced.

“Mark’s got a girlfriend. Mark’s got a girlfriend, Mark’s got a....” David chanted.

My cold face caught fire at his five-year-old teasing.

“Shut up!” I yelled, stomping to my room and slamming the door.

Chapter Thirty-One

The next afternoon, I found myself at Glenda’s house.

When she asked me if we could skip the driving and the sundaes to go meet her mom. I swallowed my nervousness and agreed.

My mouth was cotton and my heart was racing as she drove us through the traffic and into one of the nicest neighborhoods in town. Her house was all brick and all new. She parked in the driveway and we walked through the spotless garage and into their shiny, new kitchen. There we were greeted with a note from her mom saying she had been called in to work at the last minute and she would be back about 5:30.

There we sat at the table. I looked up at the steadily ticking clock to see it was 3:45.

“So....” I asked. “What’ll we do? Do you want to go on to McDonalds then take me home? “

“Not really,” she said, flashing me a grin. “Let’s see what’s on TV. Come on.”

She stood up and stepped over to me, grabbing my hand. I got up and followed her into the living room that was next to their kitchen. The hallway was newly wallpapered in green and tan stripe, their carpet a deep hunter green. As we walked down the hall,I noticed their house was orderly and everything was in its’ place. Our house was cluttered and covered in toys.

Oh, the difference a six year old makes.

When we reached the living room, I saw it was painted a warm beige color and there was a huge bay window that filled the room with light. I stepped over and saw a covered up pool in the backyard.

“Wow,” I said. “A pool. That must be nice in the summer.”

“It is when it’s warm. You’ll have to come over and swim sometime,” she said.

I kept myself from grimacing. She didn’t know about my giant scar from the wreck. I wouldn’t be letting her see me without a shirt anytime soon.

She let go of my hand and grabbed the remote from the top of the television. I turned away from the window to look around at the living room. The couch matched the love seat that matched the recliner. The coffee table and the end tables were the same fancy oak. Everything was new and matched. Our furniture looked like it was bought at a yard sale.

There isn’t much extra money at home, I winced. Too many bills to pay...

She plopped down on their brown and green striped couch, then patted the cushion next to her, flashing her metallic smile up at me.

I froze for a moment.

She wants me to sit here with her and we’re all by ourselves. Where in the world is this leading? I was more than willing to find out.

I made myself walk over to her and sit stiffly next to her, trying to look normal as she started flipping through the channels. They had cable so the flipping went on for a very long time. Glimpses of Rocky and Bullwinkle, The Brady Bunch, local news, and lots of other programs blurred by. As she pushed the buttons, I was disappointed to learn that there was as much to watch on three channels as there was on 80 channels.

She put the remote down after settling on a Brady Bunch rerun. We stared at the screen as Alice’s crazy sister tried to get the Brady kids whipped into shape. Marcia was grinning doing jumping jacks.

“There’s nothing to watch,” she groaned.

All I could do was nod at her. I tried to look cool but inside I was trying to figure out what exactly I was supposed to do sitting here on the couch with my girlfriend with all of the adults gone for the next hour and a half. How in the world had this happened? I’m sitting next to my pretty girlfriend. What am I supposed to do now?

Should I lean over and start kissing her sweet mouth? Then kiss her some more before reaching out and...

Except we hadn’t actually kissed before. We hadn’t been an official couple for that long. We’d hugged and held hands but that was it. I guess I was supposed to be the one who started the kissing but so far, I was a total kissing coward.

Why was I such a coward? Because I hadn’t ever kissed anyone before. Ever. I was a kissing virgin at the age of 16. How sad was that?

Maybe, I’d get up my nerve today. At her house. By ourselves.

“Would you like to listen to some music instead? I’ve got a stereo in my room,” she said.

My stomach dropped to the floor. Her what?

I felt my face glowing hot. She did not just ask me to come with her to her bedroom. That couldn’t have happened. There’s no way a girl would ask me to even look at their bedroom, much less go into it with them. I felt a tremor run through my body.

I squirmed, stammered and stuttered for a minute. I must have looked like I was about to have a giant seizure right there on her couch because she sat straight up and looked scared.

“Are you all right? Is... is something getting ready to happen?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“No, I’m fine,” I said. I just can’t believe you asked me to your bedroom, that’s all. Once we got to her room, what was going to happen? What does she want?

“No, we’d better stay here,” I said. “I mean your dad might come home early and not like a boy being in your room. He was an army guy, remember. He’s trained to kill people.”

She smiled at me and said, “I suppose you’re right.”

Relief washed all over me. I was definitely not up for a trip to her bedroom. That was a final frontier bigger than Star Trek magnitude. I was not ready to boldly go where I had never been before.

Yet.

She sat back on the couch with a sigh and scooted closer to me. Then closer to me until her warm body was right up against my side. I began to tremble.

She felt so warm and smelled so nice I took my arm, put it around her and pulled her in closer as the Brady Bunch kids plotted their revolt in front of us. Glenda put her head on my chest and hugged me.

Her flowery scent surrounded me and her electric fingertips began to stroke my bare neck in a slow steady rhythm. I closed my eyes as my head started floating away from my body again. Suddenly, things started to come to life in my Lee jeans.

She sighed a contented sigh and I did the same.

How can I describe how this felt? The deep happiness I hadn’t ever felt before? My beautiful girlfriend warm and curled up on me, stroking my neck like this. If I died right here, right now, I’d die happy.

Her fingertips were like sparks. I shivered as she rubbed my skin slowly, back and forth and back and forth. I looked over at her beautiful, contented face. I felt like I would burst as she rubbed my neck with her warm fingers. Words bubbled up from inside me.

God, Glenda. I love you so much. The words bubbled closer to my lips but died as she stopped rubbing my neck and pulled away. She was squinting down at my collar bone.

My blood went cold in my veins as I realized what she’d found.

Oh, God, she’s found my burns! Shit, I didn’t want her to see them!

“What is that, Mark?” she asked. Her fingers went to my collarbone and she leaned in to look at the cluster of bumps. I felt the cigarette burning through the layers of my bare skin once more. My mouth went dry and I trembled as she ran her fingertips on the scars.

Her face was scrunched with confusion as she pulled away. My heart started to go crazy in my chest as I started to shake.

What do I tell her? Not telling anyone has been my life’s mission.

She frowned.

“I...when I was a kid...” I stuttered like an idiot as my brain tried to come up with an answer for her. How about the truth? For a change.

“I was burned,” I said.

She sat up and looked at me, her face still scrunched up.

“How’d you get burned there?” she asked. “I mean I’ve gotten burned taking stuff from the oven or with a curling iron but that’s a weird place to get burned.”

I looked at her chocolate eyes and knitted brow and couldn’t talk for a long moment.

What do I tell her? Do I tell her about the nightmare I lived with my dad? Why would I ever tell anybody about that?

I opened my mouth to talk to her but she asked me, “ Is that from the wreck?”

I just looked at her and shook my head. My voice was nowhere to be found. My brain shouted for me to tell her the truth. Or at least part of it.

“No...” I started to say. “When...when I was a kid...”

She grabbed my hand and said, “ I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry, Mark.”

I swallowed hard and squeezed her hand tightly in mine. The truth for a change. Try it.

“It’s all right,” I said, shaking. “My dad had a really bad...bad t-t-temper when......”

“What do you mean? He had a bad temper?” she asked.

I felt panic boiling up in my stomach and to my throat. I’d been taught to never tell what went on at our house. My heart started to beat faster.

She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t know what it means to live, ready to be clobbered at any moment. She’s never lived with a monster before. I heard my voice start to babble.

“When..when I messed up he...he ummmmm.....had to....”

I looked at her while I tried and tried to figure out a way to tell her what I’d never told anybody....not even Mom.

Glenda brought her hands to her mouth and her face went white as she figured out what I was trying to say.

“Oh, Mark, no” she said. “Oh, my God....”

She looked at me like she was going to cry. Her fingertips fluttered about my healed burns.

“It’s all right now,” I said quickly. I couldn’t let her start crying on me. Then I’ll....

“He just would get really, really mad...sometimes. When I did some....something wrong. He’d get mad.”

See what the truth gets me. She’s going to cry.

“Oh, no, Mark. What...what...”

I heard myself answer her, sounding stupid.

“I...I’d forget to wash the...the dishes or...or...didn’t hang up my coat...”

As the words left my mouth I heard how stupid they sounded. What did I do to deserve what he did to me?

She moved in, put her arms around me and pulled me close. We were quiet as I tried to stop shaking in her arms.

“And you had to live with him all by yourself? Where was your mom?” she finally asked.

I looked at her and tried to find my voice. Where was Mom?

“She was gone....” I said.

I looked away from her, my voice shaking as I told her what I’d never told anyone before.

Chapter Thirty-Two

February 13, 1975

I hopped off the yellow school bus and started walking to our house. I jumped over every crack in the sidewalk until I saw our house. It was big and all red brick with wooden shingles on the roof. When I looked up to my bedroom window I could see my Darth Vader poster hanging on my wall.

Stepping onto the porch, I opened the heavy door and was home again. I put my bag down, wiggled out of my coat, and hung it on the coatrack.

I always hung up my coat because Mom freaked out when I left it laying around.

“Hey, Mom,” I called as I started to walk to the kitchen.

Cigarette smoke met me instead of Mom. Dad was home early today.

He was never home early, he was always at work. I didn’t see him too much and he was never home right after school. It was always just me and Mom.

I got our kitchen. It was huge. The countertops were gleaming red plastic and the cabinets were a dark wood. The stove and the refrigerator were red, too. My dad sat at the big, red snack bar on a metal barstool.

He sat there staring at me with his see-through blue eyes and smoked. There was no hello or how was your day. He just smoked and stared.

“Where’s Mom?” I asked finally.

“She’s gone,” he said. “She said she was sick of you so she left.”

I felt like he hit me in the stomach and questions rolled around in my head. Where was Mom?

She’ll be back in a minute. He’s lying to me.

“When..when will she be back?” I asked.

“What did I say?! She’s not coming back!” Dad yelled at me.

I just looked at him as I tried to figure out what he was saying. It just didn’t make sense.

“But...she has to make cookies for the party tomorrow,” I said. “She promised...”

“Are you listening to me?” he yelled. “She’s not coming back! She left!”

I couldn’t breathe or move. When will she be back? How will I get my cookies? Where? “Where did she go?” I asked,crying.

He stood up and slapped me with his open hand. My face was on fire and my head was spun about until it snapped and sprung back. I looked up at Dad, really crying hard now. I couldn’t believe that he had hit me like that.

“What don’t you get about this?!” His words were smoky and scary. I jerked away as he came at me again.

He shoved me hard. The next thing I knew, I was face-first on the cold floor. My cheek burned and throbbed and before I could figure out what was going on, a huge black shoe kicked the air out of my body. I clutched the floor and screamed inside my head.

Breathe! Breathe! God, help me breathe.

Panic rose up in my chest as I tried and tried to get air into my aching lungs. My face did not hurt anymore.

Dad leaned down at me, yelling out smoke, “You’re a goddam pussy, that’s what you are! That’s what letting your worthless mother raise you has gotten me.”

I could finally breathe again and from the corner of my eye, I saw his foot coming at me. I rolled away so he couldn’t kick me again.

“Pussy,” he spat down at me.

Dad went back to his barstool. I was crying into the cold tile now that I could breathe once more.

“What are you crying for?”he spat. “You’re not even bleeding.”

I heard Dad crush his cigarette then I heard the rustle of plastic as he dug out his next smoke. I tried and tried to stop crying but I couldn’t.

“Look at me, Mark,” I heard him say.

I just lay there, crying into the cold tile. My face and my lungs burned like they were on fire.

“Look at me,” he said again.

I shook my head and stared into the floor. I didn’t want him to I was still bawling. That would just make him even madder than he already was.

“Right now!” he screamed at me.

The tone of his voice made my hair stand on end and my heart start to pound like I had been running so I rolled over. There he sat on the metal barstool,breathing fire like a dragon. A shiver ran through me as his lips curled into a smile.

“Now that’s she’s gone,” he said. “I’ll be able to undo what she’s done to you, Mark.”

I snorted and sniffled as a river started to flow from my eyes once more.

“She turned you into a pussy,” he said. “But I can fix that before it’s too late. You’ll thank me some day.”

I just lay there crying as he sat there smoking.

Chapter Thirty-Three

My voice trailed off and I was ashamed to say I was crying.

Stop crying. No girl wants to be stuck with a boyfriend who cries like a baby at things that were over a long time ago.

She hugged me tight and I felt my shoulder getting wet. She was crying too.

“Where did she go? Why did she go?” Glenda asked, still holding me.

I shook my head, sniffled hard and made myself talk. She was asking the same questions I wanted answered. Mom and I both tried our very best to pretend none of it ever happened.

“She said he didn’t give her a choice but I don’t know,” I said.

She shook her head. I sniffled enough times that I stopped crying and my face started to get red with embarrassment.

She pulled away and wiped her red eyes.

“She seemed really nice,” Glenda said, her voice and face troubled at what I had told her. My mom did seem nice but she left me with Dad and never looked back. How can someone nice do that to their own kid?

“She tells me she’s sorry all the time,” I said. “I guess that’s something.

I looked over at her and shrugged my shoulders. There wasn’t anything more to say. It was what it was. She left and started a new life without me. Until the night Dad and I crashed in his Caddy and I ended up back with her.

Captain Kirk’s voice popped up from the television set.

“Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise...”

I turned away from her to look at the clock. The Bradys had solved their problem in less than thirty minutes and it was four o’clock now. Mom would be expecting me any minute.

“Well,” I said. “I need to go home. Mom’s probably wondering where I am about now.”

She leaned over and hugged me again. I closed my eyes and let her hold me close for a long minute until I felt the gentle thump thump of her heart against my chest.

We pulled away from our hug and the next thing I knew, she put her rose petal lips against mine. My head spun and I held my breath until she pulled away. I looked down at her and then moved in and kissed her again. After a moment, she pulled away and gave me a last squeeze.

“Let’s get you home,” she said.

I nodded at her and followed her as we walked through the house and out to her car.

God, I love my girlfriend, I thought to myself.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Christmas Eve was in four days and I stood in front of a wall of jewelry at Wal-Mart.

Christmas elevator music played all over the store and everywhere you looked there were giant bows, Christmas trees and fake snow decorating it as people ran around like maniacs trying to buy the rest of their Christmas gifts. Somewhere in the store, Mom was one of those last-minute shoppers.

I was looking for the right present for my beautiful girlfriend and, so far, I wasn’t having any luck.

Rows of plastic jewelry hung in front of me. There were earrings, bracelets and necklaces in red, blue, green, black, polka dots, stripes. The combinations were endless. There was a mountain of cheap jewelry to try and sort through. I reached up and let my fingertips touch the rows.

Glenda wouldn’t like any of this tacky stuff. She doesn’t wear tacky, ugly jewelry. She’s not tacky or ugly.

I turned from the plastic junk to the gold and silver jewelry hanging from the next rack. Necklaces, earrings, bracelets of gold, silver and copper. Birthstones--red, green, yellow, purple, blue black--sparkled.

This is more like Glenda. Classy and beautiful.

How about earrings? All girls like earrings. Right?

I squinted, trying to remember Glenda’s face. I could see her dark eyes, her dimples, her braces in my mind, but not her earlobes. Her hair covered them up and she never pulled her hair back like Mom does.

Does she like earrings? And even if she wears earrings, aren’t some for pierced ears and some for not-pierced ears?

Skip the earrings then--they’re a guaranteed mistake. How about a necklace? Or a bracelet? Or both? How much money do I have again?

I grabbed my wallet from my pocket.

I only spent five dollars a week so I was a rich kid. When I pulled out the money in my sock drawer I found over $170. I grabbed four ten dollar bills then shoved the rest back into the Sucrettes tin I kept buried in my sock drawer.

With all of my cash, there’s no reason to be shopping the two and three dollar pieces of junk. I can afford to buy her a nice piece of jewelry at Wal-Mart, the stuff in the glass cases. What can I get her from there? What will forty dollars do for me?

I took a big breath and walked over to the scary world of the Wal-Mart fine jewelry cases. I was really scared. If I get her the wrong thing, kissing might become a thing of the past.

I bent down and looked at rows of rings laying on a blue velvet background in the low glass case. The diamond selection stared up at me. There were lots of small stones, chips of stones and larger stones on engagement rings. Some plain bands and some bands with stones set into them lay there shiny and sparkly. Next to them lay the rainbow of birthstone rings. Red, green, purple, yellow, black.

What’s Glenda’s birthstone? When is her birthday, anyway? I never thought to ask her when her birthday is. Something to ask her later.

Anyway, a ring, any ring, was too much right now. I liked her and she liked me but not enough for a ring as her Christmas gift.

At least not this year.

I turned away from the rings and ooked over to the necklaces and bracelet. Leaning my elbows on the glass case, my eyes drifted around for a minute, then were drawn to the bracelets. A bracelet might be the right gift, not too pushy, like a ring, but nicer than a necklace.

A white-headed, old lady in a blue Wal-Mart vest smiled and walked to me. I kept staring at the bracelets and she started to talk.

“Can I help you today?” she asked. She had one of those southern voices. She leaned over across from me on the glass case.

“I’m looking for something for my...my girlfriend for Christmas,” I said.

“Well, ain’t you a sweet boyfriend,” she said. “What’d you have in mind?”

