Uncle Sean

by Ronald L Donaghe

  Lance ate his weight in chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes and drank iced-tea by the gallon, like he hadn’t eaten in a week. Every once in a while over supper, our eyes met, and there were questions in Lance’s eyes. Questions I knew involved him and me, the way we’d hugged for a long time on the rock ledge out in the desert, the way we’d pressed our bodies together in the bathroom when I was doctoring his face. So there was a smile in his eyes, as well, when we looked at each other.

  May, Rita, and Trinket helped put clean sheets on the bed in his room, and Trinket hung around long after May and Rita went into the living room to watch television with Mama and Daddy. So for awhile, Trinket was in the way, and I couldn’t talk with Lance by myself. But I really didn’t mind, because Lance said he was an only child and told me I was lucky to have sisters.

  “Will plays football at school,” Trinket told Lance. “He’s the star receiver for the quarterback,” she told him, and when Lance looked at me with his ruined face, but grinning wildly at what Trinket was telling him about me, I felt embarrassed. He seemed to be looking at me with renewed eyes, only I didn’t like Trinket’s claim about me being a star anything.

  So when nine o’clock rolled around and I sent Trinket off to get ready for bed, I was hungry for a little time alone with Lance. I have to admit that, following the way we pressed our bodies together in the bathroom, and after studying him all evening, I was falling in love.

  Uncle Sean’s advice came back to me over and over, not to give myself to the first boy that came along, but I don’t think even Uncle Sean could have foreseen Lance. In the bright overhead light of the bedroom, his beauty filled the emptiness, and I envied the sheets that would enfold him, the pillow he would lay his face on, the warmth he would give up to the bed during the night.

  We got to know each other a little better. He avoided talking about his stepfather, and I didn’t push. I didn’t want to know, except that he said he was ten years old when his mother remarried, following the death of his real father. And the beatings began shortly afterwards.

  I could only imagine. It was true how Daddy and I had fought after Uncle Sean left, how Daddy and Uncle Sean yelled at each other, and how Rita and Mama locked horns, too. But there was something completely different to me in the way Lance’s life had turned out. He was running away from home, because he couldn’t take it anymore. How that would turn out, and what my parents might decide to do about it was something I couldn’t know; but I would never have thought of calling my father a son-of-a-bitch. I knew Lance hated his stepfather, and I guess I hated him too, though I didn’t know the guy.

  Around ten o’clock, when Rita also had to go to bed, over Rita’s nightly objections to being treated like a kid, Lance and I went into the living room. May had borrowed the pickup, though, because she said she was going out with some of the girls on her baseball team. It wasn’t planned, but Lance and I sat together on the couch, and I even threw my arm over the back of the couch, though Trinket could have fit between us.

  Mama was in her platform rocker, and Daddy was leaning back in his easy chair. He didn’t look too comfortable, and I wondered if it was because of the situation with Lance being there, or if he was feeling ill. Only I couldn’t tell if he was looking gray or not, because when we came in, Mama had turned off the television and didn’t turn on the overhead lights, like she might do when we had other company. There was a single lamp turned on next to the television, so the living room was mostly a kind of warm half-light. I don’t know if the lighting was intentional on Mama’s part, but that way we could all look at each other and talk, and even if our eyes met, the naked expressions were less obvious on either of their faces or mine or Lance’s. I think it set Lance at ease a little. It may also have set Mama at ease not to have to look at Lance’s beat-up face. The monkey blood made his wounds look all that much worse.

  But there we were, sitting in half-darkness and enduring an uneasy silence before Daddy got around to saying what was on his mind. It gave Lance a chance to think through what he might say when he answered one of Daddy’s questions. And the darkness hid the fact that Mama and Daddy were studying him from across the room. I knew they were. Just like they had studied Uncle Sean and me.

