by R E Swirsky
"Hey guys, you go on ahead," Tommy said. "I'm just going to see Tim over there for a sec. I'll catch up with you." Ricky and Bobby looked over to see Tim backlit by the street light. Bobby turned away and began to shuffle himself down the path alone before he realized Ricky wasn't following.
"Ricky, c'mon. I gotta get home. I'm late already."
Ricky played hockey with Tommy, Jason and Tim, but quit at the end of last season. He was in grade twelve with Tommy and was a natural at hockey. He played right wing to Tommy's centre and was instrumental in helping Tommy win the scoring title last season. Ricky wouldn’t offer up any reason for quitting other than he wanted to do something else.
Bobby didn’t played sports like the rest of his friends. He was a year younger, in grade eleven with Jason and Tim, and he had his own problems. He was born with deformed legs, and it took years of surgery and physiotherapy for Bobby to progress to where he could walk without aid of crutches. Only a shuffle of the left leg remained, and he was told it would be with him forever. Bobby's mother still doted on Bobby. She was very strict and demanding, and she treated him as if he was made of porcelain at times. Getting home late was not on option for Bobby.
"Ricky!" Bobby yelled. "I gotta get home."
Ricky continued to watch Tommy as he reached Tim in the parking lot. Tim jumped from the fence as Tommy neared and darted out towards the street. Tommy followed close behind. As he watched Tim scamper away with Tommy chasing after him, he felt something deep inside him hurt and he swallowed hard. Ricky really wanted to follow Tommy and Tim, but Bobby yelled at him again.
"Okay, I'm coming! Just shut up already!" Ricky shouted back. He turned and ran the few paces to catch up.
"What's the matter with you, Ricky? You don't even like Tim. Why do you even care about what's going on over there?"
"I don't care," he lied to Bobby. He walked on a few minutes in silence. "Tim's okay I guess. When we played together last year, he was just an ass to me all the time… trying to check me into the boards all the time in practice, or tripping me up. Shit like that. He'd really piss me off. Sometimes when he'd see me wide open going for the net he'd refuse to pass the puck to me. He always seemed to have a chip on his shoulder."
"Hmm," was all Bobby replied. Bobby never talked hockey. He was always a good listener and the other boys knew it. They could say anything to Bobby without being judged and know he wouldn't repeat it. Bobby lived across the street just four doors down from Tommy and Jason. They had all become close friends over the years. Bobby bonded more with Tommy even though he was Jason’s age.
"I don't know why he didn't like me," Ricky pondered aloud.
The two walked along the path through the trees back towards the centre of town. It was eerily dark in the trees, and Ricky was glad for it as he wiped away at his eyes. Bobby couldn't see he was almost crying. He felt something as he had watched Tommy chase after Tim, and it hurt inside. He knew he would have to talk to Tim eventually.
CHAPTER 4
Gerald slammed the front door and glared into the kitchen at Sarah seated at the table. Sarah forced a smile, and kept her eyes downcast; she pretended not to see the rage set on Gerald's face. She knew how to behave when he was like this. Usually when he was late from work, he was drunk, and tonight was no exception.
"Supper’s ready. Come sit," she said pleasantly, and patted the seat next to her. She dared not look up at him yet. Not until he spoke. Only then would she know how intense tonight was going to be.
"Damn fucker!" Gerald shouted. "That God damned idiot Danny didn't put the load on the back of my truck properly. Lost most of it pulling on to the highway out by Baxter's garage. Spent most of the last hour picking up two by fours and shit from all over the road!"
Sarah knew better. Gerald was drinking, and he probably got into another scramble at the bar, hopped into his truck and pulled out in a tear onto the highway. It was most likely his own damned fault.
"Oh babe, I'm so sorry," she apologized. Gerald tossed his jacket onto the couch and walked into the kitchen. He left his dirty boots on. Sarah's eyes dropped to watch the muddy chunks fall onto the carpet.
"He's in for shit when I get in tomorrow! I'm telling you."
Gerald sat down at the table and caught her as she looked at the chunks of mud. "What are you lookin' at?" he yelled.