I looked up at her. The name Eula was on the name tag pinned to her vest.

I shook my head. I wanted to get her a bracelet but that was as far as I had figured out.

“I don’t know....something pretty for her,”I said.

Eula nodded at me and said, “A bracelet or a necklace? Gold or silver? What do you want, sweetie? ”

I stared at the rows of gold and silver chains in front of me. There were just too many choices.

“I don’t know...something for less than $40,” I managed to say. Her white head bobbed up and down.

“Do you see anything you want to look at closer, sweetie?”

What would Glenda like? I looked at all of the choices and then looked at them again. There has to be something in all of those rows of bracelets.

All of the sudden, I realized that I’d never noticed any jewelry on her at all. So maybe jewelry isn’t the thing to get her. Maybe a book or a record would be better but what bands does she like? What kind of books does she read?

Who knows. We never talk about that kind of stuff.

As I tried to remember if she liked any particular band, a bracelet in a red velvet box caught my eye. It was a thick silver chain and a heart-shaped charm dangling from it.

Is it a charm bracelet? Or just a bracelet? Which is it?

“Could I please see that one?” I pointed down at the box and bracelet.

“Sure thing, sweetie,” she said. “It sure is pretty. Ain’t it?”

Her twisted-up hands dug out her key. She bent down, opened the case and handed me the fuzzy box.

I took it and stood up straight, it was heavy in my hand. I pulled the thick, silver braid of a chain and quarter-sized heart out of the box and held it up to the light.

It’s nice. A pretty bracelet for my pretty girlfriend.

“Any girl would like that for Christmas, sweetie,“ Eula said, still leaning on the glass case. “And you can get it engraved for free. Put something nice on it so she’ll always think of you.”

I turned the box over and saw the price tag read $19.99. It was perfect.

“I’ll take it,” I announced. I gave it back to Eula, smiling a huge smile. “Where do I get it engraved?”

“Right here, sweetie,” she said. “It’ll just take a minute. What do you want it to say?”

I froze and quit smiling.

What do I want it to say? What?

“I don’t know,” I said finally. “What should it say?”

“Well, it’s not too big,” Eula said. “You can’t say too much, sweetie.”

I studied the silver heart, shiny in her wrinkled old hand.

What should it say? Something short and to the point. Something like...

“How about “Love, Mark?” I said. I looked her in the eye, waiting for approval or disapproval.

“How about I add Christmas, ’83 to the other side?”Eula smiled at me.

“Great,” I said. A pretty bracelet, that told Glenda I loved her.

My stomach simmered as I thought about it. Holy, crap. What am I doing?

My stomach began to churn hard as the engraver buzzed.

I guess it’s officially too late to chicken out about the whole “love” thing on the heart once the engraving starts. You engrave it, you bought was the Wal-Mart policy. And once I buy it, there’s no reason to not give it to her. Right?

My stomach bucked and my hands started to get slippery.

Of course, there’s no good reason not to give it to her.

But dear God, a bracelet with the word “love” engraved into it? What the hell am I thinking?

I jumped as Mom’s voice came over my shoulder. How did she get here so quick and without making a sound? Is there a Mom secret passageway at Wal-Mart?

I turned around to see our cart mounded over and David crammed into the tiny seat, his legs dangling a few short inches from the floor. He was way too big to sit in a shopping cart but it was better than a leash.

A trip to the store with my brother loose was an ordeal. Mom spent all her time chasing David while I stood waiting for them before we could move on to the next aisle. It also cost a lot more. With David loose, Poptarts, Sugar Shocker cereal and lots of candy were discovered when the groceries were being put away at home. Mom and I agreed that it was best to cram him into the cart.

Eula had turned over the bracelet and began engraving the other side. I wiped my wet palms on my jeans. It was really to late to stop her. Love Mark was taking shape on the silver heart. Like it or not.

“Are you about ready?”

“Almost,” I answered. “I’ll meet you up front in a minute.”

“Okay, sweetie,” Mom said, pushing the cart towards the check out lines.

“Mark!” David yelled. “Mark!! Guess what! I got a new Hot Wheel! A slug bug Mark! Like Daddy’s!!!”

I gave him a fake smile and said, “Congratulations.”

They disappeared into the check out crowd while I stood there, feeling like I could puke my guts up as Eula sealed my fate.

“Here you go, sweetie,” Eula said, putting the bracelet back into the soft velvet case. “I’ll ring you up here.”

I forced a nod and reached for my wallet.

Time to pay for the biggest mistake of my life.

Or the biggest mistake of my life so far. I still haven’t decided to give it to her. Maybe that’ll be the biggest mistake of my life.

Chapter Thirty-Five

The worst part of having a parent--or step parent--who teaches at your high school is that skipping school, even logical skip days, is virtually impossible. I was one of the lucky kids attending school all damn day on December 22. Every class crawled by, slower than the one before, until the last bell rang at 2:45.

I left study hall and walked through the smaller-than-usual crowd to my locker. Stopping in front of the orange metal door, I put my books on the floor. I grabbed my lock and twisted its’ face to and fro until it jerked it open.

I stepped closer and saw the small red package sitting on top of textbooks, notebooks, loose papers and other debris. It sat there, the golden bow sparkling.

Glenda’s present.

I wrapped--then re-wrapped it because I suck at wrapping presents-- two nights ago. I brought it with me the day before but chickened out of giving it to her.

Why do today what I can put off until tomorrow?

I left it in my locker all day for safe-keeping but if I was really going to give it to her, today was my last chance.Christmas vacation started tomorrow and she was leaving for Dallas for five days. It was now or never. I grabbed the red box, shoved everything else into my locker and shut the door with a thud. I tried to make my legs start to move, but I just stood there like a moron, as my brain went crazy.

What in the hell was I thinking? Putting that “Love Mark” stuff on there? What is that all about? Love? Why would she love me back? Why?

Well, she’s my girlfriend, even though we haven’t been on a real date yet. A trip to McDonalds for a fifty cent sundae doesn’t count for even the lamest of dates. So does anything we do count for love?

Not hardly.

I shoved the package into my jean jacket pocket and started the short walk to the cave that was the student center. My brain just kept going and going as I walked closer the my giant mistake.

On the other hand, every day after driving practice, we had a kissing practice right there in the front seat of her Jeep. She seemed to like it. I know I liked it and some parts of me liked it more than others. So, do these feelings mean love? I certainly feel something after all that kissing. Something oddly painful. Is that love?

Or is that a little thing called lust?

I walked down the empty hall to meet her, deep in thought.

I think I’m in love with her. I love how her dark chocolate eyes sparkle at me. I love her dimples and smile. I love her braces and her glasses. I love her soft lips. I love how she laughs at my stupidest jokes. I just plain love her.

In Earth Science or Geometry, I thought of her and what I would say in art class when I got to see her again. We could sit and talk and laugh while our art projects drifted closer and closer to mediocrity.

And at night,in bed, I thought of her and....

Enough of that.

All of that sure sounds like love to me and there’s no need to hide it anymore.

Unless she doesn’t feel the same way. Unless she’s going to laugh at me when she sees I was stupid enough to buy her a gift and slap the word love on it. Who wants to love the school freak anyway?

I rounded the corner and was in the student center where Glenda stood with her back to me.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

What a dumbass I am, putting that engraving on her bracelet. She’s going to laugh at me or maybe she’ll be really pissed.

I fingered the package in my pocket, feeling its’weight.

Maybe I shouldn’t give it to her at all. Giving it to her will be a huge mistake. If I’m smart, I’ll keep this in my pocket and forget about it. Except....

Except, I want her to have it. The bracelet is beautiful, just like her.

Glenda stood, bundled up in her parka by the trophy case. My heart sped up and up as I walked to her, the weight of the present nagging at me. I shoved the box deeper into my pocket.

“Hey,” she said, turning to smile at me.

I tried to answer her but my voice had fled.

At least part of me has some sense. The rest of me should really do the same.

I smiled instead of running away.

“No homework on vacation?” she asked. She stepped over to me and we started walking out of the student center. Her book bag sagged on her shoulder as we fell into step walking out the doors together. Cold air bit us as we walked out into the gray, December afternoon. I saw her shrug as her heavy bag slid down her shoulder.

Nope, she’s not going to have to carry that heavy thing anymore. That’s what the boyfriend does.

I reached over, grabbed her heavy bag and swung it over my shoulder.

Glenda smiled a rosy, dimpled smile at me. I didn’t think she could be any prettier, but the cold made her face glow pink.

“No,” I found my voice, “No homework over vacation. How about you?”

“Well, I get to read the rest of The Scarlet Letter for one. Then I get to finish my sociology project and then do a chapter of Algebra II. So much for Christmas vacation,” her words steamed out of her mouth. “Next year when you’re a junior, this will be your Christmas vacation.”

I laughed as we reached the cracked concrete of the student parking lot and her red Jeep. I felt the package in my pocket with my fingertips. Now, I had to figure out when to give Glenda’s present to her.

When we get to the car? When we get to McDonalds? Maybe, McDonalds will be the right place. She’ll be less likely to be mad if she’s eating hot fudge and ice cream.

My stomach churned at the awful question stuck in my brain.

What if she doesn’t like it?

I reached out and opened the cold car door. I stuck her book bag on the floor and climbed in. We shut our doors at the very same moment.

I smiled at her and she smiled at me.

“Jinx,” she said.

I nodded my answer since my voice was gone. I was about to make a complete fool of myself by telling her I loved her. No, not by telling her I loved her but by engraving it permanently onto a piece of jewelry. The engine purred as she pulled through the empty spot in front of us and we left the school parking lot.

“I can’t let you drive today,” she said. “I have to pack to go to my Aunt’s house first thing tomorrow. But we can get a sundae, if you want.”

“A sundae sounds good,” I made myself answer.

The bare trees streaked by as the Jeep drove on. Glenda smiled but kept her eyes trained on the road in front of her.

“All right,” she said. “Then I’ve got to get on home. Daddy makes us leave before dawn to drive to Dallas.”

I nodded my head and tried to figure out what to say without any luck. Her present was heavy in my jacket pocket as she drove through the traffic. I gazed over at her as the Jeep rolled to a stop.

I’ll give you this stupid present while you eat your ice cream. Ice cream’s your favorite food, so you’ll be less inclined to be pissed.

She glanced over at me and flashed a smile.

“You’re quiet today,” she said.

“I’m just ready for vacation,” I said. “I can’t wait to get to sleep in for a change.”

The light turned green and she gave the car some gas. We got closer and closer to the golden arches, until we sat in the turn lane, waiting while traffic blurred by.

“Me, too,” she said, turning the car into the McDonalds parking lot, parked the Jeep and shut off the engine.

“I’m not getting up before noon for the entire vacation,” she said.

My heart began to pound louder and louder. My shaky hand went to my pocket, feeling the smooth paper and prickly bow of her gift.

Maybe this is the right time to give it to her? Here in the Jeep. Just the two of us. If I’m going to embarrass myself at least it won’t be in front of a live studio audience.

I pulled the box out of my pocket as I choked on my words then spoke quietly.

“Glenda...” I managed to say. “Since...since you’re going out of town for a few days....I- I wanted to give you your Christmas present...”

She looked at me and then at red package in my hand. A huge metal smile covered her face.

“You didn’t have to get me a present..” she said.

“I know,” I said, scooting closer to her. “But I saw this and....and I thought you’d like it.”

Her face glowed and her smile widened, deepening her dimples. All of the sudden, my mouth dried up like it was full of cotton balls. I tried to return her smile but I think I only managed something closer to a smirk.

Somewhere I heard a voice inside of my head ask a pile of questions.

What if she hates it? What if she laughs at the whole “Love Mark” thing? Please....

I steadied myself and placed the box in her hand.

“Oh my,” she said. “It’s heavy.”

I swallowed hard, my heart desperate in my chest.

Glenda grinned and pulled the bow off of the package,slapping the sticky end to my forehead. It stuck like a golden Christmas tumor. She laughed, carefully removed the tape, and uncovered the velvety box underneath.

I forced my best smile, practicing my upcoming excuses.

I’m sorry, Glenda. I thought you’d like the bracelet and the little old Wal-Mart lady talked me into the whole “Love Mark” thing. I couldn’t very well argue with her about it. She was super old.

She opened the box and didn’t say anything.

Then didn’t say anything some more.

My heart hammered in my chest, my mouth went from cotton to desert and my smile ran for the hills. Like the rest of me should do.

She hates it.

Oh God, help me. She hates it. She can’t believe how stupid I am.

I struggled to find the slippery apology I needed to give her. And give it to her fast.

“Mark....I....” she started.

“I’m......I’m....” I stuttered. My heart sank lower and lower and I looked away from her in embarrassment. I sent my tongue to find a spot to start chewing, so I didn’t start to cry in...

“Mark....Mark I love it,” she sputtered.

What? What did she just say?

I turned my shocked gaze to her. Glenda held the silver bracelet in her fingers, the heart swaying in the sunlight.

“I love it,” she said again. Her eyes shone at me behind her glasses.

I let out a shuddering breath, as my heart started to slow back down. I couldn’t have stopped the grin taking over my face if I had to.

She likes it. She really, really likes it. Thank you, God.

“I’m so glad,” I said, scooting across the bench seat to sit closer to her.

“I love it,” she repeated.

I reached out to take the bracelet, opening the clasp, and slipped it onto her wrist. The thick chain shone on her skin and the heart was a silver drop of dew on her wrist. It looked pretty on my pretty girlfriend.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, smiling at me.

“It looks nice on you, Glenda,” I said. My body warmed up as nervousness left me and I could breathe once more.

Thank you, God. She really likes it.

Glenda gazed up at me with solemn dark chocolate eyes, she looked like she wanted to say something. She touched the dangling charm, making it sway gently.

“Do you mean it?” she asked finally.

Do I mean it? Do I love you?

I swallowed hard and locked my eyes to hers.

“Yes. I mean it,” I said. She was quiet and my mouth went dry again.

She wasn’t answering. She was just sitting there. Fear bubbled up in my throat at her silence.

Why is she just sitting there? Why isn’t she saying anything?

“Is.....is....is that all right?”

Glenda didn’t answer.

Instead she slid over, leaned in to kiss me. The prickly bow on my head stabbed at her as she did. She pulled it off and threw it to the floor before taking my face in her hands. We kissed again and again only stopping to catch our breath.

We were so caught up in each other, we didn’t notice the steam until a rapping came at her window. We scrambled to sit apart, wondering why we couldn’t see out the windows.

“Shit,” she cursed under her breath. My face caught fire now that we’d been caught kissing.

Glenda rolled down the window as the rapping came again. Cold air flooded the Jeep as the face of the McDonalds’ manager came into view.

“You need to get on out of here and make out somewhere else,” she growled at us. “You’re disgusting.”

“Sorry,” Glenda said, her face blazing red. She reached down to start the Jeep.

My head was spinning like crazy and I fought not to buckle over. Her kisses were sweet and painful to me all at the same time. I gulped at the icy air as we backed out of the parking space. Suddenly, the concept of a cold shower made logical sense.

Once we could see out the glass again, we rolled up the windows and rode without talking until we reached my house.

I turned to look at her and saw she was smiling at me.

“Thanks for the bracelet. I love it,” she said.

“I’m glad. When will you be back home?” I asked.

“We’ll be back on the 27th,” she said.

“Maybe we can get together? We could go out to a movie or something. I’ll buy,” I said. My palms got damp as I had done a really bad job of asking her for a date.

“You mean like a date?” she asked, smiling at me.

“Yeah, like a date,” I said, smiling back.

“Sure, I’ll call you when we get back into town,” she said before giving me a lingering kiss on the lips.

My face went hot and I heard myself say, “I love you.”

She smiled a huge, metal smile and said, “I love you, too.”

I slid over, we kissed another long kiss, then I opened the door and left her with a wave. God, I love my girlfriend, I said to myself over and over and over....

Chapter Thirty-Six

Christmas morning dawned to the sounds of David thundering down the hallway and yelling at the top of his lungs, jerking me awake. I looked around and, for a minute, I didn’t know where I was. My room was lit by the soft gray light of a winter’s dawn. I looked around and saw the alarm glowing 5:46. In the morning. Is this for real? My brother was really up this early, screeching like a monkey and running around like he was on speed? I rolled onto my stomach and threw my flat pillow over my head.

Nothing under that lame ass plastic tree is worth getting up this early. Really, it’s not. I pulled my pillow down tighter and tried to go back to sleep for a little while longer. Christmas shouldn’t be this big of a deal.

“Mommy! Daddy!” David screeched, his voice crashing through the sleeping house. I heard him jumping up and down like his legs were springs.

“Hey...” I heard Joe’s sleepy voice say. “What are you doing up already, big guy?”

“Daddy! Daddy!” he said, “Santa came! He came! He came!”

“Wow,” Joe said, a little more coherent than before. “Did he bring any presents?”

The light in the master bedroom flipped on, the brightness seeping into my room. I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter, fighting against morning as hard as I could fight it.

“Come on!” Come on!” David said, even more loud and excited than before.

Joe’s footsteps walked the short hallway to the living room. More light invaded my room as more lamps came on.

“Wow, “ Joe said. “Look at all of the presents. Some boys must have been really good this year.”

Presents? There were presents? What kind of presents?

I heard Mom’s footsteps down the hallway as she joined David and Joe. I lay there and began to wonder what exactly was under the tree with my name on it.