  Lance was skittish, as I had seen out on the rock ledge, and defensive, as when he called me “shithead,” though now that didn’t hurt at all. I knew a little more about the rough life he’d had. He was coming to us with a whole lifetime of wrecked trust. His stepfather had turned out to be a kind of monster, if you want to know the truth, and his own mother had betrayed him by allowing her new husband to beat him. So I didn’t blame him if he might be mistrusting of my parents, maybe even leery of me in a way, but I was going to prove he could trust me.

  So there we sat for a few minutes, until Daddy had taken a few sips of coffee. Then he grunted and kind of sat up, and I knew he must be in pain. “I’m not one to intrude on a man’s life,” he said to Lance, “so maybe it ain’t even none of my business why you’re running away from home, but if you were a mind to, I’d kind’a like to know if it’s so bad with your daddy or mama that you feel you’d be better off out a there.”

  I winced, only when Daddy called Lance’s stepfather his daddy, because Lance had corrected me real quick. I also cringed at the thought that Lance might use the same strong language he had with me out in the desert. Daddy wouldn’t like that.

  Lance was quiet for a long moment, though I could tell he was nervous, and I was sitting on his right, so when I looked over at him in the half-light, I just melted, he was so pretty, and I was hoping that he and Daddy would get along. He and Mama, too, but so far she hadn’t really said anything.

  “When my mom married him, Mr. Barnett, I was real happy, because I missed my father,” Lance said, finally, and I could tell he had been trying to get his words just right. “But it wasn’t even six months before he started slapping me around, though at first it wasn’t in front of Mom. He’d get me off by myself and tell me there was only one man of the house and it sure wasn’t a little piss-ant like me.”

  I winced at Lance’s first rough-sounding word. But from across the room, Daddy just nodded, though Mama kind of gasped.

  “Then the first time he broke my arm,” Lance said, “I was only twelve, and he told me if I made out like it was him that did it, he’d kill me first chance he got.”

  I began to shake, listening to Lance, and I was wondering what was going through Mama’s head. Daddy’s too, but Daddy was a little more rough with people than she ever was, and got in fights when he thought it was called for. Still, neither Mama or Daddy said anything. I sure was glad the lights were dim, because Lance was shaking so bad the couch was vibrating, and it was all I could do to keep from throwing an arm around him and pulling him close like I had out near the smelter plant.

  “But when you’re just a kid,” Lance said, continuing, “you know you don’t have no place to go, and I don’t know, I was still hoping Mom would brighten up a little about him, but he was different when she was around, though not for long, because he has a temper and it finally came out when things weren’t going all that swift at his job. He finally started beating me in front of her, and she didn’t do anything to stop him.”

  “Did he start beating your mother, too?” Mama asked. I could hear the horror in her tone, and I knew she just couldn’t contain herself.

  Lance shook his head. “He’s yelled at her a few times, real bad, but I guess as long as he had me around to be his punching bag, he was satisfied.”

  “What I’d like to know, if you don’t mind, Lance,” Daddy said, leaning forward in his recliner, though it looked like it was an effort. He snapped the foot rest shut under it and rested his forearms on his thighs. “How in the hell could you stand it as long as you did? And you say your mama never tried to stop the beatings?”

  I heard a sob start in Lance’s throat, and heard him swallow hard, trying to get control of himself.

  “She…never. She n
ever once tried to stop him,” Lance said, fighting his words. “And when we got out here, and I seen what kind of hell hole he brought us to, and saw he was going to be just as mean as ever, I figured it was time to light out. I should’ a done it when I was a kid. But I finally had enough.”

  “When you were a kid?” Mama asked. “You can’t be more than fourteen, fifteen at most!”

  Lance laughed a little. “I’m small for my age, Mrs. Barnett. I’m almost eighteen years old!”

  That was something for them to chew on—Lance’s age. I felt like a lug beside him, big for my age, while he was so pretty and little. I noticed he didn’t refer to his stepfather by name.

  “So, Daddy,” I said, when nobody was talking. “Do you think it would be all right, if Lance wants to, for him to stay here? I could sure use the help with harvest just around the corner.” I felt stupid for being so quick to mention what I had been thinking, because I should have waited for Mama and Daddy to say what they thought.