Big mistake. She knew better than to stare at the dirt that fell from his boots. Gerald raised his hand in the air, ready to backhand her. "When I'm speaking you look at me! You understand me?"
She got it. Tonight was going to be very intense. She looked immediately up at Gerald and nodded.
Gerald lowered his hand and began to eat. Sarah followed Gerald’s lead, being sure not to eat faster or slower than he did.
"Salmon," he said.
"You like salmon, Gerald. I thought tonight I'd make you something special."
Gerald picked away at the salmon. He cut into a potato. "Dried out shit," he said. "You cook like your God damned mother."
Gerald slammed his fork and knife down on the table. He glared at Sarah and suddenly pushed his chair away and stood up. He reached over, grabbed Sarah by the neck, and shoved her face down into her plate. "If I wanted slop to eat, I'd a married a fucking pig farmer!"
Sarah struggled to free herself from his grasp. Her arms were outstretched, but Gerald repeatedly shoved her face down into her plate.
"I hate Salmon! I hate fucking peas! You like peas so much, well eat these!" he screamed, and shoved Sarah's face all over the plate again. The peas and potatoes mashed into her eyes and up her nose.
Sarah tried to scream but couldn't. His grasp was solid. He lifted her face off the plate and slammed it back down hard enough to split the plate in two. Sarah flailed her arms and knocked the butter and Gerald's plate to the floor. A trickle of blood dripped onto her plate from the cut on her forehead.
Gerald grabbed her by the hair and sweater and dragged her from the table down the hall towards the bedroom. Sarah tried to scream, but her sweater was pulled up high and choked off her air supply. He threw her on the bed and told her he was going to show her who was boss in this house.
"You stay right fucking there, and don't you dare move a fucking muscle!" he shouted and left the room.
CHAPTER 5
Tommy approached Tim where he sat on the fence in the parking lot. He could see something had happened; Tim's shirt was torn, his hair was a mess, and there was dirt smeared across his hands and face.
"Tim, what happened?" Tommy asked.
"Just go away, Tommy!"
Tommy moved closer, but Tim jumped off the fence and ran a few paces towards the dark street in front of the school.
"What happened?"
"Go away," Tim said again and darted towards the street. Tommy followed quickly behind. Tommy couldn't help himself; he had to follow. Not only was Tim a teammate and one of his brother’s best friends, Tommy couldn't help but step in when someone, anyone, was in trouble. Tommy was that way with everybody. He certainly wasn't about to let Tim walk away without knowing what had happened.
Tim ran down the sidewalk that followed the main road towards downtown. Tommy followed and called out for Tim to stop, but Tim ran faster. Tommy followed relentlessly, block after block. Finally, Tim tired and slowed to a walk, and Tommy caught up to him. Tim was crying.
"Who did this to you?" Tommy asked.
Tim just shook his head. "You don't know nothing."
"Maybe I don't. But I want to know who did this to you."
Tim stopped sharply and took a swing at Tommy. Tommy tried to dodge to the side, but he was too slow, and took the punch solidly on his shoulder.
"Shit! What was that for?" he asked and held his shoulder with his other hand. "That frickin' hurt!"
Tim turned and walked away not answering. Tommy followed.
Tim suddenly turned back and screamed at Tommy. "Woul
d you just leave me alone?"
"I can't do that. Not until you tell me what's going on."
Tim stopped. He was furious at Tommy, and his eyes were red and puffy from crying. "You don't know nothing," he said again and walked on. Tommy reached out and grabbed Tim hard by the shoulder. "For Christ sakes, Tim. I thought I was your friend. What did I do? I just want to help."
Tim turned back with his hand raised, and fist clenched. He was ready to slug Tommy again. His face grimaced with anger. "You really want to know who did this, Tommy? Because if you do, I will tell you, but you really don't want to know! You don't! So if you ask me again, Tommy… you should just bugger off and leave me alone!"
Tommy raised his hands in self-defense. "Whoa. But I do want to know."
"Jesus, Tommy! You just don't see it, do you? No one does."