“Well, we can’t open presents without your brother. Go and get him, sweetie,” Mom said sleepily.

Here he comes. I guess there’s no way to put this off until noon or so now. I rolled over onto my back as his footsteps thundered down the hall like a herd of reindeer and into my room. I braced for impact as David threw himself onto my rumpled bed.

“Come on! Come on, Mark!” he shouted, shaking my bed. “Santa brought us presents. Come on, get up, Mark!”

“Hang on, ” I said as I sat up. “Get off my bed, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Get up! Get up! Get up!” David shouted, bouncing up and down like a ball.

“All right,” I said. “In a minute.”

“Come on! Come on!” David squealed, bouncing.

“All right! Leave me alone for a minute and I’ll get dressed,” I said. “I’ll be right there.”

David ran out of my room, screeching all the way back to Mom and Joe.

I swung my bare legs out of the warm blankets to dangle over the side. Can there be anything under that tree worth getting up this early? Maybe.

I shivered as I put my feet onto the cold floor and stood up. I grabbed a pair of jeans then a sweatshirt from the the pile of laundry on the floor. I pulled the sweatshirt over my head, feeling a little warmer as I did, then stepped into my jeans. Even the carpet was cold as I stepped over to my dresser and rummaged through the nest of loose socks. I grabbed one red-topped sock, then a yellow-topped mate for it. Once my cold feet were covered, I shoved my hands into my pockets and walked slowly into the Christmas tree-lit living room.

I saw Mom and Joe sitting on the puffy brown couch still wearing their pajamas, his arm around her. They both gave me big smiles.

“Merry Christmas, sweetie,” Mom said.

Merry Christmas, Mark,” Joe said.

“Same to you,” I mumbled, sitting on the fireplace hearth, looking at the pile of wrapped gifts.

Holy cow. What is all this stuff? What’s mine in that stack?

“Daddy! Presents! Mommy! Presents! Can we open the presents?” David shouted.

“All right boys,” Joe said. “Time to pass out the presents. Mark, you read the tags and David you pass them out.”

“Okay,” I said. “Go get a present, David.”

My brother bounced back and forth from the tree to me to Mom to Joe and then back again. After a few dizzy minutes, the gifts were passed out. I was shocked to see the size of the stack of presents in front of me. I smiled and couldn’t stop smiling.

“Go ahead,” Joe said. “Open your presents.”

David ripped and tore the wrapping paper from his packages, squealing with delight. I looked over to see he got Star Wars toys, books, a Hot Wheel track and a Pittsburgh Steelers jacket.

What to open first? The little ones, I guess. I couldn’t stop smiling as I tore the tape and the paper off of the gifts and in a minute or two I’d opened them all.

I got a couple of new books, The Dead Zone by Stephen King and The Fellowship of the Ring. In another box was a comfy pair of white Nikes with a red swoop to replace my worn-out black Converse. The biggest present was a small stereo for my room with a radio and a turntable. The other gifts were two albums, Signals by Rush and Queen’s Greatest Hits. I tried to look unimpressed but I just couldn’t hide my happiness.

It wasn’t a driver’s license, but it was still pretty good. I smiled over at my parents. Joe was grinning, turning over a huge book in his hands. Mom sat smiling a small stack of presents on the couch beside her.

“I love my new robe and my new tennis shoes, baby,” Mom said. “ And my necklace.” “Wow. The entire Snopes Trilogy,” Joe said. “Thank you, sweetheart. I love it.”

He leaned over and kissed my mom on her lips, making me look away from them. Thinking about them doing anything like that made me squirm. I gave them a minute to get unlip-locked then looked over to see them sitting, his arm around her.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said from the hearth. “Thanks, Joe.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” Mom called. “We love you.”

David came hopping over to me, Hot Wheels in each hand.

“Mark! Mark! Help me fix the track! Come on!”

“All right,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “Bring me the box of stuff and we’ll get it put together.”

David squealed, ran to the other side of the room then ran back to me with the long Hot Wheel box in his hands. I reached out and took it from him, turning it over and over to start figuring out how the box even opened. I saw the clear tape on the end and slid my fingers under it.

David squealed as I got the box open and started to pull out pieces of orange plastic track. I brought one up close to my face to try and figure out how it all went together.

Joe stood up from the couch and stepped over to me and David. He bent down and put his arms around us both, pulling us into a hug.

“Merry Christmas, boys. I love you both,” Joe said, squeezing us tightly.

“You boys work on the Hot Wheels track while your mom and I go and make some breakfast. Have fun. Come on, Barb.”

Mom got up from the couch and hugged us both before walking to the kitchen with Joe. I sat and played Hot Wheels with my little brother until breakfast was ready.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Christmas night and I stood in my spot listening to the conversation in the master bedroom. I crouched down and leaned against the wall.

“The boys liked their gifts, ” Mom said. “David liked his toys and I think Mark liked his gifts, too. He’s already half finished with one of his books. And he didn’t take his new shoes off until bed time.”

She was right, I really did like my gifts. I tried to look unexcited, but I just I couldn’t hide the fact that liked them. I should have gotten everybody else something but I didn’t think about it.

“I liked mine, too” Joe said, I heard the covers rustle as they snuggled up.

“ Mark even seemed happy today. He was laughing and smiling at dinner. I think maybe he’s starting to feel better,” Mom said.

She’s right. I had smiled a lot at Christmas dinner today.

For one thing, the food Mom and Joe cooked was amazing. I couldn’t remember another meal that even came close to how good their Christmas dinner was. Joe cooked a ham and made the fluffiest mashed potatoes in history. I sprinkled them with salt, stuck a fat slice of melting butter on them and ate three helpings. Mom made some carrots covered in some kind of brown sugar glaze and two pans of golden rolls. I stuck butter inside of the fluffy, hot rolls and ate three of them. After I felt like I was about to explode, Mom brought out a chocolate cake. I was way too full for cake so I had a huge piece after I got up from my nap. For once, I took to my bed in the middle of the day for something besides a seizure. I was just too full after all that dinner.

Another thing that made all of us smile were the stories Joe told as we sat at the table. First, he told us about being a kid on a dairy farm in Iowa. The funniest story was about how he crashed his sled one day into a sleeping cow. And another good one was about having to clean up after crashing a trailer full of watermelons when he was my age. Then we all cracked up when he told David about the old man we saw peeing on a shrub as we drove to school one day. It was so cold the pee was all steamy. I couldn’t stop laughing thinking about it again.

“I think he is better,” Joe said. “He’s been doing good at school, his grades are up...”

I nodded to myself. It is easy to get things done at school when there’s nobody picking on me or causing problems. Plus not being suspended helps make it easier to do my work.

“And his girlfriend seems very sweet,” Mom said.

You have no idea, Mom. She’s amazing and beautiful and smart and funny and a great kisser on top of that. Sweet is just the beginning.

“Yes, she is. I had Glenda in class and she’s a very sweet girl. Mark couldn’t have picked a better girl to date,” Joe said.

You’re right about that, Joe. I couldn’t have picked a better girlfriend in the entire school, or in the entire world. She makes me happier than I’ve ever been before and I love her more that anything.

“I told you he just needed time,” Joe said. “He’s doing better physically better, too. I mean, he hasn’t had a seizure since before Thanksgiving. That’s the longest he’s gone so far without one. Maybe Dr. Stewart’s figured out the medicine now.”

I realized Joe was right. I hadn’t had a seizure since before Thanksgiving and that was over a month ago. I smiled in the dark hallway. Maybe Dr. Stewart’s figured out what medicine I needed and how much of it I need. If I could go another five months, then Glenda teaching me how to drive will really pay off. I’ll be able to get my license and be on my way to living on my own.

Not that life here was all bad. I never went to bed hungry. Mom and Joe never even raised their voices to me. And, amazingly, even David was not completely annoying. I actually liked playing Hot Wheels with him today.

“Could you believe the way Mark was playing Hot Wheels with his brother? I couldn’t believe it so I had to keep pinching myself,” Mom said.

“It was nice,” Joe said. I heard the covers rustle as they settled further into bed.

I shook my head in the. Dad only gave me one present in the years after Mom left and it was last year.

Last Christmas was nothing like what I had just experienced.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Christmas, 1982

I opened my bleary eyes and knew it was a white Christmas from the blindingly bright light filling my room, I looked over to see my clock read 9:30. It was way too early to get up and start not celebrating Christmas. Instead, I grabbed my book from the floor and dove back into Middle Earth.

When my eyes got tired, I put the book back down and went back to sleep for a while. When I woke up from my Christmas morning nap, I saw it was 12:17.

My empty stomach grumbled at me. Middle Earth would have to wait until after I had my Christmas lunch. I got up, still wearing the sweat pants and shirt I slept in, went down the hall and into the spotless kitchen. My stomach growled as I stood at the cabinet door looking for lunch.

What’s for dinner? Ham? Turkey? Stuffing and mashed potatoes? Cake for desert?

I opened a cabinet, searching for something to eat but came up empty-handed. There was not even a can of corn or a box of lime jello in there, it was just empty. Stepping to the side, I opened the next cabinet and found a can of ravioli, two cans of green beans, a can of chicken noodle soup and a partial box of saltines.

Italian or chicken? Which is more Christmas-like?

I stopped. But maybe, Dad would want to go and eat somewhere. It is Christmas, after all.

I walked from the kitchen, down the hall and came to a stop in front of Dad’s closed door.

Is he even home? I didn’t hear him come home last night. I held my breath and stood there, straining to hear through his slab door. I even put my ear against the wood as I strained and strained but there was no sound coming from the other side.

Shit, I’m going to have to open the door and look in. I reached out and touched the doorknob, my heart pounding so hard I thought I could feel it hitting my breastbone. I could not make myself turn the knob. He never let me go into his room. If he even knew I was here, thinking about walking into his room like this, he would beat the piss out of me. But then again, if the door was locked I would just go back to the kitchen and eat my lunch. If the door opened, he was probably not even home. Either way, it would be all right.

But I still couldn’t make myself turn the worn brass knob in my sweaty hand.

Unless he’s awake and is pissed that I’m snooping in his room. Then he’ll clobber me for sure. But there’s no noise coming from inside his room. What if he’s dead in there? Then what?

Stop it. I slammed the door against those thoughts and slowly--so as to not make any noise--tried the cold, brass door handle.

It turned.

It’s not locked. He can’t be in there can he?

My heart beat louder and louder and my legs began to shake. What if he’s dead? What if he had a heart attack and died? Worse yet, what if he’s alive and awake and about to get really, really pissed off? What then, Columbo?

I gulped in a lung-filling breath and nudged the door open. The smell almost knocked me over. I had to choke back a coughing fit as the cigarette smoke attacked my lungs. I stepped away and fought to get control of my gagging. Once I could breathe again, I stood in the door while my eyes tried to adjust to the blackness of the room. The twin windows in the room were covered by thick, scarlet drapes that blocked out all of the outside world. I held my breath, waiting for the dragon to roar.

There was nothing. No sound at all. Maybe he’s not even home.

Or maybe he’s dead. Then what? No one seems to know where Mom is. Maybe she’s the dead parent. I hadn’t heard from her since third grade.

As my eyes adjusted, I saw Dad sprawled across his unmade king size bed. The bedspread rose and fell but the dragon did not stir. My nose burned from the smog of cigarette smoke that blanketed the air in Dad’s room. Wadded up pants, shirts, socks, shoes, towels and, for some crazy reason, baggies lined the floor of the master bedroom. I frowned and grumbled silently.

If there’s so much as a dirty dish in the sink, I get a bloody nose, but this room is filthy. Way to be fair, Dad.

I inched closer to the bed and saw Dad was wearing a white undershirt and the navy blue slacks he wore to work on Christmas Eve. His sheets were tangled all around him and rumpled at the end of the bed. The formerly white pillow cases were splotched and stained with....with...dark spots of...

Blood? Is that blood all over the pillow case? What in the world?

Dad was sound asleep and I saw no reason to wake him up. While Christmas a lunch sounded good, a Christmas beating sounded bad. So I decided just to let him sleep.

I retraced my steps through the trash minefield and slid out of the open crack of the door. I pushed it shut and filled my grateful lungs with clean air. As I walked back to the kitchen, I tried to look casual as I left the scene of the crime

Well, at least, I know he’s alive.

Thank goodness, I think. A little bloody but alive.

As I reached the kitchen and sat down on one of the barstools, suddenly I thought about Mom.

Where are you? Why don’t you call me or send me a Christmas card? Why haven’t you come to see me? I still have the same phone number and address you know, Mom. You could send something to let me know you’re all right.

But maybe, you can’t do that stuff, I thought. For some reason, I felt like I was going to cry.

Why am I starting to cry? Stop it.

I started to chew on the inside of my cheek and made myself pull open the messy drawer and get the can opener. I stepped over to the cabinet to grab the chicken noodle soup and crackers. Then I stabbed the silver lid and twisted the opener until there was a jagged piece of metal in one of my hands and an open can in the other.

Chicken soup for Christmas lunch.

I bent over and grabbed a thick, turquoise colored sauce pan from the bottom cabinet. Setting it on the counter top, I poured the soup in before I reached over and filled the empty can with tap water.

After I poured the water in the pan and placed the whole thing on the electric stove burner, I turned my attention to the television sitting on the red laminate bar. The cable hadn’t been working for awhile. For the last few weeks, static ruled the prime time television schedule, followed by the late night static talk shows. Since cable came to town, Dad thought it looked cheap to have the antenna hanging on the house so the antennae and the television set had parted ways. So I listened to the radio and the neighbors didn’t know we were too broke for cable. But maybe there will be a Holiday miracle for me this year. Maybe the cable will be working again. Kind of like Hanukkah but with television instead of oil lamps. I turned the knob with a hopeful click.

Snow greeted me. Shit, still no cable.

Canned soup for lunch and no television for Christmas vacation. I guess I ended up on the naughty list.

Again.

Once it was hot, I crumbled up crackers into the steamy, golden soup and ate my Christmas lunch straight from the sauce pan in the snowy silence. Soon my stomach was warm and happy with broth and noodles so I rinsed the pan then placed it into the empty dishwasher. The clock on the kitchen wall read 1:16.

One o’clock in the afternoon. Dad’s still asleep and Mom’s still gone. As I walked back through the silent house, I had to chew a new spot in my mouth to keep from crying. I was too old to cry especially over something as stupid as Christmas. I chewed and chewed until my mouth tasted of copper.

I made it back to my bedroom.

As usual, my room was spotlessly clean. My bed was made, covered with my faded blue bedspread. My St. Louis Cardinals pennant hung on one wall and a big poster of Darth Vader hung across from my bed. I always kept my room clean. If it wasn’t spotless, Dad would have to teach me a lesson in cleaning. I stepped over and opened the blinds to let in the snowy brightness then plopped onto my bed, grabbed my book and dove back into Middle Earth.

If Mom was gone and Dad was asleep, I would spend the rest of Christmas with Bilbo Baggins and Gollum.

As I read, a long, heavy creak filled the silent air-- Dad’s door opening.

He’s up. Oh boy...

As his heavy footsteps came closer and closer, I sat up and held my breath. I closed my book, put it on the carpeted floor and waited for Dad to come to me.

Usually, when he got to sleep as long as he wanted, Dad’s mood was pretty good. Sometimes, lots of sleep even lead to a real meal at a restaurant. We would sit there and he would tell me stories about Korea or law school while we ate. I could fill my stomach until it hurt as he smoked and drank coffee.

Today’s Christmas, too. We’ll probably get to go out and eat something.

My stomach growled at the thought. The footsteps came closer and closer.

Should I go and greet him or just stay put? What’s the safest thing to do? Usually, my best bet was to stay put.

I just sat on my bed and waited.

“Mark....” Dad called, his voice coarse and scratchy.

“Hey Dad,” I called out.

He stood in my doorway. Dad’s salt and pepper hair hadn’t been combed for awhile and his face looked like he had taken a pencil to it and shaded his chin and cheeks. He looked at me with his crystal blue eyes bleary, swollen and red.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Why aren’t you at school?”

Shit. I felt my stomach hit the floor and I swallowed hard. Having to correct my dad was like picking up a rattlesnake. There was always a good chance of getting bitten.

“School’s closed today, Dad,” I said quietly. “It’s Christmas.”

His gray face clouded over and his fingers ran through his messy hair. I watched him, trying to look calm, trying to hide my fear.

“Shit,” he said, looking lost. “It is?”

I nodded, wary of his confusion. Sometimes, he’d just clobber me instead of waiting for a logical explanation.

“Really?” he asked again.

“Yeah,” I said. “Merry Christmas, Dad.”

“Shit,” he said again. “It’s Christmas today? I’ll be damned.”

I forced a smile. He looks a little messed up. At least he doesn’t look pissed.

Yet.

Dad scratched his messy head and said, “Well then, get dressed and we’ll go have some chink food. Chinks don’t take Christmas off.”

He smiled at me, turned and walked away.

I smiled back, my stomach growling and got to my bare feet.

Chinese food’s my favorite. The fluffy steamed rice and the slices of chicken. The crunchy wontons dipped in spicy sweet sauce and the eggrolls full of cabbage. I’ll stuff my pockets full of them, if we’re going to the buffet. Stepping to my closet, I pulled a clean pair of jeans from the hanger and tossed them to my bed.

Gotta have a clean shirt to wear. I turned to my dresser and opened the drawer.

I love the sweet and sour pork and how it’s.....

