Hail Mary

by C. C. Galloway

  “Come back to bed with me, Michael. If you’ll feel better, we can turn off all the lights and you can, I hope, tell me about your back. If you’re not ready to, I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll wait, because you’re worth waiting for. I want you to tell me because I’m important to you. And you want to share important details of your life and your family with me. Not because of some displaced sense of guilt or obligation.”

  Michael gently turned around in her embrace until he faced her. His eyes shone bright with unshed tears, but he didn’t look away and the tears didn’t fall. Instead, he placed his hands around her head and kissed her tentatively and sweetly on the lips, quickly, and rested his forehead against hers.

  “I’m sorry I scared you,” he offered. Naturally, he was still blaming himself in this scenario, not leveling any responsibility where it belonged, on her.

  “You never scare me, Michael,” she disagreed. “It was a shock to see what’s happened to your back. I wasn’t prepared for it and I overreacted. Not your fault, but mine.”

  “Let’s go back to bed,” he urged against her lips.

  “Let’s,” she agreed, placing her smaller hands in his, and let him lead them back to the bedroom. Once there, Mary doused the light, lost the sweatshirt and climbed into bed, waiting for him. A couple of seconds later, he slid beneath the sheets and reached for her, taking her hands in his and bringing them to his lips, while they lay on their sides, facing each other.

  “You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, settling next to her.

  “I’m ready for anything with you, Michael,” she reassured him, wanting to remind him there was nothing they could not confront together.

  He coughed. And coughed again. And yet again for a third time before he started.

  “My father was one mean son of a bitch. My size, maybe bigger. Like me, he played high school football in Texas. High school football’s a big deal in Texas, unlike here. I grew up with him constantly reliving his high school years in Larson, where we lived. He was a couple of years ahead of my mom and knocked her up his senior year and her sophomore year. With me.

  “They both blamed me for ruining their lives. My dad graduated from high school, but had to take a job in a tire factory, one of the few jobs in Larson. My mother waited tables at the local diner.” He paused and Mary allowed him the rest, not wanting to spook him with any of the questions swirling in her mind.

  “I’m not sure when my father started beating my mother. I think my first real memory is sometime when I was three or four, I’m not sure which. She’d made some eggs of some sort, scrambled, I think. He came home, drunk after working a midnight shift and pissed off for no reason. I don’t think he actually ever needed a reason. He backhanded her so hard when she offered him some eggs, the pan flew out of her hands and eggs dripped all over the walls.”

  Mary squeezed his hands to let him know he wasn’t alone, silently urging him to continue, assuring him he could do this.

  “My father liked to mix it up with me and my mother. Sometimes, he’d go off at her, backhand her, slap her, and punch her depending on his mood. He liked to kick her with his steel-toed boots. I’m not sure, but I think, looking back, she suffered a couple of miscarriages, which was a blessing for those poor fucking kids. With me, he preferred to use his belt. From the belt he moved on, I think in an effort to mark me permanently. He would take the iron, fire it up and place it on my back. Other times, he would decide to use my back as an ashtray for his cigarettes and cigars.”

  Chapter 16

  Listening to Michael’s deep, slow tones in the quiet darkness, Mary felt her heart break. She felt as though she were ready to shatter and splinter into a million different pieces and could not fathom how hard this was for Michael. Pride for him for doing this, for sharing his background with her swelled within her soul.

  “Looking back,” he whispered, “I think both blamed me for how their lives turned out. My father had the belief that without me, he would have gone to college and maybe even pro. I think my mother would have preferred anything than what she received from Don.”

  “Who’s Don?” Mary asked.

  “Sorry. He’s my father. Don and Sue Ellen Santiago.”

  Mary was grateful for the darkness tonight so Michael wouldn’t witness the storm in her eyes, full of pain, love, and even remorse. Her eyes moistened as she rapidly blinked in a vain attempt to stem her tears. His reluctance to discuss anything related to his family or his upbringing now made perfect heartbreaking sense.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  “Don had big, huge hands the size of meat cleavers. His steel-toed boots connected with my ass more times than I can remember.”

  Laying there, letting the memories play back like a movie reel through his mind, Michael realized he’d gripped Mary throughout the course of the conversation and never wanted to let her go.

  “When I was eight, I found a stray dog in town. Some kind of mutt, I think, brown and black, built like a lab, but with some retriever or setter. I brought him home to try and sneak him something to eat.” He paused while Mary continued holding his hand and stroking his arm with her other hand, silently communicating her support. Lying there still disbelieving he was having this conversation. Still not fully believing she loved him. And fairly confident as he recounted his tale, she’d bolt at the first chance and never look back. “I guess Don wanted to ensure I didn’t make the same mistake twice. He took out his shotgun and shot the dog in front of me. Made me bury it in the backyard.”

  “Oh, Michael.” Mary broke her silence.

  “He liked to refer to Sue Ellen as a fat, filthy whore.” Don’s raspy voice was as clear in Michael’s ears as it had been all those years ago, accusing his mother of unmentionable acts in front of his only child.

  “Did your mother abuse you too, Michael?” she asked.

  “No. Not like Don. When I was younger, she tried to protect me. A few times, she pushed me behind her and tried to calm Don down. Why, I don’t know. Nothing worked with that man and I don’t know why it ever took her so long to realize it. She’d send me to my room where I’d only hear what was going on, but I didn’t have to see it. Depending on the weather, she’d send me outside occasionally.