  “I could sure use a place to stay,” Lance chimed in, and for the first time since we began talking, I could hear enthusiasm in his voice, rather than a kind of whipped-puppy tone. I don’t mean to make Lance out to be whiny or anything, but I’d never met anyone who had such a hard life. Even Uncle Sean losing his Theodore Seabrook to a cowardly murderer and being hospitalized with suicidal tendencies wasn’t as bad as the many years of hell Lance had gone through, and a lot younger, too. I hurt for him so bad, I was glad, again, that the lights were down so low so no one would see my face clearly, because I didn’t know what it would show.

  We both waited to hear what Mama or Daddy would say about him staying there. All Daddy said that night, though, was Lance could stay there a couple of days. I don’t think either of them were too swift on the idea that they might be sticking their noses into someone else’s business.

  Maybe Daddy would’ve spent a little more time that night thinking things through, but when he struggled up out of the recliner, I could tell he must be in pain, and I hoped it was just a passing thing, and that a good night’s sleep would bring him around.

  Eight

  ———————▼———————

  Falling in love is so sweet. It’s a feeling that can’t be described, almost, except that you see the person you’re falling in love with and, inside, little strings are tugging everywhere, when that other person smiles, or frowns, or laughs. Lance would look seriously at me, questions in his eyes, and my stomach would flutter, or he’d laugh, and my heart would be pulled. He’d touch me, and I’d feel a tug in my groin.

  Those kinds of things. They were wonderful and scary, and like Uncle Sean said, I’d go crazy when I wasn’t with Lance.

  So, after Mama and Daddy said they were going on in to bed, Lance and I sat on the couch in the living room. We had a lot to talk about, too. It was surprising, though not really surprising, if you know what I mean that, as soon as the light went out in the hall and the house was quiet, Lance just scooted over against me, as natural as you please. He was so little, I could get my left arm around his shoulders and my hand reached all the way down his side, and he fit so nice into my body, it was like we were made for each other.

  I was kind of nervous about what we were doing right there in the living room, if you want to know the truth, feeling edgy as we sat there, and I kept one ear to the ground listening for any sound in the rest of the house.

  “I’m glad your parents are letting me stay for awhile,” Lance said. His face was turned up toward me, and I looked down into his eyes. Immediately, I felt tears burn my own. I couldn’t believe how we both knew the kind of boys we were, had never even mentioned it to each other, and just pressed our bodies together.

  “I’m glad, too,” I said, thinking of the night on the way back from the movies when Uncle Sean finally gave me what I’d been wanting when he kissed me and, thinking that, my heart began to pound, and I felt myself getting stiff as a board. It was scary and neat, and I was about to jump out of my skin.

  Lance kind of wiggled into my body and laid his face against my chest. “Man, I can really hear your heart beating, like you been running!”

  “It’s because you’re here,” I said, kind of choking up. “You do know what I mean, don’t you?”

  Lance didn’t say anything for awhile, but he put his left arm across my chest and squeezed himself against me. “I do,” he said, finally. “Do you believe that things happen for a reason?”

  “I guess so,” I said. “You mean like I just happened to decide to go out near the smelter and you just happened to have been sitting there?”

  “Umm hmm,” he said, his voice sounding warm and kind of sleepy.

  We sat there for a little while. I was content, though my mind was racing and my heart was wearing itself out with joy.

  Then Lance sat up a little, though he didn’t move away from me. “Well?” he said. “Are you just an angel, or flesh and blood?”

  Our eyes met in the soft light of the room, and those questions I’d seen at the supper table were back.

  So I leaned over, bringing both arms around him and very tenderly pressed my lips against his, and he pulled me closer, pressing back with his lips, until we were kissing, and he wet our lips with his tongue and opened his mouth and I opened mine, and we traded breath. It was awkward, though, because I was afraid of hurting his bruises, but Lance didn’t seem to care and moved so that we were facing each other straight on and we could put our arms around each other.