A rough hand settled on my shoulder, squeezing down on me. My heart and stomach dropped to through the floor and all the tiny hairs stood straight up on my neck and arms.

Shit, I can’t believe I fell for the Chinese food talk. I’m an idiot, that’s what I am. Stupid, stupid, stupid....

I tensed up and braced for the fists or the kicks that would start coming at any second. I couldn’t believe I was dumb enough to fall for this.

“Merry Christmas, son,” Dad said. He turned me around and thrust something into my wet, shaking hands.

“I’ll finish getting dressed and we’ll go get some supper,” he said. With that, Dad stepped out of my room and down the hall.

I let out a slow, trembling breath, my heart thumping . When I heard him shut the door to his room, I opened my quivering hands to see two fifty dollar bills.

“Shit,” I said out loud.

A hundred dollars. That’s more cash than I’ve ever seen, much less held in my hands.

I opened my sock drawer, shoving the money deep into the nest of socks and underwear.

*********

I jerked back to the present as I heard Mom and Joe’s covers rustling again and Joe said, “How about the rest of my present now?”

I heard my stepdad’s feet hit the floor and start to walk towards the door.

Gross.

Mom laughed and I sped back to my bedroom before anything too disgusting could happen.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Christmas vacation sped by in a blur of gray skies and cold wind. I finished The Dead Zone by the light of my closet way past my ten o’clock bedtime. The next morning I dove into Middle Earth, listened to my new stereo and floated around the house in my new Nikes. All the while, I counted the hours until Glenda would be back in town. She promised she’d call and on December 28, she did.

After a lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches, I was washing Joe’s new griddle when Glenda showed up at our door. After a quick hello to Mom and Joe and hug for David, we were off into the wind and the cold of a gray December afternoon.

I clutched her fuzzy, glove-covered hand as we rushed to her Jeep. The heavy doors opened then thumped shut and we scooted across the bench seat to kiss. Her lips were warm and her scent sweet so I put my arms around her. She was like hugging a warm cloud thanks to her fuzzy black coat.

“I missed you so much,” I said into her hair.

“I missed you too,” she said, giving me a bigger squeeze. We kissed again, for a long, lung-aching kiss. Then scooted, apart as she started the Jeep’s engine.

“Where are we going?” I asked her as she pulled out of our driveway and straightened the car onto our street.

“Somewhere I can give you your present and you can drive some more,” she said.

Glenda kept her dark eyes on the road while I kept my eyes on Glenda.

I hadn’t realized just how much I missed her until I saw her rosy face, dark eyes, dimples and mouth full of metal on my porch. The womanly body underneath her puffy coat made me squirm so I threw my eyes outside to the bare trees and brown grass.

“Hey, school’s just around the corner. Let’s stop there and you can have your present,” she said.

I squirmed at her words. What kind of present is she talking about? Maybe an hour of uninterrupted kissing? Or something better than that?

Stop being a pervert. She’s a nice girl.

“Then you can drive awhile if you want,” she said.

“Sounds good,” I said.

It was still Christmas vacation and the Park Hill campus was largely abandoned, a good place for a gift exchange and more driving lessons. Glenda pulled into the empty front parking lot and turned off the Jeep’s engine. She unbuckled her seatbelt and twisted around to grab a square Santa-covered package from the back seat.

“Merry Christmas, Mark,” she smiled handing me my gift.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” I said, turning the square over and over in my hands, smiling at her. Just being my girlfriend and kissing me is enough. That’s better than any present she could buy me.

“I know,” she blushed. “But I wanted to get you something. I’m just sorry it’s a little late.”

“Good grief, don’t worry about that,” I said, bouncing the present over in my hands again. Was it a record? Or a calendar? Either would be great. It was from her, it didn’t matter what it was. I already loved it.

“If you don’t get to opening it, it’s going to turn into a birthday present,” she teased me.

I smiled up at her then slid my stiff fingers under the tape, pulling away the Santa paper, to reveal the record album beneath.

“Paradise Theater!’ I said, turning it over in my hands, “I love Styx!”

“I know you do,” Glenda said. “You don’t have this one, do you?”

I shook my head, even though it would not have mattered if I had a dozen copies. It could have been a catsup packet from the cafeteria or a spork from Kentucky Fried Chicken for all I cared. Anything from my pretty girlfriend was priceless.

“No, I don’t have any Styx albums. I love the songs I’ve heard on the radio from this,” I looked up at her and added, “Thank you.”

I sat there grinning at her. She was so beautiful. Her rosy cheeks and fawn eyes, her mane of velvet brown hair made me ache to hold her right up against my body.

“Merry Christmas,” she said again.

“Thank you,” I repeated, sliding closer to her.

When I was close enough, I leaned in to kiss her for a long, breathless minute before we pulled apart smiling at each other.

“Why don’t you drive a little,” she broke the silence, “And then we’ll go to my house to listen to your new album. You can say hi to my Mom and Daddy. They both want to meet you.”

I swallowed hard. Meet her Daddy? The army guy? How in the world do I talk to her Daddy? How do I shake his hand, knowing he probably knows the all of the dirty things I’ve thought about his little girl? For God’s sake he’s a trained killer.

I made myself nod. Glenda opened her door and climbed out while I slid across the gray bench seat until I sat centered behind the steering wheel. I gripped the plastic and realized my knuckles were no longer white.

Her door opened and Glenda sat down next to me. She fastened her seatbelt across her lap as I did the same.

“Let’s drive around campus for a little while, then maybe head over to the cemetery to practice there some more,” she said.

“All right,” I said, turning the key to start the purring engine. I steered the car all about the empty school parking lots, smiling as I realized how smooth I had become. There was no more risk of whiplash when I was driving. I looked at her and we traded smiles after a few seamless laps.

“How do you feel about driving to the cemetery?” she asked. “ We can stay off of the main streets so there won’t be very many other cars.”

I gave her what must have been a surprised look since she sputtered to add, “If you don’t feel like it, that’s fine. I’ll drive us and we’ll just trade when we get there.”

I stared out the windshield, mulling over her question.

Well, I’m pretty good at driving in an empty parking lot. Unfortunately, the driver’s test isn’t given on an empty parking lot so I have to start driving on real live roads sometime. Even though, I’m not legally supposed to be driving and both sets of parents would freak out if they knew what we were doing. What to do?

I have to start sometime.

I chewed my mouth and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, wrestling with what she said for a long moment.

Finally, I decided what parents didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

“I’ll drive us there,” I answered, shooting Glenda grin. She was the Bonnie to my Clyde. “It’s what...two or three miles from here. We’ll stick to the side streets.”

“All right, let’s go,” she gave me her dimpled smile.

I drove the Jeep slowly, never taking my eyes off of the mostly-empty side roads. My hands were cold and slippery but I didn’t dare take them off of the plastic circle in my hands to wipe them. So much for my knuckles not being white anymore.

Luckily, it appeared to be good day to stay home as there were virtually no other cars on the road.

“Go right up here, Mark,” she said, pointing straight ahead. “There’s a 4-way stop to get you across Fremont street.”

A white Buick sat stopped in front of us while a yellow truck started to cross the intersection as a blue and white VW bus came to a stop.

My heart picked up and my hands seemed to drip. There were so many cars and only four stop signs to direct our traffic. I pushed the brake to the floor and stopped as the traffic in front and around us jerked to halt.

The bus let loose a honk as it sped across the intersection.

The white Buick rolled ahead and I pushed the gas to move up.

A horn honked as the yellow truck jolted to a start and the white Buick slammed on its’ brakes.

And we slammed into the back of the white Buick.

“Shit!” I said, all the blood draining from my face.

I looked over at Glenda and saw her face frozen in a look of disbelief and fear.

She just shook her head as the white Buick rolled through the intersection, pulled over and the door opened.

We just sat there, afraid to move or speak. My stomach plummeted to the floorboard like it was full of lead. My head spun as I tried to come up with a good answer for her.

What do I do? I crashed her Jeep. There’s no way to lie my way out of this one. The only thing to do is beg for mercy. Beg hard.

“I’m so very sorry, Glenda...”

I put my forehead onto the wet plastic steering wheel.

Shit, I’m dead.

We’re dead.

Chapter Forty

The lady in the white Buick was named Mrs. Becker and she was really pretty nice about being rear-ended. She had us pull into her husband’s church parking lot a block down the road. Then, we all went into the church office and her husband and her let us call our parents instead of the police.

Glenda cried as she talked to her dad but I managed to keep myself together while I told Mom that I was not only driving a car, but that I had wrecked that car.

When the phone calls were over, Glenda could barely talk she was so upset. I tried to put my arm around her so I could hug her but she pulled away. After I got myself back together from that, I managed to get her to hold my hand but she wouldn’t talk to me.

Then we went back to sit in the Jeep. I returned to the passenger seat as we waited for the parents to show up. Mrs. Becker stayed in the church, talking to her husband for what seemed like an eternity.

Joe and Mom were the first ones to arrive. I heard the Beetle stop buzzing and I looked over at Glenda to see her face pale and her mouth tight. We both jumped as one car door opened and shut behind us followed by another. My heart beat like I was sprinting but I was glued to the gray seat.

Before I could even open my mouth, Joe’s tall figure leaned down, peering into the window. Mom hovered behind him. I rolled the window down, with shaking hands, and the damp cold filled the inside of the Jeep.

“”Mark? What the hell happened? What were you doing?” Joe yelled.

I looked up at him and was shocked at what I saw. His face was red, his mouth a wire pulled as tight as it could go. His usually calm hazel eyes were hot. St. Joseph was mad.

Finally.

I opened my mouth to talk but my voice failed me and all I managed was a shake of my head. Joe leaned his arms on the ledge of the now-open window. I sat there like an idiot, my voice missing in action as he looked over at Glenda. She looked up at him, shivering in spite of her coat. Her face was like chalk.

“What happened, Glenda?” he asked.

She took a deep breath and found her shaking voice, “Mark wanted to know what it was like to drive, so we were going to the cemetery to practice. He was doing a really good job...when we got to the 4-way stop and the lady in the white car slammed on her brakes. Then Mark hit her bumper.”

I saw Joe look at Mom, shaking his head back and forth slowly. Then he stared back at the ground, exhaling a long, foggy breath. When he spoke again, his words were slow and careful.

“How many times have you driven her car?”

“Just two or three times...” she lied.

“I would like to hear what Mark has to say,” he cut her off.

I saw Glenda flinch at the way he snapped at her. There was no reason for him to get upset with her. This was all my idea and all my fault.

I bit my mouth. I looked up at Joe’s hard face and threw my angry gaze at the floor.

“Just today and last week...” I said, hanging onto her lie.

“Two or three times?” Joe repeated, his voice and face tight, “So what is it? Two or three?Or ten? How long has this been going on? A month? A week?”

“Two,” I lied, not looking at him. It was more like ten but this was as close to the truth as Joe was going to get.

He straightened up his lanky form and his face disappeared from view. I looked over at Glenda to see her lip trembling and her arms wrapped around herself. I reached over and grabbed her shaking hand. We jumped as Joe drummed his fingers on the roof of the Jeep. When his face reappeared in the window, his eyes were hard in a way I’d never seen them before. Was this soldier Joe I was seeing?

“Glenda,” he managed to say. “Did you know that Mark is not allowed to drive? Did he tell you that? Or did he leave out that minor detail?”

“Don’t get mad at Glenda,” I spat without looking up. His sarcasm and the hurt look on my girlfriend’s face made me mad. “This was all my idea. She didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“He told me that,” she lied some more for me. “I”m sorry Mr. Paxton. This was all an accident.”

Joe straightened back up and started drumming on the red metal of the Jeep again. I squeezed her hand tight, my eyes begging her for forgiveness for making her lie for me.

What kind of asshole makes their girlfriend lie for them? I lied for years for my dad and it was the thing I hated the most about him. She squeezed my hand back and I thought I saw tears building up in her eyes. I bit my mouth at the sight of my beautiful Glenda trying not to cry. I beat my clinched fist on the leg of my jeans.

No one spoke for a cold, slow moment.

“Glenda,” Joe spoke again, carefully. “You know about Mark’s epilepsy?“

I felt like he had slapped my face. How dare you start talking about that with Glenda? How could you? Just shut the fuck up, Joe.

My face blazed and I fought the desire to hit Joe the way I had slugged Robert and Karl earlier this year. My head began to swim, I was so mad.

“ Yes, I know about that,” she said, swallowing hard.

“Mark is not allowed to drive because of his epilepsy,” Joe said in a slow voice.

I began to shake, my fists clenching and unclenching to the rhythm of the blood throbbing in my ears and temples. I chanted to myself shut up, shut up, shut up, shut.....

My stepfather leaned his six foot tall body down to where his face appeared in the window of the Jeep. Glenda looked over at him, her beautiful eyes pooling up, while I seethed.

“Look, both of you,” Mom said “ Nobody’s trying to be mean or unfair here.”

I stared at the gray nubby floor unable to answer or even look at Joe or Mom. I just bit at my mouth and chanted.

Shut up, shut up, shut up....

“Look, this is an issue of safety. If Mark were to have a seizure while he was driving, there would be an accident. Mark could be hurt or killed. Anyone riding with him could be hurt or killed as well. Do you understand what I’m saying here?” Joe asked.

Glenda gave Joe a slow nod, her lip quivering and tears building behind her glasses. I felt my blood pounding in my ears and my fists aching to let loose on my stepfather.

“I wasn’t thinking about that,” she said. “I’m sorry, Mr. Paxton. ”

Joe looked at me, letting out deep breaths.

“You two were very lucky that this was just a little fender bender and no one was hurt. Where is the poor lady you hit?” Joe asked, straightening up to look around. “We need to talk to her and figure out how the hell we’re going to get two cars fixed. We can’t file on insurance since you’re not licensed or insured, Mark.”

His voice trembled and I saw him smack his leg in anger. He couldn’t talk for a long, cold minute.

“Do you understand now how stupid it was for you to be driving?” he yelled, looking up at the gray sky. “Like we need more bills to pay.”

“I’m sorry, Joe,” I heard Mom say from behind him.

That’s right. Apologize to him for your fucked up kid. I shook my head and chewed on the inside of my mouth. Until that moment, I never knew what a great liar Joe was. I almost thought he liked me but she wouldn’t be apologizing for me if he did.

My mom and her husband stepped away and started to walk to the church to talk to Mrs. Becker about her car.

I shut my eyes and smacked the cold, hard plastic dashboard until my hand hurt. Glenda let out a cry as I saw a black Ford pick up pull into the church parking lot. Behind the wheel sat a chunk of a man with a black military flat top in the cab, scowling at the scene.

My heart kicked into high gear and my stomach start to feel like I had lunched on glass.

It was her Daddy, the army guy.

Here to kill me.

I reached over and gave Glenda’s cold hand a squeeze. I felt like I was going to start bawling in front of them like a little kid so I bit my mouth.

“I’m sorry, Glenda,” I whispered.

“It’s all right,” she said.

The truck stopped and her massive Daddy stepped out of the cab. Joe and Mom stopped walking towards the church to turn towards Glenda’s father. I sat trembling in the Jeep next to the only girl I ever kissed or loved.

And it had been great while it lasted.

Chapter Forty-One

After everyone talked and exchanged phone numbers, we went our separate ways.

Glenda cried when her Daddy talked to her and we didn’t even have a chance to hug before we got in the Beetle and went back to our house.

Once we got there, I sprinted to my room, slammed the door, and flung myself on my bed. I lay face down, waiting for Mom to come in and start crying. Waiting for Joe to come in and start yelling. Waiting for me to not want to slam my fists into something.

As I lay there, my thoughts drifted back to Glenda’s trembling lips and pain-filled eyes.

I hated that she lied for me. I hated that Joe made her cry because of me. I wished I could walk right out into the kitchen and call her. I’d beg her to forgive me. I’d beg her to still be my girlfriend.

I knew our driving lessons were officially history.

Anger washed over me in waves, rolling me onto my side to face the wall. I bit my lip as an awful thought popped into my head.

We’re probably be history after this.

I squeezed my eyes shut tight and lay there for a really long time.

My door creaked open and Mom and Joe stepped into my room. I lay there stiff, not even pulling my head off of my bed.

“What in the world were you thinking?” Joe asked.

I clenched my fists and jaw at his question. None of your fucking business. How about that?

“Huh?” Joe prodded. “What were you thinking?”

“I want to get my driver’s license,” the words came boiling out of my mouth. “I don’t want to have to bum rides from you forever. You and Mom wouldn’t teach me to drive so I asked Glenda to teach me.”

“We’re not trying to be mean, Mark. It’s just we can’t let you drive right now,” Mom said. “This is for your own good.”

That’s right, this is for my own fucking good. Yeah, right. I fumed into my mattress.

“No it’s not, Mom,” I snarled. “Don’t give me that...”

“Mark, your mother’s right....” Joe said. “You could have a seizure at.....”

Joe kept on talking but I couldn’t hear him anymore as my life began to rain down on me. I bit my lip then clinched my fists and pressed my body deeper into my mattress, making myself not jump up and punch Joe in the face.

My life fell apart, falling on me like boxes off a top shelf.

Waking up in the hospital popped into my mind

The world was a river of pain and confusion. It hurt to cry but I couldn’t stop the tears flowing down my face, blinding me. I tried to raise my hand to wipe them away but couldn’t. My arm was snow white, covered in a stone-like cast from the knuckles all the way up. I hurt....I hurt....Please God....stop the hurt....