Tommy shook his head. He didn't understand Tim at all.
Tim finally had enough. He stepped forward and shoved Tommy hard with both hands. Tommy stumbled backwards. "You don't get it!" Tim shouted. He stepped forward and shoved Tommy again with both hands. "You don't, do you?"
Tommy stumbled back again. He didn’t know what to do, but he knew his friend was in serious distress.
"None of you see what's really going on. Not you! Not Jason. No one!"
Tommy looked back at Tim whose tears etched dark channels of grime down his sad face.
Tim stepped up and shoved Tommy hard with both hands one last time. "You wanna know who did this to me, Tommy?" He stared at Tommy and stuck his finger in Tommy's face. "Your dad did this to me! Your dad!"
"My dad beat you up? What are you saying?" Tommy replied defensively.
"Fuck, you’re stupid!" Tim screamed. "Just like everybody else!" He kicked Tommy in the shins as hard as he could, ran off, and left Tommy to collapse on one knee and watch as Tim disappeared into the darkness.
CHAPTER 6
Sarah couldn't believe it happened again. It had been nearly four months since the last time Gerald gave her a food face wash. This time it was much worse. In the past, he always left in a rage out the front door immediately after the outburst; he wouldn’t show up until the next evening, apologizing for what he had done, but he always let her know it was she who made him do this to her. She never knew where he stayed when he left, and she never dared to ask.
Tonight it was very different. He hadn't left; what did he just say before he left the room? "I'm gonna show you who's boss in this house." That cannot be good.
Sarah reached up to wipe some of the potato and peas from her face but felt a sharp searing pain strike through her right arm after hearing a “swoosh” through the air. She turned to see Gerald with intense anger on his face as he held a corn broom high in the air above her. He brought it down a second time with a fury, aiming for her skull. She instinctively raised her arm into the air to block it and felt the snap as the broom broke the bone in her forearm. She screamed as the pain soared through her body. Gerald went for another swing, and brought the broom down hard, over and over again onto her already broken arm and her head. The broom finally snapped into two pieces down the crack produced by the first swing.
The room spun away from Sarah. The pain rushed in and filled her mind with sudden blackness. She heard Gerald's voice faintly through the pain; he shouted obscenities. The words were incoherent in her semi-conscious state. She struggled to right herself on the bed, but slipped and fell hard to the floor. The pain blazed through her body again. She glanced over to see Gerald still screaming as he stood over by the closet. He was in a rage, yanking her clothes from the hangers and tossing them everywhere about the room as he spewed obscenities.
She wasn't sure how long he remained in the room, and she didn't even know if he had hit her again. Her mind descended deep into the chasm where reality was out of reach. She thought she was dead; her loving sister and her recently deceased mother and father's faces flashed in front of her. She wanted to scream, and maybe she did, but she heard nothing. She felt pain and only pain. Gerald had crossed the line, and she was beyond terrified. The horror of how far she let herself fall had finally materialized tonight. She felt herself drift away into darkness; Gerald's voice was just a distant murmur beyond the swirling agony that devoured her.
Everything went black.
CHAPTER 7
Tommy walked around to the back door of the house and let himself in. The boys always entered through the back door. The front entrance of the large house on Founders Road was for guests only, his mother insisted. He saw the lights still on in his dad's therapy office out back, and he heard the usual grunts and shouts from the late night sessions his father offered free to the top university athletes.
Peter Oliver had a doctorate in sports medicine and was the head of the Sports Training and Physiotherapy Department at the University. Eight years ago, shortly after they moved in, he started up a sideline therapy business at home. He built the physiotherapy office next to the garage in the back of their large property. Peter was very generous with his therapy; he offered one-on-one training for fitness and injury physiotherapy at his home office in the evening to fit the schedules of his top athletes.
Peter also volunteered his time as head coach and trainer of the boys AAA midget hockey team. He had coached his boys’ teams since peewee, and it was the same group of boys year after year. Any of the boys were welcome to come for the extra training. Tommy and Jason used the fitness room constantly, and many of their friends came over after school to weight train. Some even took the one-on-one training Peter offered. He extended his no-fee, one-on-one offer to all of the boys on the hockey team and to many of the town's lower income, sports-playing families.
