by Rowan Massey
“This is me.” He gestured towards an old car that was certainly on its last legs and fished his car keys out of his pocket.
I took his arms in my hands and turned him towards me. I was only going to give him a heartfelt thanks and say goodbye, but he glanced at my lips, and I saw his chest heave a little. For a moment I thought he was afraid I’d kiss him, but of course, in true Zander fashion, he didn’t act shy at all. He moved in for a kiss, and I couldn’t resist, despite thinking it wasn’t safe to kiss in public at night.
It was a slow and sweet kiss, tasting of beer and Zander, my arms around him. There was a passion in his muscles, and my body was responding, but he held back and ended it by leaning away and smiling contagiously before saying, “See you again soon?”.
“Absolutely.”
He got in the car and I waved to him as he drove away. It had been a good night. Heading for my own car, I felt a little drunk after all, but I steadied out quickly. It was the kiss that had made me lightheaded. I’d forgotten kisses could do that.
Chapter Nineteen
Clay Age 11
LIAM WAS TAKEN to the hospital in an ambulance. All the adults seemed concerned that he kept saying it hurt to breath. When he was gingerly taken out of the house and down the porch steps in the arms of a tall, male paramedic, the panic in my chest ramped up like an overtaxed engine. He was so small and scared that I couldn’t help feeling he’d actually shrunk. He’d always seemed so durable and energetic. I’d done that to him. I’d diminished him.
My heart skipped painfully as he was taken out of sight and into the mysterious inner workings of the big vehicle. Grandma overcame the pain in her knees in order to ride with him. She hissed from the pain but didn’t even slow down. Grandpa hurried to his truck and followed them.
The paramedics had listened to my heart and lungs with a cold stethoscope, placing it on my dirty chest and then on my back, making me shiver. They’d asked me where it hurt, and I’d said nowhere, even though my entire body ached from climbing the tree. Scrapes on my hands and chest stung with chilled sweat.
One of the cops asking questions was a nice lady with her blond hair in a bun, thick mascara on her eyes. Just before they all left with Liam, she took me to the kitchen and asked me if I had seen “any bad people in the woods”. Startled that there were bad people in the woods I hadn’t known about, I told her we hadn’t seen anyone. She asked me again. I said no again. She nodded and told me to drink and eat slowly, then get a nice, hot bath to get all my cuts cleaned up, and then come back down to talk to her. She and her partner would be staying at the house until my grandparents returned.
Before leaving, Grandpa told me the same thing, and that he’d be having a talk with me soon. He hadn’t been angry at me at all, only worried. None of them knew yet what I’d done. They were too concerned with taking care of Liam as quickly as possible to press me with questions. When they’d asked me what had happened, the guilt had choked me up, but I hadn’t let myself cry yet. I didn’t deserve the attention I would get from sobbing. After I kept saying it was an accident, and not much else, they’d accepted that there wasn’t time for me to get it together, and had agreed among themselves to leave me behind and give me space. Meanwhile, the neighborhood was put on alert for possible trouble.
I stood on the porch and watched the vehicles drive away. I’d never been in my grandparents’ house without them before. Being in the country had never felt like a lonely thing, but as soon as the tail lights disappeared down the road, I started thinking about how isolated it was. On top of it, there was the scary possibility that there were bad people in the woods. I was frozen in place, standing there swaying on the porch. The cicadas had always been background noise that I didn’t think about. Now they were deafening and invisible monsters.
Putting my hands to my ears, I turned and went inside next to the lady cop, shakily closing the door behind me. I locked it, even though no one had told me to and the other policeman was walking around the property outside. My exhausted feet took me into the kitchen where I was supposed to eat and drink. There were leftover containers left all over the counter. She had gotten a plate out and was putting food on it. She microwaved it and sat it in front of me at the kitchen table. I ate two bites before realizing it was hard to swallow because I was so thirsty. I got a large glass of water, and after gulping some of it, I couldn’t stop, despite having been told to take it slowly for some reason. I downed most of the glass and stopped, not because I was satiated, but because I needed to breath. I lowered the glass, and as soon as it hit the table, I started to sob.
She noisily dragged a chair close to mine and sat there patting my arm until I finished my meal while sobbing shamelessly—taking a bite, then sitting back in my seat to force myself to chew and swallow. She didn’t say anything and I wished she would go away. I didn’t deserve any comforting. It was difficult to eat and cry at the same time, but I’d been told to eat, and I wanted to be obedient. But waves of emotion made it too hard. Anxiety overtook guilt, overtook anxiety. The cycle produced new bouts of crying whenever I thought I could finally stop.
In the same manner, I trudged upstairs, made myself take a shower, got spotlessly clean, leaving no mess for Grandma to deal with in the tub or on the floor, and trudged back downstairs, all while crying. My head was starting to hurt. My clogged sinuses made it impossible to breath.