Mom spoke in the downpour that was my life.

“Somebody could really....”

Mr. Raines’ dark face bending over me as the gym howled and the lights burnt into my useless eyes, my arm trying to move and trying to move....Glenda crying for mercy, shivering in the cold air....lies leaving her rose-petal lips for me....chocolate milk napalm running down Robert’s back as I hurled myself at him...

I was crying and crying hard as things flashed at me as if in a thunderstorm.

Mom holding me close, shaking as she cried and me laying on the hard, narrow hospital bed, my voice gone, my mouth paralyzed as I could not believe she was standing there by me...my dad jerking me put of bed by the hair, kicking and kicking and kicking....

I heard sounds coming from my mouth, but I couldn’t tell what they were. Am I crying? Am I screaming? Am I yelling?

My dad, the cold dark world streaking by as I the glint of a gun caught my eye. A gun. A gun...God, if you’re there, please...

I rolled over and pressed my palms against my eyes until I saw white and blue shapes floating under my eyelids. I heard my bed clattering as I shook. My head began to float and buzz as the debris of my life rained down on my bed like an avalanche.

I gasped to fill my lungs and looked up at Mom, the overhead lights flashing at me like lightning strikes. Her face was white, her hands up at her trembling mouth. Part of me wanted to sit up and have her hold me but I couldn’t move. Part of me wanted to tell her that I loved her and that I forgave her.

But the other part of me wouldn’t let me do it. That other part of me couldn’t let her feel better.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Joe said. “Just take some deep breaths. In and out. In and out....”

I tried to make my lungs fill up but all I could do was pant for air. I looked up at Mom for help but she just sat there looking like someone had hit her.

“Shhhh....” Joe said. “Just take some deep breaths. In and out...in and out....”

I nodded, struggling to get myself back into control as my shuddering sobs became the only sound in the room. Finally, I was whimpering and not screaming or sobbing anymore. I quivered and clutched the blankets and sheets.

“In and out...in and out... that’s right. Good,” Joe coached me. “Rest. You’ll feel better after you rest. We’ll talk in a little while, Mark.”

They rose and left me alone with my throbbing head, dry eyes and churning thoughts.

If they won’t let me learn to drive, how can I ever leave and live on my own?

Probably never, I realized with my stomach churning. How can I get a job if I can’t drive? How will I ever get a job if I still have these fucking seizures? No one will even hire me then I’ll never be able to leave home. I threw my arm over my face and tried to not heave up huge sobs as I felt my future collapse before it even started.

How will I even be able to live on my own? I could have a seizure and drown in the shower. Or I could have a seizure and fall and break my neck and no one would ever know until I started to smell.

I shivered with sobs as realization gripped me.

I’ll never get to leave and Mom and Joe know it. They just won’t tell me. They’ll never let me go. They can’t....

How the hell will I survive trapped here for the rest of my life? How?

Realization slugged me.

I can’t.

I can’t live like this. I don’t want to live like this. I’d rather be dead.

I rolled over to face the wall.

Chapter Forty-Two

In and out...in and out.

I chanted this to myself as I woke up and listened as the afternoon cartoons went from Tom and Jerry to Looney Toons before The Brady Bunch came on. My room was dim in the late December afternoon as I tried to listen to TV instead of the awful thoughts screaming for attention in my head. It was working most of the time.

I closed my eyes against the bright flashes of light as a giant headache gained momentum. I knew the Tylenol that could stop the pain from getting any worse was in the kitchen. I sat up and swung my icy bare feet to the floor.

I started towards the door but stopped and turned to my dresser.

Some socks sounded good. I pulled the top drawer open and sent my hands in to find warmth for my icy feet. As I searched for a mostly-matching pair of tube socks, my fingers ran into the cold metal of the Sucrettes tin I kept it hidden in the crowded drawer. I pulled it out of the nest of socks.

Suddenly, my head felt better. This was better than socks in my hands, it was my life’s savings. Besides our dates and Glenda’s Christmas present, I never spent any of my lunch money or the money Mom gave me for chores. I bounced it in my hand, then opened it to count.

Four one dollar bills.

Fifty-five dollars in fives.

Forty dollars in twenties.

And the two fifty dollar bills Dad gave me last Christmas.

$199 in my sock drawer.

Shit. It was more than I thought. I started to tremble with the weighty bills in my hands, an escape plan forming in my mind. It was a lot of money.

I rubbed the crumpled fifty dollar bills between my shaking fingers. They were almost my escape hatch the night before my life veered into fucked up territory.

***********

March 14, 1983

It was dark outside, save the headlights of the cars zipping by the wall of glass. We sat in the booth, the dirt-colored vinyl seats groaning anytime one of us moved. I sat across from Dad, as he drank cup after cup of black coffee and smoked his way through the pack of Camels in the front pocket of his blue oxford shirt.

I hid my swollen and bruised face behind the tall, stiff menu. Pictures of eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage, and hash browns blurred on the laminated menu in my hand but I wasn’t looking at them. My lips throbbed and burned where Dad backhanded me when I made the mistake of telling him I was hungry and there wasn’t anything in the house to eat.

I wasn’t hungry anymore. In fact, I didn’t even know why we were here. He got so mad when I complained...

“What can I get for you?” a woman’s voice came.

I stared at the menu, still not seeing the things on the page in front of my face. What I really wanted was to run away from my dad. Far, far away.

“I’ll have the Grand Slam, eggs over easy, with extra bacon,” Dad said.

I kept my eyes down and my face behind my menu shield.

“And for you?” she asked.

I felt myself start to shake. I gripped the menu until it bent.

“Mark? What do you want?” Dad said from across the table.

What do I want? I want you to stop beating the shit out of me. I want to not have to be hungry all the time. I don’t want to lie for you anymore, Dad. I want away from you. That’s what I want.

I couldn’t tell him that so I gripped the laminated menu harder until it buckled in my trembling hands. My lips throbbed.

“Can I give you a minute?” the waitress asked me.

Her voice was so soft and kind sounding that I couldn’t help but look up at her. I saw the name Janey on her nametag.

She had mousy brown hair, and her soft brown eyes met mine. I looked at her and tried to make my voice say something. I tried to say I wanted the French toast.

I looked at her soft eyes, my swollen lips trembling.

Suddenly, her face lit up. She saw my eyes and my swollen face and she knew my secrets. She understood.

I darted my eyes away from hers.

“Tell the lady what you want. You’re the one who was so damn hungry,” Dad said.

I turned my eyes back to the menu. My head starting to swim as the ceiling of Denny’s began to collapse on me. The brown vinyl of the booth started to swallow me.

“I...I want...” I started as I looked back up at her soft brown eyes. Words surged up my throat and died at my lips.

I want away from him, Janey. I never want to be hit again. I want to run far, far away from him and start my life over. I want to stop hurting all of the time...

“Get him the same thing I’m having,” Dad said. He crushed his cigarette into the ashtray in front of us. I looked up at Janey again, my eyes silently begging her for an end to my pain.

“Can I...” she stammered, staring at my swollen and crusted lip.

She stared at me with her pen trembling over the pad of paper in her hand. Dad looked up at her and kicked into cover-up mode.

“Football,”he said, pointing at me. “My son the quarterback took a really hard tackle at practice today. It’s nothing that a Grand Slam can’t take care of.”

Janey tore her eyes away from mine and smiled with relief at Dad’s explanation.

“Oh, my son’s played football for the last three years and sometimes he looks like someone beat him up. That and I can’t hardly keep him fed. A Grand Slam’s like an appetizer for him,” she said.

I stared at the menu without seeing. Janey was gone and all I had now was Dad again. I felt my life collapse all around me as she left us.

“My son the quarterback,” he said, a smoky stream of snorted laughter coming out of his mouth. “Yeah right. Like that’s ever gonna happen.”

I stared down at the plastic table and I bit my lip as he laughed at me. I guess if I were him, I’d be disappointed too.

As I sat there, my lip throbbing and my eyes swimming, I thought of the Sucrettes tin in my sock drawer and the money Dad gave to me Christmas Day.

I hadn’t spent any of it. It was a lot of money....

I took a sip of ice water, forcing it down my aching throat. It was a lot of money.... enough money to get on a bus and get away from him. I could go somewhere, get a job and a crappy apartment and not be his punching bag anymore.

“You’re proof God has a sense of humor, boy. I was starting quarterback for three years. I got a chestful of medals in Korea and I get one kid and it’s the likes of you. God’s laughing at this one.”

I said in a shaky voice, “I’m sorry Dad. I’ll try harder from now on....”

I looked up at him. He smoked and sneered out the window while I sat there my head starting to float with the promise of freedom. I could put some stuff in my backpack, take my money and run away from him.

Maybe I could even find Mom....

***************

Now I was with Mom again and life wasn’t any better. True, nobody hits me anymore and I’m never hungry but people at school treat me like a freak and Mom and Joe try to keep me under their thumb all the time. The only thing that makes me happy is Glenda and...

And I got her in such huge trouble we’re probably finished. Without Glenda, why would I stay here? What was to keep me from running away?

Nothing.

Without her, there’s no need to stay. I can take my money and start over where nobody knows me and I can be whoever I want to be.

I can go back to St. Louis or to Dallas or Kansas City or anywhere the bus can take me. I can get a job, and a crappy apartment. Then, Mom and Joe would leave me alone and I’d never have to set foot at Park Hill again and deal with all the assholes there. I wouldn’t have to answer to anyone but myself. Finally, I can be my own person.

There was no reason to stay.

I floated to my bed and lay back down. Should I write Mom and Joe a letter? Should I write Glenda a letter?

I searched the ceiling for answers, my arms over my head, on my flat pillow.

Writing to my Mom and stepdad would be easy.

Writing to Glenda, my sweet, beautiful girlfriend, would be agony. No matter what I said, no matter how I was going to say it, I was going to hurt her.

God.

I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain of thinking of Glenda crying and hurt. She’ll end up hating me for running away but it was really best for her. Once I’m gone, she can find someone better--someone normal.

Yes, I need to write letters, I decided.

I rolled over and dug under my bed for my English notebook. Grabbing it, I sat up and pulled my blue mechanical pencil out from the metal spiral. Opening the worn pages, I flipped to a blank sheet of paper. After staring at the faint lines across the page, I wrote:

Dear Mom and Joe,

I am leaving to live on my own. I am almost 17 and I am old enough to make my own decisions. I am going to find a job and get an apartment. I will write when I get my place to live. I am tired of being treated like a kid, so I have to go.

I am sorry that I have cost you so much money because of my hospital bills. I know you have had to work a lot of extra things to try and pay those bills and I am sorry. Someday, I will pay you back.

Mark

I sat and re-read what I wrote and decided it was short and to the point. I ripped the letter from the notebook, folded it in half, turned it over and wrote “Mom and Joe”. I sat the note on my headboard where they would be sure to see it.

Writing to Glenda is going to be much harder.

I flipped through the notebook, looking for another blank page. Finding one, I wrote with my hands shaking.

Dear Glenda,

I stopped cold after writing those two words. How can I explain what I’m doing? How can I tell her that she should be glad to be free of me? Tell her that she deserves a lot better than me? How?

I went cold with an awful realization.

And even if I did run away, it’s not like I can leave my epilepsy here with Mom. That is going with me wherever I go. My crappy life was going to get on that bus with me--no matter what. There was only one way I was going to get away from that.

I stared at the blank paper.

Did I really want away from my crappy life and my freaky seizures? There was only one way to do that.

I threw my notebook to the floor and lay on my back shaking as it dawned on me that Dad had been right all along. I shook harder and harder as I realized being dead would be an improvement over my life. I rolled onto my stomach. Dad was right to want to kill me.

In fact, everyone would be better off without me.

If I were dead, Joe wouldn’t be working seven days a week to pay my hospital bills. Mom could be giving her good son, David all of her time and attention. If I were dead, I wouldn’t be King Freak. I wouldn’t be epileptic. I wouldn’t be anything at all.

I started to cry deep, guttural sobs, the same words streaming out of my mouth.

“I was wrong...I was wrong... I was...”

I heard a soft knock before my door creaked open and Mom and Joe stepped into my room. Mom knelt at my side and Joe sat down on the foot of my shaking bed.

“I was wrong...I was wrong...” I sobbed shaking like an earthquake and burying my face in the mattress.

“Wrong?” Joe asked. “What were you wrong about, Mark?”

He sent his gentle hand out to my back and I jerked away to roll closer to the wall.

“What are you wrong about, Mark?” Mom asked.

All I could do was shake my head, taking great gasps of air as I cried into the mattress. I was wrong...I was wrong...I was wrong...

“Wrong about driving Glenda’s car?” she asked, stroking my hair, “It was a mistake but you’re not going to do it again. Right? You learned from that mistake.”

“No,” I managed to stop sobbing long enough to choke out. “About....about...wanting to live...”

The room went cold and silent as I rolled over on my back. I stopped crying now that I had told them the awful truth about it all.

“What are you saying, Mark?” Joe asked.

Mom sat back on her heels, covered her face and sobbed in the dark.

“I should have just let Dad do it...” I said.

“Do what, Mark?” Joe asked, softly.

Mom kept on crying. She knew exactly what I was saying.

“Kill me...” I said. “ He was going to kill me but...but...”

Joe was the only one who could talk.

“He was going to kill you?” Joe asked, then asked again. “Your Dad was going to kill you?”

I winced at Joe’s words.

“But I killed him first....I killed him first...”I said, not looking at either of them.

There, I’d said it. I killed my Dad.

I felt Joe stand up from my bed.

“You didn’t kill your Dad, Mark. It was an accident...”

“No, it wasn’t,” I said. “It was no accident. I killed Dad that night but....but I was wrong. I should have let him kill me. My...my...seizures are my punishment for what I did. I killed my Dad and that was wrong.”

I was able to look over at my stepfather, then at my mom.

There. I finally told someone why I had epilepsy. It wasn’t some random TBI, it was punishment for committing murder.

Joe shook his head again as Mom sat up away from me.

“It was an accident that night, Mark,” Mom sniffled. “Your dad was stoned out of his mind and he crashed that damn Cadillac.”

I shook my head slowly and said, “I killed him that night, Mom. I did.”

“I don’t understand, Mark. It was an accident that killed your dad,” Joe said.

I shook my head again and moved my eyes to the wall.

“That’s what it looked like but I caused it, Joe,” he said. “I caused it so, I killed him.”

“I don’t believe that,” Joe said. “Whatever happened was an accident.”

“I’ll tell you what happened,” I offered, refusing to look at them. “Then you tell me what it was.”

The silence weighed on me like wet clothes but I just stared at the wall.

“Sit down,” Mom said. “Then tell us what happened.”

I rose and stepped over to the chair to sit down, my spinning mind grateful for her directions. For months, I tried and tried to not think about that night. When anyone asked me if I remembered what happened-- and they had asked me-- I just looked them square in the eye and said I didn’t remember.

That lie worked so well that everyone had dropped the subject---but, as much as I tried I couldn’t forget what happened.

Bobbing my head up and down, I began to speak in a trembling voice.

“All right. I’ll tell you what happened.”

Chapter Forty-Three

March 15, 1983

I couldn’t sleep that night, I was so excited. I tossed and turned and got up before the alarm. All day at school, my swollen, crusted lips were curved up in a never-ending smile. Teachers and other kids looked at me like I was crazy but I didn’t care. I was so close to freedom that it took everything I had not to climb to the top of the Arch, open one of the windows and shout for all of America to hear, “Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, I’m free at last!!”

When the school bus dropped me off I jogged to the house and got busy getting ready to leave home.

I whistled as I went straight to my room and shut the door behind me. I pulled stacks of books, piles of papers, and a wad of pencils from my back pack until it was empty. Then I turned and slid my closet door open, looking at the clothes hanging in front of me.

I picked my two favorite pairs of soft, faded jeans and two of my flannel shirts. I rolled them into tight balls then stepped over to open my dresser drawers. I pulled out a couple of pair of underwear and a handful of almost-matching socks and balled them up before shoving them into my backpack.

My backpack looks pregnant I thought as I stood it next to my desk. I grabbed my dark blue sweats and the gray sweatshirt I would wear later that night and put them on my bed. Now I need some food for the road to start my new life.

I smiled the entire way to the kitchen. This time tomorrow, I would be far away from St. Louis and far away from my dad. He wouldn’t know where I was and it would stay that way for the rest of my life.

I opened the first cabinet to see a crushed sleeve of saltines and a mostly empty jar of peanut butter. I closed the door to that one, and turned to the next one. An empty coffee can sat in the cabinet. As I looked some more, I found a jar of applesauce. Glass won’t survive in my back pack, the saltines are smashed and the peanut butter was mostly gone. That wasn’t enough food to start me out anyway.

I’ll just have to buy some things to take with me. I’ll still have plenty of cash for other stuff.

But I’ll eat this stuff before I hit the road. I can start my new life with a full stomach.

I sat down at the bar and started eating the bigger cracker pieces, smiling as I did. Dad had hit me for the last time. He’d yelled at me for the last time. He’d laughed at me for the very last time. I stuck my spoon into the jar of sweet and tart applesauce again and again. I twisted the lid off of the peanut butter and coated my spoon with it and smeared the cracker pieces.

As I ate, I trembled with excitement. In less than an hour, I’d be free from him. I’d go to Git n Go and buy some food for the road, and then I would walk to the Greyhound Station. Then I’d buy a ticket as far away from St. Louis as my money could take me.

