Untamed

by Steven Harris

  I get myself comfortable on the sofa and begin reviewing my notes from my Pre-Calculus class. Still, after all of the studying, none of it makes any sense to me. All I see is an assortment of numbers, lines, and letters. My mom is in the kitchen cooking dinner. By the hint of garlic in the air, I know it’s an Italian dish.

  As I continue my review, I hear someone knocking on our front door.

  "I got it," my mom says as she marches towards the front.

  She glances into the peephole before opening the door.

  “Come in, Frankie.”

  Uncle Frank comes in with his trademark smile. A notion immediately hits me. There’s something different about him but I can’t point it out. Maybe it’s his smile. I can see the effort behind it, and now he’s sporting a five o’clock shadow on his face.

  “What’s up kiddo?”

  “Uncle Frank, long time no see,” I reply.

  “Hungry?” my mom asks him.

  “I'm starving,” he replies.

  Thirty minutes later, we’re finishing a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. Uncle Frank helps himself to a second serving as the subject changes from my mother’s job to Frank’s recent disappearance.

  “You haven’t been returning my phone calls,” my mom interrogates. “Is everything fine?”

  “I took some time off to clear my head, that’s all.”

  “Is it stress?” she presses on.

  Anyone else can easily see that Uncle Frank would rather drop the subject, but my mom just can't help herself. He finishes chewing before speaking.

  “It’s just work, you know, sometimes it takes a toll on you.”

  He then focuses his attention onto me.

  “What about you? How is school going?” he changes the subject.

  “So far so good, I guess. Hey, Uncle Frank, do you know a lot of people in Glenworth?”

  He chuckles at my statement.

  “I pretty much know everyone there. Why? What’s up?”

  “Do you know about the Blaire family?”

  I’m not an hundred percent sure, but I think his eyes rolled at the mere mention of their name.

  “Everyone in town does. Why do you want to know about them?”

  “I’m just wondering why no one likes them.”

  He shrugs his shoulders.

  “People have their own opinions of them. But me, personally, I think they’re a bunch of assholes. All of them.”

  ‘Frankie?” my mom questions his choice of poor language.

  “It’s true,” he defends himself. “Their father has embezzled millions, so has his wife, Rebecca. His kids, Kendrick and Arlene, can’t stay out of trouble, and I can’t do a damn thing about it.”

  “Why can’t you?’ I ask.

  “They have tons of money. I don’t. Hell, our courts can’t afford the lawyers they have.”

  “That’s crazy,” I reply.

  He closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly.

  “I have barely skimmed the surface. I remember when Kendrick was in high school. He decided to beat up on another boy. The boy was skinny as hell. Kendrick was around 180 pounds. And he beat that boy so bad that he had to get plastic surgery to fix his face. I couldn't recognize him after that. The boy and his family felt so humiliated that they left town.”

  “Oh my goodness,” my mom says with awe.

  She’s so absorbed into the conversation that she can’t even eat anymore. I feel the same way she does. I wrapped spaghetti around my fork when he started the story, and now I can’t even lift the fork into my mouth.

  “He didn’t go to jail for that?” I question my uncle.

  “Freedom can be purchased. The Blaires knows a lot about that. But here is the crazy part of this story. When I asked Kendrick why he did it, he said he just wanted to. There was absolutely no reason,” he says with irritation and frustration. “His family lived there for generations, and they had to leave because another kid doesn't have proper home training. And they called it self-defense. It's infuriating. These people don't have any kind of respect for human life.”

  He places his fork on the plate with a clatter. Before he continues, he takes his time to recuperate from the last story. I can see the frustration in his face. I can’t imagine the frustration he felt during that specific time. I can only imagine how dominating it was.

  “And his father, Cornelius, got angry at me when I questioned him about his son’s violent behavior. And then he gave me the old “Boys will be boys” speech. I told him to his face that his entire family needs to be evaluated. He got very, very, upset. To make a long story short, I told my partner to take my gun. As God is my witness, I wouldn’t be here right now. I would be in jail for murder. I nearly shot the bastard. He threatened to kill me in the police station and got away with it.”

  “Unbelievable,” the shock in my mother’s voice is still fresh.

  “Believe it. The moral of this story is, if you have money, you can do whatever you want. People are judged by how much tax they pay each year. If you pay Uncle Sam enough, you can buy your way out of anything. Don’t ever talk to them Iva. Case closed.”

 

  I manage to finish the last bite of my spaghetti but it goes down rough. As we finish eating, an awkward silence overcomes us. I’ve never seen Uncle Frank so angry. It’s disturbing to see someone, who is usually happy, in such a down mood. Not long after he says his goodbyes and leaves the house.

  Before I fall asleep, I think about Uncle Frank and the anger he has for the Blaire family. Now I know why no one likes them. Hopefully, I can avoid them in school. The last thing I ever want to do is run into one of them again…

  CHAPTER 13: DAY TWO