“Okay, buddy,” she said, waving me into the living room. “Let’s talk about it.”
I nodded and went and sat on the sofa. She took the recliner.
“Tell me what happened starting with why you decided to go into the woods,” she said. A notebook and pen were ready in her hand.
I jumped when her partner, a chubby man with sideburns, came into the room. I’d forgotten about him. He sat at the other end of the couch. I felt cornered between the two of them, but I gathered all my courage and told them about the kittens in a shaky voice. By the end of it, I was crying again and swearing over and over that I’d thought Liam would easily get free. They seemed sympathetic, and the man found me a roll of toilet paper to blow my nose with. After asking me again if I was in any pain, they sent me upstairs to bed.
I didn’t think I would sleep until my grandparents got home, but I would do what I was told. Never again would I have the gall to disobey the slightest instruction, much less ever do something that I could get punished for. I could only imagine what my punishment would be after Liam told his story at the hospital and the cops I’d just talked to verified it. Since I’d never done anything seriously bad, I couldn’t predict how everyone would react.
I was exhausted, and despite worrying over how Liam was doing at the hospital, and what would happen to me by morning, the comfortable country sound of the cicadas and the soft, faded, and mismatched sheets against my skin lulled me into slumber.
◆◆◆
“Get up. Now.” My grandpa’s voice was low and gruff. Through the haze of sleep, his heavy hand reached out and shook me by the shoulder, causing the whole bed to bounce and creek. “Get your ass up.”
I’d never heard him use swear words. It alarmed me. My eyes opened. His bulky form created a sharp silhouette that blocked the light from the wide open door to the hallway. Grandma was sniffling and crying downstairs, probably near the foot of the stairs.
Everything came back to me in an anxious rush, and I sat up quickly, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. I almost jumped up to go find out where Liam was, but Grandpa stood in my way. When I squinted into the dark, I could make out his features, just barely. He was so angry that his eyes were bulging, unblinking and shiny.
“Grandpa…” My voice wavered. My lip shook.
“Don’t you cry!” He stepped closer to loom over me, his thick finger pointing at me in accusation. “Did you hurt your brother, Clay? Did you tie him to a tree?”
I sobbed and covered my mouth. I tried to say I was sorry, but all I could do was sob. His chest heaved and he took a step back. He was try
ing to keep control. His fingernails scraped over the stubble on his face. Long moments passed in which I gulped air and shook with fearful anticipation.
“Where is he?” I tried to say, but my words came out garbled. He didn’t respond.
Outside my door I could hear the soft panting and grunting of Grandma going slowly up the stairs. The railing made a straining sound. Grandma was struggling to get up the steps. Without a word to me, he left the room and went to help her. I heard his stomping feet descending, then his murmurs of encouragement, and Grandma’s thanks. In that way, they made their way to their bedroom. There was silence for a beat before his footsteps headed back towards me. My tears wouldn’t stop. I would never run out of sobs.
“I can’t punish you enough. I don’t know what to do with you.” He waved a hand in defeat, his shoulders hunched. “Your mom and dad will have to figure out your punishment. They’ll be here soon. Don’t leave your room unless you need to pee. Understand?”
I nodded. He still hadn’t told me where Liam was. I stared at the empty twin bed across the room. Before he shut the door, he turned back to me, apparently thinking the same thing.
“Liam is in our room. If you so much as say hello to him, I swear to Christ…”With an exasperated huff, he slammed the door shut. He probably wished he could lock it and throw away the key.
I didn’t lay down again. I’d never sat still with nothing to do once in my short life. Even at school there was always a teacher to try to focus on, playground activities, quizzes, and so on. Inconsolable sobs continued until my throat ached. I watched the window as the sun rose somewhere behind the thin curtains and began to light up the room. When I heard my grandparents enter the hall, I startled, and listened for any sign of Liam, but the footsteps were those of adults.
I stood up on weak legs and paced around the room. My muscles were stiff. Some places were bruised. I inspected the scrapes the tree had given me. They stung more than they had when I’d gotten them. I deserved every bit of pain and every ounce of fear. If I’d known what lay ahead, I might have been even more frightened. As it was, I was already terrified of my parents’ reaction.
I made my bed and organized Liam’s toys on top of the dresser, just to be doing something right. In case they would expect me to be dressed when they came to punish me, I pulled on some clean shorts and a fresh T-shirt. I even put my socks and sneakers on. With nothing else to do, my mind wandered to the kittens. I wondered how they were doing.
Eventually, I heard my parents knock on the front door. Grandma opened it for them, and for the first time in a long time, my mom and my dad were in a building together. Talk was urgent, but quiet. I went to the door to try to listen. All of them were coming up the stairs together, then going to Liam, and waking him with cooing comforts. Just barely, I could hear him talking to them in a tired voice. For once, his whining tone was completely justified.
“Oh, sweetie,” Mom said to him. My lip started shaking again, anticipating what kind of voice she was about to use with me, but I had no energy left for more crying.