The house was silent, save the radio that kept me company as I ate. Currently, Supertramp drifted through the house “...goodbye stranger, it’s been nice, Hope you find your paradise, tried to see your point of view...”

Once my stomach was full, I started cleaning up the crumbs. As I was wiping down the counter one last time, the garage door opened and Dad’s Cadillac purred as it pulled into the empty garage. I glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. 5:58.

Dad’s home early. Is the kitchen clean enough? My heart beat a little faster at the question.

My eyes raced over the kitchen terrain. It was reasonably clean--dishes in the dishwasher, trash can emptied, coats hung up in the laundry room and I was throwing away the crumbs right now.

I frowned.

Shit, I’ll have to wait to leave now. If he knew what I was doing, he’d beat the shit out of me--if I was lucky. I’ll just leave either when he’s passed out for the night or leave tomorrow like I’m going to school. Either way, by the time he figures out I’m gone, I’ll be far, far away.

I went to stand at the sink, trying to look like I had just finished washing the dishes. I’d smile at him and say,“Hello, Father. How are you this splendid evening?”

It was a great plan overall...

As I reached over and turned off the radio, the door between the garage and the kitchen opened letting Dad into the house. His hair was a mess and he really needed to shave but his gray suit was pressed and clean. His clothes said to the world, “I’m too well dressed to be from Blue Eye, Missouri. Really, I’ve always been loaded with cash.”

The scent of unfiltered Camels filled the air. I looked up from the empty sink and said, “Hey, Dad.”

Then I shot my eyes away from him and held my breath. Dad walked into the kitchen and I couldn’t help but jump as the keys to the Cadillac crashed onto the bar next to me. He started fumbling for a fresh cigarette.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” he asked, the match hissing into flame across the back of the matchbook.

Because it isn’t even six o’clock yet.

I reined in my smart mouth and said, without looking up, “I’m just finishing up the kitchen, Dad.”

He just stood there, his silence making the hairs on my neck stand on end and my heart start to pound. This must be a bad getting home early night.

I stomped down my fear so Dad wouldn’t notice. No Henderson can be afraid. Only pussies are afraid and nothing is worse than being a pussy.....

“You’re finished. Get your ass in bed right now,” he said, sucking on his cigarette.

Without a word, I hustled to my bedroom and didn’t look back. I kept myself from giving into the urge to run. I had to look calm or he would want to clobber me for being scared.

Or for running in the house.

Or for not running as fast as he used to be able to run in the house.

Once I reached my room, I shut the door and plopped onto my perfectly made bed. Then, I lay there waiting for him to go to his room and pass out so I could sneak out of the house and disappear. I hardly moved or even breathed as I waited and waited.

Usually, I would go to my room and not make a sound for about a half hour. Then, if Dad didn’t show up at my door, I would turn on my bedside lamp and read a book until I was too sleepy to read any more. Once Dad went to his bedroom, I was safe for the rest of the night. I could sleep until morning and Dad would still be passed out when I left for school.

I lay there on my bed, listening for what was going on downstairs. Dad sounded pretty pissed off about something. Maybe a bad day in court or somebody dinged his Caddy with their door. I decided, as I heard the cabinet doors slamming, I was leaving that night. There was no good reason to wait until morning with him in that kind of mood.

I lay there as the noise in the kitchen went quiet and somehow, I drifted off to sleep.It was completely dark when I opened my eyes and looked at 12:11 glowing from the alarm clock. I turned on my bedside light.

I rose and stepped over to my dresser to grab my Sucrettes tin. I opened it up and pulled out the two crumpled fifty dollar bills Dad gave me for Christmas less than three months ago. My hands trembled with the weight of what I was holding. It wasn’t just $100, it was my freedom in my hands. I just stood there like I was frozen before I shoved one bill in each pocket.

How far away can I get on that much money? Dallas? Oklahoma? I shook my head, I didn’t know.

I stepped back to sit on my bed. My shoes were lying there and I shoved my right foot in without untying the laces then did the same with my left foot.

12:12 glowed from my bedside alarm clock.

I started trembling at the thought of getting away from my dad. What will it feel like to not have him knocking me around anymore? What will it feel like to not be afraid of him anymore?I kept thinking about how great it was going to feel to walk out of that house for the last time.

I stood up and flipped off my bedside light and let my eyes adjust to the dark. I was pretty sure Dad was passed out by now. Once I could see again, I swallowed hard. What if he catches me? What then?

I just smiled to myself. He’s passed out on his bed, he’s not going to know a thing until he wakes up tomorrow and I’ll be long gone by then. I stepped over and grabbed my swollen backpack from the floor, put my arms through the straps and wriggled it until it was squarely on my back. I had my stuff and my money and I was ready to go but something made me stop.

I took one last look at my room. I wouldn’t miss the light beige walls, the nubby green carpet or my posters. I wouldn’t miss my desk or my soft bed. True, Dad never bothered me here, but it was part of the most horrible place on Earth as far as I was concerned. I couldn’t wait to be somewhere--anywhere-- that he could never hurt me again.

I stepped over to the door and pushed it open. I held my breath and waited to see if Dad’s door would open at the loud creak it let out. Nothing happened. I let out a quiet breath then pulled my door shut and started down the dark hallway.

I made my way silently and turned the corner to the kitchen. The house was dark and quiet as I ran my hand on the wall like a blind man until I saw something glowing in the distance that made me freeze.

Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.

Shit. Now what?

In the darkness, I saw the demon eye of a lit cigarette. Dad was sitting at the bar, smoking. My legs began to shake like they were made of jello.

How did he know I was running away tonight?

I heard the barstool scrape across the kitchen floor and he got to his feet. The light flipped on, blinding me for a long minute as I stood there shaking. My voice was gone, I tried to talk but couldn’t say a word. He stomped over to me, reaching out to slap me. I tensed inside, getting ready.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he said, poking my bulging back pack.

I forced my shoulders to shrug in response.

He sucked in a lungful of smoke and frowned at me, the grooves in his face going deep as he did. I bit at my mouth to not look scared.

He reached over and I cringed, waiting for his fist to pound me or his palm to slap me. Instead, he grabbed the straps on my backpack.

“Take that off, Mark,” he said.

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up at his calm tone. I thought he would go crazy if he caught me, that he would clobber me like I’ve never been clobbered before but that wasn’t his reaction at all. He was calm and quiet about it.

My eyes shot up to see his face grim and his eyes icy. The way he looked at me was like he was looking past me, like he had already written me off. My body went cold. I bit at my mouth and wriggled out of my backpack. My new life fell with a thump to the tile floor.

Relief flooded me since my money was in my pocket and not in my bag.

“What have you got in there?” he asked, looking up at me.

I swallowed hard. Should I tell him the truth or tell him that it was all of my books and pray that he wouldn’t check for himself? I squirmed as I tried to figure out what the right answer was. I beat back the panic that was simmering in my stomach.

“It doesn’t matter. We’re leaving right now anyway,” he said. “Get in the car.”

“Okay,” I managed, making my jello legs into motion.

I tried to look calm but I was anything but calm at that moment. Dad had never acted like this before. He usually screamed at me and hit me when he was upset and when he wasn’t upset, he just ignored me. He was never quiet and calm. My heart was beating like I’d just run a mile and I was having to drag my stomach along the floor.

The kitchen was trashed. How did I not hear that from my room?

The oven in the wall was kicked in and the cooktop was smashed. Cabinet doors were lying in pieces on the floor. The faucet to the sink was pulled out.

The kitchen was clean when I went to my room. I paused when I reached the door and grabbed the wooden jamb to keep myself from falling.

Calm down. Take some deep breaths and try to figure out what’s going on. Where are we going? Why....

Before I could open the door, he put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. His smoky breath was hot on my neck.

“Get in the car, Mark,” Dad said. “Now.”

The quiet in his voice made the hairs on my neck and arms stand up even straighter. What can’t wait until tomorrow morning?

He reached out gave me a little push to get me started again.

“Okay,” I opened the door and walked to the red Cadillac. I opened its’ door and slid onto the cold, white leather seat.

Panic simmered in my stomach. He caught me packed and trying to walk out the door. What’ s he going to do to me? It can’t be good, can it?

I took slow breaths in and held them before breathing them back out again. In and out, In and out, In and out.

I looked up and saw Dad filled the door jamb, smoke streaming out of his mouth like a fire-breathing dragon, the end of his cigarette gleaming like a demon’s eye.

Why is he just standing there? Why is he not getting in the car too?

Fear bubbled up into my pores and my cells. My stomach churned as I tried to breathe and think of my options.

Can I make a run for it? The garage door is heavy and will take a few minutes to unlock, raise up and slide under it. Then I can run.

But where will I run? School’s locked up. The neighbors? They’re all asleep. By the time, someone could wake up and let me in, Dad will have grabbed me again. I could...

The driver’s side door popped open, ending my search for an escape path. I jumped in my seat as his door slammed shut. I started shaking as he sat down next to me.

Cigarette smoke filled my aching lungs. I had waited too long to try and run. The dim light of the car showed Dad was in the same clothes as yesterday with a cigarette dangling from lips.

I tried to stop shaking. If he saw I was afraid, he would be pissed. He had told me hundreds of times that no Henderson could be afraid. He pushed the garage door opener that was in his pocket and the door opened like a drawbridge, The Cadillac backed out into the dark night.

“We’re going on a road trip, boy,” he said, still in his spooky calm voice.

Dad threw the car into drive, pushed the accelerator to the floor and the Cadillac growled down the empty road. Dark houses and shops blurred past us as he sped away from our house. My blood ran cold and I tried to disappear into the leather bench seat while Dad smoked and smoked without talking. The sound of the engine swirled around me like angry wasps. I scooted as far away as I could from him but he didn’t even seem to know I was in the car.

As the car barreled onto the interstate, Dad threw his cigarette butt out of the open window. Fumbling for another one, he started talking, still in his dead calm voice.

“Your mother told me she was sick and tired of you when she left us,” he said.

I flinched at his words. Even though he had told me this before, it always felt like he had hit me in the face when he brought it back up.

What did I do that was so bad? I would have quit doing it, whatever it was if she would have just asked me...

“Well, her mothering instincts have apparently kicked in again. Her and her new husband think they need custody of you, boy. They’ve hired a cheap lawyer and want to take me to court. She says I’m unfit....”

I sat there trembling and couldn’t hear him anymore as I realized what he was saying.

My Mom? Mom is alive and somewhere and wants me back?

He gunned the Caddy faster. As we picked up speed, I could hear him over the engine and road noise again.

“What kind of idiot would have married her? How desperate for pussy did he have to be? Jesus. I can’t believe she found some sucker stupid enough to marry her. And really, he ought to be ashamed of himself, fucking another man’s wife like he’s doing...”

Dad laughed as he flicked another cigarette out the cracked window. Bending his head low, he used his knees to steer while he bent down to light another Camel.

“Anyway, boy, she wants you back. Well, she’s getting you back all right,” Dad said.

He went on in a matter-of-fact voice. The kind of voice you would use to tell someone to go and grab the newspaper from the porch or to go and feed the dog.

I kept my mouth shut but my thoughts were racing.

What does that mean? He’s just going to drop me off and go home. Really? He’ll just let me go?

“But she’s not getting you back alive,” he said.

The blow of the words shook my mind. The blood surged in my ears, hot and urgent.

What? What? What is he getting at? Surely I heard him wrong...

Dad went on talking but I couldn’t understand what he was saying to me. I started quaking with fear. His voice came back into focus once more after a long moment.

“... I killed gooks in Korea for less than this. This is all her fault. She’s going to be sorry when she sees what she made me do. Then, I’ll have to take care of her and that idiot she married,” he said.

His voice faded away and a flash of something shiny caught my eye. I looked over and my stomach fell to the floorboard.

Dad had a pistol in his lap--not the cowboy kind but the kind with a clip of bullets shoved into the end of it.

I tried to grab the thoughts spinning away from me like dandelion spores. I had been hit, smacked, choked, kicked and burnt before but this...this ...this

This is a gun. A gun. God help me this is a gun....

I shivered from cold and fear, the blood pounding so hard in my head I knew Dad would hear how scared I was over the roar of the engine. I gripped the hard edge of the seats as the Cadillac left the road and sped onto the gravelly shoulder.

“Shit,”Dad said, steering the car back to the road.

I kept my mouth shut. Headlights that passed us glimmered off of the barrel of the gun, to make sure I didn’t forget about it. The same thing bounced around my spinning head.

Oh God, please help me.

Yawning silence fell over the world, all I could see was the demonic end of the cigarette in the dark car. I felt my body go cold as it all made sense now. Where we’re going. Why we’re going there. Why there’s a gun on the seat next to me.

We were going to wherever Mom lived. Once we go there, Dad was going to put a bullet or two in me and make her watch. Then he would shoot and kill her and anyone else who happened to be around.

My breath became a strangled pant, my heart raced like it was supercharged as I fought the urge to throw myself out of the car and run away. I bit down on my tongue so I wouldn’t start screaming or crying. From far away, I heard Dad ranting but I couldn’t understand his words as he gunned the Cadillac to the scene of my murder. My mind spun with the shock of my impending death.

Please, please God help me. Please don’t let...don’t let him shoot me. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to get shot. Please God please...

I was shaking like I was being electrocuted. Calm down and think, I told myself. Think of something.

Dad reached down to the Cadillac’s radio and turned on the music. The Rolling Stones guitar and cymbals came out of the speaker as outside the car, the land grew hillier and more wooded than before. Mick Jagger sang into the darkness.

Oh, see the storm is threatening

my very life today

if i don't get some shelter

yeah, i'm gonna fade away

If I don’t get some shelter

Dad quit talking and had to watch the road more closely or the Caddy would drift onto the shoulder. I tried to think of something I could do.

The highway was lined with trees, shrubs and cut limestone, the landscape curvy and hilly. I thought we were heading west on Interstate 44, our car weaving in and out of semi-truck after semi-truck. Once the road stretched out flat again, he started to talk about another topic.

“ Now the bank wants the god damn house back. Well they can have it for all I care. I’m not paying them another cent. Good luck selling it with that kitchen like I left it. The fucking roof leaks anyway,” he said through clinched teeth.

The house was the least of my worries now.

We were both quiet, Dad smoking his cigarette and me chewing my bloody mouth. Finally, he started talking again.

“Let me tell you a thing or two about your mother,” he said, voice dripping with hate. “She turned you into a pussy in front of my very eyes. Thank God I stepped in and took over the parenting. Aren’t you glad I stepped in, boy?”

I made my heavy head nod, fear had taken my voice. I wiped my wet palms on my jeans and tried not to make any noise as I strained to understand my situation.

Dad shook his head and brought his knees up against the steering wheel, while he bent down to light another Camel. Tossing the used match out the window he started once more. The dead calm of his voice was gone and hot anger had taken its’ place.

“And what the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled at me. “ My own son, trying to sneak out of our house like some piece of white trash common criminal. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He leaned over and slapped the side of my face, crushing my ear. I couldn’t hear for the ringing and I couldn’t see from the force of the blow. I shook my head until the ringing stopped and I could see one more.

Dad started yelling again but about a new topic that I couldn’t understand with my head reeling from being slapped so hard.

“Huh?” he yelled at me.

I shrugged and couldn’t answer him. I knew whatever I said was just going to piss him off.

“I told her when she left that you were mine. And I told her what would happen if she fucked with me so this is all her fault. She’s the only one to blame for what I have to do,” he breathed his words out into a cloud of smoke.

Please God, if you’re there...

All of the sudden, I knew what I had to do. It spread through my body like it was pumping into my veins from an IV line. I knew.

I could stop him.

I could grab the steering wheel and crash the car. Once I did that, I could run away from him.

As I watched the dark world blur by, I scolded myself.

How stupid is that idea? Who do I think I am, Evel Knievel? Crashing a car at 80 miles per hour is stupid. It would be a good way to be....

Be what? Killed?

I made my cotton mouth swallow hard. I would rather take my chances in a car crash than let him shoot me dead. I might be able to run for it if I can crash the car. I might have a chance.

If I don’t do something fast, I’ll be dead soon.

But how can I crash the car? Grab the wheel and pray? Grab the wheel and pull as hard as I can? What else can I do? Jump out of the car?

He’ll just find me.

It has to be a crash. He might be hurt and then I can really run from him. I held my breath. He was smoking and grumbling as I forced myself to slide closer to study the steering wheel.

His cigarette was in one hand and his other hand lay loosely on the white steering wheel. If I got both of my hands on the wheel, I could jerk it away from him.

I looked out the window and saw the hills and curves. But where? When?

If I wait until there’s a big curve in the road, he’ll be paying more attention to the steering than me and I’ll be able to grab the wheel. I’ll jerk it as hard as I can and we’ll crash into the ditch. Then, I’ll.....

Cigarette smoke swirled about me like a dense fog.

Or better yet...

Lighting cigarettes takes both hands. Dad always steers the car with his knees when he lights the next smoke. With both of his hands occupied and his attention on his Camel, I can grab the steering wheel, crash us and run away. Far, far away.

I shivered with the fear bubbling up in me again. How did I think I could crash the car and live to tell the tale? What made me think it could work?

Because it’s all I can do.

I took a deep breath, steeled my nerve, and inched closer to Dad. All the while, my eyes stayed on the cigarette sticking out of his mouth. When he lights the next one...