  Uncle Sean’s pretty face floated into my thoughts, and the feelings I’d had when he kissed me were there with me, now, as Lance and I kissed, but there never had been as much physical sensation as there was, now, burning my skin, holding Lance, feeling his chest against mine, his arms warm on my back, his lips and tongue, his breath on my face, even the feeling of his clothing.

  My lips were numb when we finally pulled apart, our faces were wet with drool, our shirts were soaked with sweat, and my whole body was tingling, wanting more. But I knew that Lance needed to sleep, and I said so.

  “I hate to leave you,” he said.

  “Me too,” I said, getting up off the couch and rearranging my clothes. Lance did the same and then I led him into the hall and down to the bathroom, where I set out a towel and shampoo and soap, and got my toothbrush out of the medicine cabinet, along with my razor and shaving cream. We were trying to be quiet with the door shut and the lights on, but I knew the light would show under the bottom of the door, and if Daddy or Mama got up, they’d see the light. So, once everything was ready, I wrapped Lance in my arms and kissed his eyes and lips. “I guess I better leave so you can bathe.”

  I wanted to tell him I loved him, but I didn’t. It was too soon.

  “It’s been quite a day, huh?” he asked, as I was getting ready to leave.

  I just nodded. “You can find your way to bed?”

  He nodded, too. “G’night, Angel,” he said.

  Nine

  ———————▼———————

  The next morning, Lance was like the stranger I had encountered on the rock ledge the day before all over again. I thought maybe the night before on the couch was just a dream. He was already in the kitchen at the table when I came in, and when I got my first good look at him in the daylight—at the ruined side of his face, first, then the good side—when he turned to say hi, he was different than I remembered. Oh he was pretty all right, and his lips were still that same Revlon pink of Uncle Sean’s, and his eyes were that pretty violet color, and his hair was sandy-brown, though a little darker than I remembered, but he looked more his age of coming-on-eighteen, rather than the kid I had held close to me.

  What little familiarity I’d felt was gone, though not the heart-pounding attraction at his beauty. Or maybe he was projecting a kind of stranger-at-the-table thing, which put this barrier between him and how I felt toward him. I realized just then that I didn’t know this guy at all, and it was going to take awhile to know
him.

  Was it a kind of fear? I remember it took me a long while to even work up the courage to tell Uncle Sean how I felt about him.

  Mama said Daddy was feeling bad this morning, as soon as I took my eyes off Lance and got a mug of coffee from the counter. She said it kind of low, and our eyes met, and there were questions in her eyes that maybe put her to wondering just how I came to bring Lance home, or maybe they were questions about Daddy. But I felt like she was feeling a little strange, too, with Lance in her kitchen—a beat-up kid who’d run away from home. And maybe she was asking me what we were doing and if it was wise to harbor a runaway.

  Or maybe these were all just my questions.

  I glanced over at the table and saw that Mama had fixed Lance a big breakfast, and he was eating it like he was still starved, so when I got my own breakfast that Mama had ready, I sat down next to him on his right side so I wouldn’t have to look at his bruises.

  “How’re you feeling this morning,” I asked him, as I salted my eggs.

  When he grinned and kind of winked at me, the stranger thing went away a little. “I feel good,” he said, then mouthed “Angel” without giving it voice, which made me grin and I felt a string being pulled in my chest.

  “Your mom’s a good cook.”

  I glanced up then and saw that Mama was watching us and had those questions in her eyes.

  “How’s your face, though?” I asked, looking back from Mama to Lance, and cutting up my eggs with my fork.

  If anything, the bruises looked worse and more swollen, and I was hoping the purple-looking welts wouldn’t scar him.

  He touched one of the bad ones tenderly with his fingers and winced, and I thought maybe he ought to be taken to the doctor up in Lordsburg. I thought of infection and puss and looked back at my eggs and took a gulp of coffee for the bitterness.