I stepped away from the door when I heard them coming back my way, but they all went downstairs, except for Mom, who stayed with Liam. I didn’t know exactly how I knew that, but I was certain I was recognizing the patterns in their familiar footsteps. Grandma usually only went down the stairs in the morning and upstairs again at night. I knew she was in pain from her gait, but she wouldn’t ever complain. An urge came over me to hug her, but I didn’t know if she would forgive me any time soon.
When nothing else happened except distant talking, I went back to bed and allowed myself to lay down again, over the covers. I closed my eyes, and my exhaustion allowed me some measure of peace despite the circumstances. Maybe I was too tired to be capable of anxiety anymore.
My punishment did come to me. Dad’s footsteps were plodding. He opened the bedroom door and stared at me a moment before shutting it behind him. I sat up, and again, someone loomed over me, too angry to speak.
“Tell me what you did to Liam.” His voice was tight and furious. I looked up at him and didn’t know who I was seeing. Everyone always said I had features just like my dad, and I saw him in the mirror every day, but I’d never seen him with such unguarded anger on his face. The skin around his eyes was dark, and his eyelashes were clumped. Had he cried? I’d never seen him cry once, not even during the divorce. He’d gotten onto Mom for crying around us too much.
“Did you take him out there just to tie him to a tree and leave him?”
I shook my head, because I hadn’t wanted him in the woods. I hadn’t planned on doing anything with him. It was inaccurate.
“Are you lying to me? Tell me right now exactly how it happened.”
“I…I…” I what? I didn’t know how to explain it. If I told him about the kittens, maybe he and Grandpa would go find them and kill them. I couldn’t betray them. Dad stood over me, waiting.
“I didn’t want him to follow me. I…I didn’t…I didn’t mean to. I thought he could get free. When we play, he always gets free…”
Dad nodded and seemed to decide something. He unbuckled his belt and slid it free of his jeans. I’d heard of kids getting spanking with belts, but I’d never had any sort of beating, and it didn’t occur to me he would hit me. I was confused. Was he getting undressed? I shrunk into myself with embarrassment, and ducked my head, ready to look away if he was getting changed for some reason. But instead, he took me by the arm and jerked me to my feet.
“You could have killed him!” he said loudly into my ear, jaw stiffened. He shook me roughly. My head jerked back with the force of it, causing my teeth to snap shut. “You almost killed your brother, boy! What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Dad!” I wailed. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
He shoved me towards the bed so that it knocked painfully against my shins, and he grabbed the back of my neck. My head was shoved down, and I instinctively tried to reach behind me and make him stop. I realized with shock what he was doing with the belt, and screamed something just before it came down on my back. My breath left my chest and wouldn’t go back into my lungs. My spine arched in pain. I couldn’t imagine that it was real. Had I been that bad? Did I deserve to be hit?
I struggled to get free of him, but he cornered me against the window, and the belt came down twice more. I begged him to stop, my cries shrieking and involuntary. Voices joined mine saying, “Stop! Stop it, Jeremy!”.
My grandparents and mom rushed into the room. They jostled each other to get hold of Dad and pull him across the room so that he couldn’t reach me. Grandma tripped and wobbled for a horrible moment, but righted herself.
“Don’t! Just don’t! That’s enough!” Mom said. She held her hands to her heart. There was despair in her eyes. Once Dad stomped out of the room, she looked at anything but me and put a hand to her reddening cheeks. Grandma and Grandpa had similarly shocked looks on their faces. They each turned away from me, one by one.
“Jesus, Jeremy,” Grandpa muttered to himself. “What is wrong with this family?” Shaking his head, he left with the same angry posture as my father. Grandma followed him with a hardened look on her face, and Mom was the one to shut the door on me again.
“Just stay in here,” she said weakly. She glanced at me briefly before she went. I tried to see it all through her eyes, and I couldn’t stand the sight of myself. My face was streaked with tears I’d been too shaken to realize I’d shed. I was still bent under the pain, and I wondered if I was bleeding. There was a jarring shame in it. I didn’t want to be seen.
Alone again, I went to my bed and curled up against the corner. Placing a hand against the blue wall, I tried to connect with anything good that was left of my mind, but found nothing there to comfort myself. For a while, I existed in the emptiest place I’d ever experienced. The house’s warm memories turned into distant echoes. It hadn’t been a day since it all happened, and I already doubted that anything could ever be safe and normal again.
There was a lot more talking around the house, sometimes angry, sometimes comforting, other times dulled with weariness. There were several visitors: cops, neighbors, friends from church. I could only figure out who was who by cracking the door and listening intently.
I found a book and tried to read, but it was below my reading level, and even with pictures, it bored me. I turned it upside down and tried to read it that way just for a little challenge. It gave me a sense of unease though. It reflected back at me the overturned thing my life had swiftly become.