“Are you listening to me, boy?” Dad growled, spewing smoke and hate-filled words.

I froze. Is he on to me? Has he figured out what I’m going to do?

“You sure didn’t miss anything by not getting laid, boy. It’s completely overrated. Jerking off is much more efficient.”

The fatherly advice continued, as he finished another drag and exhaled the cloud of smoke.

“Not a one of them was worth the trouble they caused me. After you finish your business, all they do is whine and bitch about things. Jerking off is better ‘cause You get everything out of your system without all he bitching and whining.”

I held my breath and my wet hands grasped at the edge of the seat again. My mind reeled with what I was getting ready to do.

When he lights the next smoke, I need to be close enough to grab the wheel. And pull as hard as I can pull.

Dad inhaled once more as centimeters of unfiltered Camel became gray ash. As he exhaled, he chuckled, “You know all about jerking off, don’t you boy?”

The radio switched from the Rolling Stones to some other old song I knew but didn’t know the name of in the background. The drums, the bass and the guitar riff went on into the dark night and a man started to sing.

Makin' a living the old hard way

Takin' and giving by day by day

I dig snow and rain and bright sunshine

Draggin' the line (draggin' the line

My mouth was cotton and my body ice from the fear. I scooted a little closer, coaching myself. I have to grab the wheel when he goes to light the next smoke. I sat and sat, forcing myself to not cough. The longer I sat, the harder my heart pounded and the harder it was not to start screaming at him.The song went on as time slowed down.

I feel fine I'm talkin' bout peace of mind

I'm gonna take my time I'm gettin' the good sign

Draggin' the line

draggin' the line

Draggin' the line,

draggin' the line

Dear Lord, how long does it take to smoke a fucking cigarette? Has he switched from Camels to Willie Wonka Everlasting Cigarettes instead?

I scooted a little closer, close enough that our legs could have rubbed up against each other if I had not kept mine tightly closed. I didn’t want to let him know how close I was to him. I forced my hands to clutch each other in my lap.

I watched, my stomach churning, as the Willie Wonka Everlasting Cigarette hung from Dad’s mouth. Once he finishes this one, and puts his knees in charge of driving, I’m grabbing the wheel and crashing us. I’ll send the car off the road and into whatever’s there. Trees, boulders, off a cliff, anything will be better than being shot dead. I’ll take my chances with the car.

Once we crash, I’ll run away and Edwin Henderson, attorney at law, will never see me again. Ever. The song went on in the darkness.

I feel fine I'm talkin' bout peace of mind

I'm gonna take my time I'm gettin' the good sign

Draggin' the line

draggin' the line.....

“I asked you a question, boy. I asked if you knew all about jerking off?” Dad breathed a dragon-like plume of smoke at me.

“Yes,” I managed in a quivering voice.

The Willie Wonka Everlasting cigarette butt was flicked out of the cracked window. Time for the next one, Dad. Why wait?

My heart slammed against my rib cage and the blood surged in my ears so I could barely hear as the music became The Guess Who--one of Dad’s favorite bands. Drums and guitars swirled around me.

No time left for you

On my way to better things

No time left for you

I found myself some wings

No time left for you

Distant roads are calling me

No time left for you....

My hands squeezed each other tight as I imagined myself grabbing the wheel and jerking as hard as I could. I’ll crash the car and run away. He’ll never see me again.

“Good for you, boy,”Dad replied.

Was that pride in his voice? How could he be proud of the fact that my right hand was also my best girl?

“I guess I was able to keep you from being a total pussy after all.”

The Guess Who went on as Dad tapped his steering hand on the wheel.

No time for a summer friend

No time for the love you send

Seasons change, and so did I

You need not wonder why

You need not wonder why

There's no time left for you....

I coached myself as we went. I’ll grab the wheel while he’s all bent over lighting the next smoke. I’ll jerk it hard and the car will crash. Then, I’ll open the door and run as far and as fast as I can. Run as far into the woods as I can...

Time moved like cold molasses as I waited for Dad to need his next smoke. I was shaking so hard, I could barely see what he was doing. Waiting for his nicotine addiction to kick in once more was torture. I bit at my mouth and wrung my wet hands to keep from screaming at him. The song swirled about us and went on.

No time for a gentle rain

No time for my watch and chain

No time for revolving doors

No time for the killing floor

No time for the killing floor

There's no time left for you

No time left for you....

Finally, Dad’s hand left the steering wheel and went to his shirt pocket for his cigarettes. The nearly empty package flattened and rustled as Dad’s fingers sought out another smoke.

I coached myself again. I’ll grab the wheel and jerk it as hard as I can. Then, I’ll open the door, and I’ll run as far and as fast as I can. Run as far into the woods as I can...

Please God, help me.

Dad paused thoughtfully, and quit hunting for his next smoke.The Guess Who went on into the darkness

“Got, got got got no time

No no no no time....

“I’m good with a gun, Mark. I killed a lot of gooks with one shot,” he said. “Don’t be a pussy about it and it will be over in a second. You won’t even know what hit you.”

I swallowed hard. Apparently, I’m in good hands to be murdered. My blood roared in my ears and my body shook like I had some kind of old man’s disease.

Commercials started on the radio, the music was over.

I watched as the world blurred and slid into slow motion. Dad grabbed a cigarette and twirled it in his yellow fingers. He steered with his left hand and reached for the book of matches from his shirt pocket.

My eyes were frozen on Dad’s fingers. The throbbing in my head rose, surged until it was like being stabbed in the ears from the inside out. I held my breath and bit my mouth against the pain. I...

I coached myself one last time.

I’ll grab the wheel when he’s driving with his knees. Then I’ll crash the car and run as far and as fast as I can. Run as far into the woods as far as I can...

Dad raised his knees, like he was swimming in a river of slush, to the steering wheel and slowly bent his head down. I heard the match hiss and burn to life.

I couldn’t stop the roar I let out. I threw myself across the seat, across Dad’s lap, and grabbed the wheel with my slippery hands before he knew what I was doing. I pulled as hard as I could. The burning cigarette and the lit match fell onto my lap but I kept pulling the steering wheel from Dad. He grabbed at the wheel, trying to jerk it away from me but I pulled even harder than I ever thought I could.

“What the fuck.....” Dad roared back. He reached out and smacked at my face but I just pulling the wheel.

The sound of the car roaring and flying into the gravel and rocks was the last thing I knew before everything went black.

Chapter Forty-Four

Outside, in the cold December night, sleet began to fall from the clouds and onto my window screen. I stared at the floor, my knees shaking, my arms trembling, hugging my sides for strength.

“So, see. I killed him, Mom,” I said in a quivering voice. “I grabbed the wheel, crashed the car and...and now he’s dead...”

The next thing I knew, she was throwing her arms around me.

She kept stroking my hair while she held me close. I felt like my body was made of jello and that I might slide right off the chair and onto the floor. I started chewing on the inside of my mouth so I didn’t start crying again.

“I’m sorry ...” she started to cry, resting her chin on my head. “I’m so sorry..... ”

“I killed him, Mom,” I croaked. “I crashed the car and now he’s dead.”

“Shhhh...” she said, holding me. “Don’t say that Mark. You didn’t kill your Dad. Shhhhh...”

Oh yes, I did. My voice was gone I just shook my head in disagreement.

I flinched when I felt Joe’s hand land on my back.

“You didn’t kill anyone, Mark,” Joe said.

Didn’t they hear a word I said? I crashed the car, on purpose, and my dad ended up dead. Weren’t they listening to me?

“Shhhh. Listen to me. You didn’t kill your father, ” Mom said.

I really tried not to cry again but I couldn’t stop the tears dribbling out from the corners of my eyes. I snorted, sniffled and struggled to obey her but all I could do was bury my face more deeply into her.

“Listen to me, Mark,” she said. “Your dad was a drug addict and a sick man. You just told me he had a gun and he was going to kill you with it.”

I nodded, clutching at her shoulders.

“ Mark,” Joe said. “You just did what you could to live through the night. Isn’t that right?”

I squeezed my eyes until they hurt and, after a moment, I felt myself crying less than before at what they said.

He was right. I just didn’t want him to shoot me. I just wanted to live. I pulled away from my mom and looked up at them with blurry eyes.

“You were just trying to survive, Mark. That’s all,” Mom said, stroking my hair with gentle fingertips.

“How does that make you a murderer?” Joe asked me.

I couldn’t answer his question. I just sat there, sniffling. But I caused the wreck.

“Listen to me, Mark,” Joe said. “I kind of know what you’re feeling. I did some awful things when I was in Vietnam so I could live through my tour of duty.”

I looked up at him, my tears drying at what he was telling me.

“You k-killed somebody there?” I asked staring at my stepfather.

He nodded at me, his face suddenly gray and tense. His mouth trembled like he was going to start crying.

Joe? Killed somebody?

He swallowed hard and said, “I killed North Vietnamese soldiers,” he said. He swallowed hard and wen on. “I was out on patrol with my buddy one night and I saw them before they saw us. They...they were sitting there in their hiding place, waiting to attack us. It was....”

His voice buckled and he looked away from me and Mom.

“It was them or us....so...” he stopped talking and the room was quiet except for the sleet pinging against the screens on my window.

“I didn’t want to kill them but I..I didn’t want to die either,” Joe said. “So I did what I had to do to survive and get home. I shot them both in the back.”

“Am I proud of what I did? No.” Joe said. “Am I haunted about what I did? Yes but not as much as I used to be.”

Joe killed two soldiers before they could kill him, did that make him a murderer?

No. It made him a soldier who wanted to come back home alive.

How was what he did any different than what I did?

I couldn’t answer that question.

I leaned back into my mother and clung to her like she was my life boat.

“Listen to me, son,” Mom said. “ The toxicology tests on your dad’s blood showed he had enough cocaine in his system to kill most people. His level was so high, they said he’d been an addict for years, for most of your life. It makes how he...he treated us make sense. He was a cocaine addict, Mark. That’s why he died. You didn’t kill him.”

I pulled away from her and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. The room became quiet again, save the gentle falling sleet outside the window. Staring at the carpet, I bit at the inside of my mouth and hugged my sides.

“You know...” she began, after a long pause. “Mark that you...”

I opened my swollen, burning eyes and she looked at her me, swallowed hard and forced herself to go on.

“You...” she choked out at me. “You saved us, Mark...”

I just stared at her with my mouth open. What? What are you talking about? I didn’t save anybody but my own, worthless self. What?

I shook my head, confused. Mom reached out and took my icy hands into her own.

“She’s right. You did save us, Mark,” Joe said. “He would have killed us all that night but you stopped him...”

Mom started crying again as I struggled to make sense of what he was saying.

I did? I saved their lives? Did I save their lives?

“You saved all of us,” Joe repeated.

The words slowly sank in. They were right. My dad was crazy enough that night to have murdered all of us -even my four-year-old brother. I sat up and looked at Mom, her face was pale in the dim light. Joe’s face was grim.

“Thank you for saving us,” Joe said.

His words swirled around me, my head dizzy from what they said. I felt myself being pulled back into Mom’s arms and I rested my head and body in her her soft, warm embrace for a very long time. As she wept on my shoulder, I didn’t cry, I just sat there telling myself over and over again,

“I’m not a murderer. I saved their lives. I saved my Mom’s life. I saved Joe’s life and David’s life.... I saved... I saved.....I’m not a murderer. I’m not a murderer.’

Chapter Forty-Five

Mom and I stepped across the hall to the lone bathroom. The arguing with Joe and the crying with Mom left me tense and knotted up.

“Some hot water’ll help you relax,” she said. She gave me a hug and I just stood there with my arms around her not moving.

“I love you, Mark,” she said, giving me a final squeeze.

She turned and stepped out, shutting the door behind her. I flipped on the light and sat down on the edge of the white tub. Pushing the blue striped shower curtain aside, I saw a debris field of David’s toys lining the tub. Gathering up Bert and Ernie and a fleet of Hot Wheel cars, I piled them onto the blue cotton bath mat and turned on the water. I watched the cold waterfall gush from the silver faucet.

Guilt stabbed at me as I sat there.

I’d been acting like an ass. Throwing a fits at home and getting kicked out of school. Causing Mom and Joe trouble and getting Glenda in trouble by wrecking her car.

I owed her a huge apology and a fixed car.

As I sat there, I thought about my Sucrettes tin filled with almost $200. I was thinking of using it to run away from all of them but now I knew it would be a good start at fixing Glenda’s Jeep and Mrs. Becker’s Buick.

I’d find a way to pay the rest of the bill for fixing their cars.

The water roared into the bathtub and I turned to grab a washcloth from a basket full of them on the white counter. When I caught sight of the reflection in the mirror, I stopped in my tracks. Who is that person there? I hardly recognized myself.

Is that really me?

The kid in the mirror didn’t look half bad. His hair was a nice light brown and newly-trimmed thanks to Mom. His face wasn’t covered in zits and his eyes were a really cool light blue color. Best of all, the kid staring at me didn’t look like he’d had the shit beaten out of him lately.

I kept studying the reflection as if I couldn’t believe it was truly me.

I didn’t look afraid anymore. When was the last time I went to bed hungry? Or the last time, I stole somebody’s lunch so I could eat later? How long has it been since I was smacked around?

Besides the two fights at school, I hadn’t been hit since that last night with Dad.

And I still had the nerve to get in Mom and Joe’s face today. I tore my eyes away from the mirror, face hot at how I’d been acting.

I put my hand behind the vinyl shower curtain and twisted the lever up to turn my bath into a shower.

I’ll stop acting like an ass. Starting now.

I slid out of my unbuttoned jeans and left them a denim puddle on the cold floor. Then, I stepped out of my underwear, pulled my sweatshirt off and threw all of it on top of the denim puddle. I was shocked when I looked down at my naked body. I wasn’t nearly as scrawny as I was before. I couldn’t see my sharp ribs poking through my tight skin anymore and my stomach was flat and not caved in. I had actually gained a little weight. Mom’s plan to fatten me up was working nicely.

She’s a good cook and I should tell her that more often.

My scars from the wreck were even starting to fade.

I stepped in behind the shower curtain, letting the water soak my head. My feet sloshed as I stood there, letting the pulsing water beat on my shoulders and back. I closed my eyes and stood perfectly still, except for my feet sloshing about the tub. I wriggled my toes as the water rose up closer to my ankles.

I might even still have a real live girlfriend. No female in St. Louis even looked at me much less kissed me like Glenda does. I glanced down at my naked body and shrugged my shoulders as the water beat on me.

What in the world does she see in me?

I have no idea but I won’t look that gift horse in the mouth. She’s pretty and funny and nice to kiss.

Very nice to kiss.

My hair was dripping wet now, time to lather, rinse and repeat.

Steam swirled about me as I reached for the bottle of Suave shampoo on the shelf. I almost had my hands on the bottle when I was pulled, pulled deeper, deeper and deeper into the gaping pitch black darkness...

Chapter Forty-Seven

Buzzes, beeps and voices woke me up after a night of being poked, stuck and checked on by nurses every time I started to go to sleep. I sat up in a hospital bed staring with fuzzy eyes at what was supposed to be breakfast. A plastic cup of juice, some red jello and bowl of gray oatmeal. One pat of butter, a paper carton of milk and a single packet of sugar lay next to my silverware.

I guess I was sort of feeling better now. I didn’t hurt from head to toe anymore and I could breathe without my lungs catching fire. In fact, I really didn’t feel any better or worse than I ever felt after a really bad seizure. I just needed to be left alone so I could sleep for a really long time and that was the one they wouldn’t let me do.

I was so hungry, my stomach managed to growl at the nasty food staring up at me. Shrugging stiff shoulders, I unwrapped my spoon to stir the watery oatmeal in front of me. My hand moved mechanically, while my mind struggled to bring back the feelings of the other side of life. My heavy eyes fell closed and I stopped stirring as I remembered some of the feelings.

I could feel my warm blanket hugging me and I drifted into the beginnings of sweet sleep.

“Hey, there,” Joe’s voice jerked me awake again.

I opened my heavy eyes and came back to the cool, sterile hospital room. A tired smile started across my face as I saw Mom and Joe standing by my bed.

Mom’s face quivered into a smile. She stepped over, ignoring the IV pole, put her arms about me and pulled me in close. I closed my eyes and went perfectly still in her arms. She was warm and I breathed in her sweet soap and perfume as she held me.

It’s my mom, I thought steadily with the in and out of my breath. Mom rested her chin on the top of my head and we were silent. I reached up and hugged her back, squeezing as tightly as my weak arms could squeeze.

“Thank God, you’re all right,” she whispered. “I couldn’t lose you again. I just couldn’t.”

I nodded my head, breathing in her scent deeply until she pulled away.

“Are you hungry?” Mom asked, swiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

I nodded slowly. That’s my mom, always trying to feed me.

She took the spoon from the tray and went to stirring my mostly-cold oatmeal.

“Here,” she said, reaching out for my knife and a pat of the butter. “Let me help you out. Let’s make this oatmeal taste good with some butter and sugar.”

“Okay,” I said smiling at her. My voice was husky, like I had the worst case of strep in history.

Once my oatmeal was fixed to Mom’s liking, I brought a half a spoonful to my mouth. I held it there for a moment, afraid of how swallowing was going to feel. Finally, I closed my eyes and swallowed, praying that it wouldn’t hurt too bad.