Hockey was a big thing in this town. To be a part of the Triple AAA midget team was a very big deal, and Peter Oliver and his boys were at the centre of it. Peter had a knack for delivering success; he coached the boys to the league title and the Provincial Championship two years running. He coached his boys from the very beginning, and it seemed every team Peter coached ended up at the top of the standings. The boys easily excelled under their father's rigorous workout routine. It was obvious to everyone who watched hockey, or had the privilege of playing under Peter and alongside his boys, that this family was the real deal. How far they could go was anybody's guess.
Peter's wife Marie was the perfect hockey mom. She was always the taxi driver when Peter couldn't be there, and she was heavily involved in booking and scheduling the tournaments and road trips. She found her place organizing, fundraising, volunteering and being a part of the hockey community. Life revolved around hockey from morning until bedtime each day.
Tommy stood in the darkness and stared out at the physiotherapy office. He really wanted to talk to his dad. What Tim suggested upset him deeply. Why would Tim say such a thing? His dad roughed Tim up? It just didn't make any sense. But Tim swore it was his dad who did this, and he had never seen Tim so upset about anything. Tommy's gut ached and his head hurt as he thought about what Tim said. He continued to stare out at the shop and almost walked over, but he knew better than to interrupt one of his dad's sessions. He stepped inside the house instead. The one-on-one sessions were private, and the office door was usually locked. Interrupting his dad was an unforgivable offence.
He spotted Jason's shoes just inside the back door and knew he was home too, but sensed from the darkness and silence that Jason was already in bed. Talking to Jason about Tim would have to wait until morning.
CHAPTER 8
Gerald was long gone when Sarah finally emerged from the darkness her mind had taken her to. She lay on the floor, and her arm throbbed terribly. Her head pounded. At first she wasn't sure where she was and wondered why she was on the floor with her clothes scattered everywhere about the room. She tried to move and the pain soared through her arm once again, causing her to grimace instantly. She looked down to see her forearm swollen and badly
misshapen.
She lay still on the floor for a while and let the events of the last few hours return to her consciousness. She kept her arm as still as possible. It was dark outside and she glanced up to the bedside clock to see that it was very early in the morning. Gerald was certainly gone, and she was sure he wouldn't return until late in the evening. That was how Gerald always did it. Crawling back as if what had happened the night before wasn't that big of a deal, and he would promise not to do it again if she promised not to provoke him.
Sarah was tired of the game they played. She felt certain last night that she was about to die. It was the first time she had ever felt this way with Gerald.
She tried to move up to a sitting position, but the pain was too intense. She screamed out and fell back on the floor. She cried softly and stared about the room. What was she going to do now?
Her mind drifted off to her work; what would she say to her co-workers? Sarah worked as a student counsellor a few blocks away at the Forest Lawn High School on Calgary's east side. The school was a tough one. Gang fights were common between the racial divisions of Whites, Chinese, Koreans and Blacks. The altercations happened mostly between her school and the Christian school on the opposite side of the soccer field. Stabbings in the halls and students caught with knives were common occurrences, and the odd firearm was confiscated on rare occasions.
She almost laughed as she looked down at her broken arm and knew she wasn't going to be anywhere near Forest Lawn High for a while. She was the counsellor. There was a strange irony to it all. She was the one students looked to for guidance in an adolescent environment from hell, while she secretly returned to her own hell each night.
She rolled onto her side and stared at the mess Gerald had made of her closet. Everything was upside down. Through all the pain her eyes focused on something inside the closet she had not seen for many years. Down in the right corner, barely peeking out from behind the stack of shoeboxes was the corner of a bright red suitcase.
She still had that?
She stared at the red suitcase, and remembered back almost ten years when she first left home for college. Her mother gave her this bright red suitcase and told her something she had long since forgotten. She struggled deep to remember her mother's words, and slowly they returned. She let them return and kept her eyes on the bright red suitcase.