My throat was still sore when I swallowed but the oatmeal slid down. Once Mom saw I was doing all right eating, she stepped away. She sat down in the hard visitor’s chair Joe had pulled up next to my bed. Mom wiped her wet eyes again and Joe put his long arm around her shoulder and hugged her.

After a she stopped crying again, Joe said. “You scared us pretty good last night, Mark.”

I nodded at them and brought another tiny spoon of oatmeal to my mouth, wincing as I swallowed. After about four partial spoonfuls, I pushed the mostly full bowl away and put down the spoon.

I wasn’t hungry anymore. All I wanted was to sleep for the rest of the day. I let my heavy eyes fall closed and began to drift into blackness. I just need to be left alone so I could sleep....

I jerked back awake when I heard Mom and Joe saying hello to someone. Who could be here visiting me?

I opened my eyes to see a short man with midnight black hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a white lab coat over his white oxford shirt, blue slacks and yellow tie. It was my doctor here to say hello.

Or to give me more pills maybe.

Or to do something else that wasn’t going to help me.

“Good morning,” Dr. Stewart said. He went to stand at the foot of my bed, grabbing, then studying the clipboard in his hands.

“I hear you had a pretty scary seizure last night, young man,” he said, not lifting his eyes from the chart. He flipped to the next page and furrowed his brow as he read.

I gave a slow nod and picked up my spoon to stir the oatmeal once more. My hands needed to be doing something as he was studying my chart and deciding my fate.

“He did,” Joe said, “He scared us all pretty bad, Dr. Stewart.”

He put the chart back,then crossed his arms and stared at me with his dark blue eyes. I looked away, into the bowl of oatmeal. Why is he just staring at me? Why isn’t he writing out my new prescription? Isn’t that all he can do?

“So how are you feeling this morning?” he asked finally.

“I’m tired,” I said, putting the spoon down. “And they won’t let me sleep.”

“Well, everyone on staff is under strict orders to keep my patients awake all night. I’m glad to hear that they’re following my directions to the letter,” he said, smiling.

I shook my head. If I wasn’t so tired, I might have found his joke funny. Maybe I’ll laugh later---maybe after I’ve slept the rest of the day.

Dr. Stewart stepped over to me and placed the ice-cold stethoscope to my back.

“Let me get a listen to you. The emergency room doc notes say between your dad and the ambulance crew they got you breathing again but I want to listen for myself. So take some deep breaths.”

I filled my sore lungs as full as I could, my back and stomach aching as I did.

The room was quiet while he listened to me breathe, then he moved the stethoscope to my chest and listened to my heartbeat. I still hurt all over when I took deep breaths but at least the stethoscope was warm now.

I looked away from Dr. Stewart to see Mom and Joe sitting worriedly. He had his arm around her and she held on to him. This is what they must look like in their room at night. Mom clinging to Joe and Joe clinging to Mom.

“You sound pretty good considering what happened last night,” he finally said, stepping away from me. “They took good care of you.”

He looked at me, then looked at my worried parents.

“Well, I want to talk to all of you for a few minutes,” Dr. Stewart said, his face grim and his voice serious.

Now’s where he tells me that he can’t do anything to help me and that this is as good as life will ever get. That I just better get used to living at home for the rest of my life.

Joe and Mom traded worried looks and I started stirring the oatmeal again, even though I wasn’t going to eat any more of it.

Now what? What bad news is there now?

The doctor took a deep breath.

“I don’t have to tell any of you what could have happened last night. Mark was extremely lucky,” Dr. Stewart said.

Mom broke in, “Thank God that I heard the crash and Joe knows first aid.”

“Yes,” Dr. Stewart said, “Thank God indeed. I’ve lost several patients to accidents and I certainly don’t want Mark to be the next one.”

The room was sober as I started to chew the inside of my mouth until I tasted the coppery sweetness. I braced myself for whatever bad news he was getting ready to drop on me.

“So,” Dr. Stewart went on. “We’ll look at adjusting your medication again but I would like to talk to all of you about a more unconventional idea. I would like to see about getting you a dog.”

I must have heard him wrong. The bad news was that I needed to get a dog?

“A dog?” I asked, my face twisting with confusion. “You want me to get a pet dog?”

“Not a pet exactly,” Dr. Stewart said, shaking his head. “Some dogs know when a seizure’s coming on. No one’s exactly sure how they do it. It could be they smell something changing in the body or maybe they can see something that people can’t. However they do it, trained dogs alert a their person when a seizure is coming. This allows the person to get to a safe environment. So, in other words, one of these dogs could have alerted Mark that a seizure was coming last night so he could get out of the shower. These dogs can even be trained to push their person on their side and stay close until the seizure passes.”

Like a seeing eye dog. But one to warn me when a seizure is about to hit. For real? A dog?

“How old are you Mark?” Dr. Stewart asked.

“16,” I said. “I’ll be 17 in February.”

“At some point, in the pretty near future, you may want to live on your own,” he said, looking at Joe and Mom. “A seizure alert dog might help that happen. Living alone with uncontrolled seizures is very dangerous. Just think what would have happened if you had been alone last night.”

I stared at my oatmeal. Being dead hadn’t been too bad really. It was peaceful and calm except that Dad told me it wasn’t time for me to really die yet.

“A seizure alert dog might help you become independent someday, Mark,” Dr. Stewart said.

My mind tried to get a grip on the idea of living on my own someday. Away from Joe and Mom and David. Not having to answer to anyone but me. Could that ever happen?

“So how does that sound, Mark? Do you want to look into getting a dog?” Dr. Stewart asked. “Mom and Dad? How does that sound. A dog is a big commitment from all of you.”

I trembled at the thought of living on my own. I could do what I want to do, when I want to do it. I could get a job and a car and take Glenda on real dates. Could a dog really be the way to make that happen?

I nodded and swallowed hard.

“Yes, I am,” I said in croaky voice.

“We’ll do anything to help Mark,” Joe said.

I felt guilt slap at me. Joe has done nothing but try to help me and I haven’t been very nice to him. I’ll be better to him from now on but after I slept for a really long time. My eyes fell shut, then jerked back open as they talked.

“How do we get a dog for Mark? I assume you just don’t go to the pound for this kind of dog,” Joe said.

“I can get you in touch with the group that trains these dogs. It takes time to train one so I’m sure Mark will go on a waiting list that could be several months. Until then, all of you will just all have to be on guard. I know you want your privacy, young man, but your parents are just going to have to watch over you. Closely. That means...”

I shut my eyes for just another minute....

Chapter Forty-Eight

I heard Mom talking in a hushed voice to another woman on the other side of sleep. Who in the world was here? My eyes fluttered open, then closed once more against the brightness of the room.

“...Joe was a coach before David was born, so he had to be first aid certified. Thank God for that,” Mom said.

“Thank God is right,” the other woman said.

Who is she talking to? A neighbor? A nurse?

The voices came louder and I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand.

“He’s just really tired right now. Poor thing fell asleep while the doctor was talking to him this morning,” Mom said. “Dr. Stewart said to let him sleep as long as he wants to and they’ll send him home after he wakes up.”

“Your husband told Glenda he was here,” the woman said. “We’ll just leave this and go home so he can rest.”

Glenda? Glenda’s here?

I opened my eyes in spite of the brightness and looked about to see Glenda and an older version of herself standing next to the wall.

“Hey,” I croaked, blinking as my eyes struggled to adjust.

They smiled at my open eyes and croaky words. Glenda stood bundled up in her puffy coat, her cheeks rosy from the cold air outside. Her smile broadened, showing her dimples, and she stepped over to the side of my bed.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” was all I could think to say back.

Glenda was visiting me in the hospital. She wasn’t dead or locked up in her room for the rest of her life. Not only that, her mom brought her up here. They weren’t making her break up with me.

Or maybe they were making her break up with me in person. There was no need to show any pity for the jerk who wrecked her Jeep. Being in the hospital was no excuse...

She leaned down to put her arms about me. I closed my eyes, breathing in the flowery scent that clung to the soft hair tickling at my face. She was like hugging a warm cloud. What if this was goodbye?

“You’re all right?” she asked, still hugging me.

If we’re still together, I am.

All I could do was nod and hug her tighter. The moms were quiet as we hugged for a long time. Glenda pulled away first.

“You forgot your present yesterday,” she said, pulling my Styx album out of her lime green tote bag.

“Thanks for bringing it up,” I said, taking it from her. I stared at the album cover while my sleepy brain tried to think of something to say.

How about I’m sorry for wrecking your car? How about are we still going out even though I wrecked your car? I looked over at the moms chatting in the corner of the room. Glenda looked just like her mom minus a few pounds and some heavy make-up. I looked back down at the album and flipped it to the back side.

“Mrs. Paxton said you were going home today. Maybe tomorrow we can get together, If you’re feeling up to it.”

“You still want to go out with me?’ I made myself ask.

“Of course I do,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

I looked at the album on my lap.

“Cause....cause I wrecked you car and got you in big trouble,” I said. That was just the start, really. I could think of a dozen reasons I wouldn’t want to go out with me.

“You think a fender bender is enough to make me break up with you?” she asked.

“Well...I hoped it wasn’t but it looked like you were in pretty big trouble,” I said. I flipped the album over again nervously. I felt my bed sink as she sat down beside me.

“I think love is stronger than that,” she said. “I love you and you told me you love me. You even put in writing, Mark.”

I looked up to see her give her heart charm a push. I did put the word love on her bracelet and silver was a lot more permanent than paper.

“I do love you, I was just afraid maybe you didn’t love me anymore,” I said. I felt my face get a hot. I never should have doubted her.

Glenda leaned over and touched her lips to mine, kissing me her answer in spite of the parents in the crowded room. I closed my eyes and breathed her in until she pulled away. No, I never should have doubted her. When I opened my eyes, my mom and her mom were standing at the side of my bed.

“Well, we need to be going so you can get Mark home,” Glenda’s mom said. “We just wanted to come up for a minute.”

I looked at her and saw she had the same beautiful chocolate eyes her daughter had. I needed to apologize even though I really suck at apologizing.

“I’m....I’m sorry, Mrs. Stone,” I made myself say. “I’m sorry I was driving Glenda’s car. It was all my idea and I’m sorry...”

“Stop it,” she said, patting my hand. “It’s just a car. It’ll fix. I’m just glad nobody got hurt.”

I nodded at her and went on talking, trying to fix the car from my hospital bed.

“I’ve got some money saved to pay for getting it fixed, Mrs. Stone. Just let me know how much...”

“Stop, Mark,” she said. “We’re taking care of it. I don’t want you to worry about anything except getting better. Then I want you over for dinner so we can really meet.”

“I’d like that,” I said.

If her daddy is gone, I thought. He was pretty scary.

Glenda leaned over and hugged me again before standing up.

“Call me when you get home,” she said, joining her mother.

“It was nice to meet both of you, finally,” Mrs. Stone said. ”Come on, Glenda. Let’s get out of their way so Mark can get home.”

They waved a final goodbye and disappeared with a billow of the curtain as their final wave.

Mom looked at me and smiled, “Glenda is such a sweet girl and her mom is a very nice lady.”

“Her mom is really nice,” I said. I took my album into my hand and flipped it over, staring at the picture of the Paradise Theater for a very long time. I had a lot more apologizing to do.

I had a lot of things I had to say to Mom and we hardly ever got to be all by ourselves at home. In fact, Joe would probably be up in just a minute from wherever he was.

“Your stepdad will be back in a few minutes and we’ll start getting you checked out of here,” she said, stepping back to sit down in the straight-backed chair. She crossed her legs and pulled a book out of her bag.

I put the album down on the bed next to me, looked up and started to talk, “Hey, Mom....”

She looked up from her book and started to get to her feet. That was my mom, always trying to get me something or do something for me. Wasn’t that the definition of love?

“No, don’t get up,” I said. “I just want...”

She perched on the edge of the chair, ready to pounce on whatever I needed.

“I just want to say...” my voice started to die in my throat but I forced it to keep going. “ I love you and I’m sorry for....how I’ve been acting. I’ve been a real jerk to you and I’m really sorry.”

“Mark, stop it. I know you love me, ” she was up from the chair, standing next to me now. “You don’t have to apologize. You haven’t done anything wrong...”

“No, Mom,” I cut her off. “I have...I’ve done a lot of things wrong since...since the wreck. And I want to say I’m sorry for being hateful to you....”

“Stop it,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m the one who needs to apologize. I...I should never have left you, Mark. I’ve played that in my head a million times. I should have gone to the school, grabbed you and run far, far away from St. Louis. Why didn’t....”

“Stop kicking yourself, Mom. Where would we go? He would’ve found us, wherever we went. How would we have run away with no money? How could you protect us from him when he found us? All of that is why you didn’t take me with you,” I said, grabbing her shaking hands into mine. “He would have found us and he would’ve done exactly what he said he was going to do. I know you did the best you could.”

She shook her head, tears flying as she did. Mom clutched my hand until it was white as she cried again, “ I shouldn’t have left you...I should’ve called the police...”

“He was buddies with all of them, Mom,” I said. “You did the best you could. You started working to get me back once you could....”

“Somebody would’ve helped us....I just didn’t try hard enough...”

“No, Mom,” I said. “You and Joe did try hard enough. You were suing him to get me back and he was ready to protect us from him. You did the very best you could...”

She shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. Talking about this was the last thing she thought I wanted from her this morning in my hospital bed. The tears were from surprise as much as from pain. My eyes pooled as she cried next to me.

“I’m not mad at you for leaving me, Mom. I know Dad didn’t give you any choice,” I said. “And now I know I’m going to be okay no matter what.”

She covered her face and cried even harder than before. I leaned over and hugged her as best I could.

“I forgive you, Mom. Now you need to forgive yourself,” I said. She bent down, kissed the top of my head and hugged me tight.

Eventually, we both stopped crying and held each other until David’s thundering footsteps came tearing down the hall and into my room. He crashed through the curtain and skidded to a stop in front of my bed. His face was rosy from running and his blonde hair a messy halo.

Mom gave her eyes one more swipe and stepped over to hug my little brother. Joe stepped through the curtain next and gave me a huge smile.

“Hey, kiddo. Are you ready to get out of here?” he asked, stopping at the side of my bed. He reached out and patted my shoulder.

I swallowed hard, looking at him. I was lucky to have him as my stepdad. He was kind and funny and certified in first aid. That was pretty handy a few hours ago. I couldn’t have picked out a better stepdad than Joe.

“I am,” I answered his question. Then I went on, shaky at first.

“ I’m sorry about the wreck, Joe. It was stupid for me to be driving like that,” I said. “I’ve got some money saved up to help pay for fixing Glenda’s Jeep and Mrs. Becker’s car.”

“That’s good to hear,” Joe said. “It’s important to take responsibility when you make a mistake. We’ll talk about it later but a friend of mine is over the lawn crew at the community college and he is looking for a helper or two. I told him a knew a young man who would be interested and who would be good at pushing a lawnmower.”

I was definitely interested in the job so I nodded at him, then went on, “Joe...I want to apologize for how I’ve acted....I’m sorry I was hateful to you...”

He put his hand up like a traffic cop and said, “Stop apologizing, Mark. You have nothing to apologize for. This has been a...a really hard year for you...”

“But that doesn’t mean I had to be hateful to you and Mom,” I interrupted him. “So I’m telling you I’m sorry.”

He smiled down at me then leaned in to hug me and I hugged him back.

“I love you, Mark,” he said into my hair as he squeezed me harder. “And whatever you think you have to apologize about is forgiven. It’s all water under the bridge.”

I squeezed him back as hard as I could and thought about telling him that I loved him too but I didn’t. That would be way too weird.

I settled for a smile and, “Thanks Joe.”

I pulled away from him as David came bounding like a puppy over to me, waving Darth Vader in one hand and Yoda in the other.

“Will you play Star Wars with me when we get home? I want to be Darth Vader!” he said as he bounced.

“Sure,” I said with a smile. He was still going to be a pest but I could put up with him being that way until I moved out or he grew up, whichever came first.

“I’ll be Yoda,” I said.

I looked up and saw Mom trade a smile with Joe. I needed to be nice to my little brother since he was the only one I had. As far as I knew. He handed me his Yoda, then bounced out of the door to pester the nurse’s station for graham crackers and juice. I looked over to see Mom digging in her purse and Joe gathering up my stuff from the night before and shoving it all in a plastic hospital bag. All of the sudden, I felt like I was going to cry.

Why am I falling apart?

My life’s good now. My stomach’s always full and nobody beats me up anymore. My mom and stepdad are all right most of the time and even David’s not too bad. It’s true epilepsy still sucks but I’m getting a dog to help me out with that. And, best of all, I have a pretty girlfriend. There was absolutely no reason for me to start bawling now that I was sure I was going to be all right.

I stared down at Yoda and made myself not cry.

“David? Where’s David?” Mom said, stepping out of the room, then down the hallway.

“I think he went to mooch a snack,” I said, the situation pulling me back from becoming a bawling mess.

“David Joseph Paxton! You are not to be bothering the nurses again.....” Mom started running down the hall. I laughed. David was in trouble. He might even get a time-out.

“Are you ready to come on home?” Joe asked me as he stepped over to my bed.

I looked at my stepfather and thought of how scared I was when I left the hospital and went home with them in June. That seemed like something from a movie--stuff that happened to another kid, in another time and another place. I wasn’t that kid anymore thanks to my family.

“Home sounds good,” I said. And for the first time since I was eight, I meant it.