  “It was only when I got older that Don turned his frustration on me. He was careful to hit me where the welts and bruises were covered up by my clothes. I think at first, he tried to hide it from Sue Ellen.”

  “Say a word of this to your mama, boy, and I’ll beat her worse than you. And make you watch. You want that, you little fucker? You understand me?”

  “His drinking progressively got worse, at least from what I can remember. Eventually I realized if I stayed out long enough, Don would be passed out by the time I got home. Over the years, Sue Ellen quit saying much, hardly talking to either one of us. Like me, I think she tried primarily to stay out of his way. Evasion as a survival tactic.”

  “How come no one helped you, Michael? Your teachers had to know what was going on.”

  He shrugged. “It was more than twenty years ago, Mary. And Larson, Texas then and probably now, was stuck in the 1950s. No one questioned any man or how the man treated his family, including his wife and kids. I sure as shit didn’t say anything.”

  “What about where your mother worked? Someone knew what was going on.”

  “It’s a small town, Mary, where people stay out of each other’s business.”

  “This isn’t business, Michael. This is abuse.”

  “I know exactly what it is. I lived through it. I’m telling you that times and the town were different than 2011 in Portland, Oregon. It’s not right. I know that now. But that’s what it was like back then.”

  “I’m sorry. I’d like to travel back in time and ask your teachers what they were thinking. Even if you think you hid everything, they had to know. My guess is you were completely withdrawn and/or acted out with authority figures.”

  “Actually, it was an educator who was responsible for getting m
e out of the house. I started playing football in eighth grade and continued playing when I was a freshman. In my sophomore year, Coach Duncan called me into his office after our game. I can’t even remember what game it was, but he told me due to my speed, the school had decided to move me up to varsity. I played both offense and defense like everyone else at Larson High School.

  “Playing on Larson’s varsity squad got me noticed by a guy by the name of James O’Brien, the coach of Catholic Central High School’s football team. After I finished my sophomore season, O’Brien approached me about playing at Catholic Central in Dallas. He offered me a full scholarship, but due to the distance between Larson and Dallas, I would have to board there during the year and I’d have to get my parents to sign off on it.”

  O’Brien had been one slick salesman. “Because you’d be doing us a favor by playing for us, we’re happy to pick up your tuition and room and board at Central. Your grades are good enough and we have the ability to do this.”

  If Michael could have signed himself up the day O’Brien presented his offer, then and there, he would have. He couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of Larson and would have done anything, gone anywhere, for any reason, if he could run away and never look back. His only struggle had been with leaving Sue Ellen. As Michael had aged and gotten longer and bigger all over, he’d done his best to shield both of them from Don and he knew there was no way Don would agree to him leaving. Michael had left O’Brien in Duncan’s office and pedaled as though there was a fire on his ass to Tiny’s diner with the permission forms in hand. Sue Ellen spotted him when he ran through the door and offered him a seat and some pie.

  Michael told her about the offer and begged her to sign off on it.

  Surprisingly, she did.

  “And off I went to Catholic Central in Dallas.”

  “What was that like?” Mary prompted.

  “Completely different. Huge campus. I think there were five thousand students when I went there. We had dormitories, like college. I had a roommate named Eli Blakemore. Nice guy who was into science. I arrived there via the bus with Sue Ellen’s last fifty dollars.” It had been a complete relief when he discovered Catholic Central required uniforms. Michael possessed one pair of jeans, one pair of khakis, one blue shirt and work-out clothes including cleats, pads and a game book he’d hidden from Don. “Central had a great reputation and produced a lot of football players. Wisconsin recruited me and I think you know the rest.”

  A shudder rolled through Michael’s body. “After my father found out my mother had signed the permission slip and I was most likely never coming back, he killed her and then killed himself. I learned about it two days after I arrived at Central.”

  The relief he felt by unburdening himself completely for the first time in his life was a gift. It was as though a weight he hadn’t ever realized he’d been bearing had been lifted by sharing with Mary. No wonder people got married. It was intoxicating to think you could be completely open, completely honest, and someone could still love you for it. Know every single transgression, every hurt, every shitty memory and still want to be with you.

  “Mary?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you mean what you said earlier? In the kitchen?” God, he wanted it to be true. Needed it to be true.

  Mary smiled. “Of course. I never say anything I don’t mean.”

  “You think you could say it again?” He wanted to hear her repeat the words now, needed to hear them, needed to be reassured she was not going to retract them, and hightail it out of bed, out of the condo, and away from him.

  “I think I can arrange that.”

  Mary rolled over and straddled him and placed her hands on his chest.

  “Michael Santiago, I love you.”

  “Oh God, Mary. Say it again,” he groaned.

  This time, she emphasized her words with soft, butterfly kisses, up and down his jaw. “I.” Kiss. “Love.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss.

  His cock hardened beneath her as she continued kissing his jaw before returning to his mouth. As her tongue plunged inside and played with his, she rubbed her breasts against his chest.

  “Hold on a second,” she crooned to him, swinging her legs over him and off the bed when he grabbed her hands.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “I have to grab a condom for us,” she responded.

  “You sure you’re protected?”

  Mary nodded her head.

  “I’m clean. Safe. We get tested every year at the beginning of the season. If you’re still willing to not use one. If you don’t want to. Your call.”

  Moving back towards the bed, Mary climbed up on top of him and looked down. “I’ve never been as sure of anything in my life,” she stated, the solemn tone making it more of a vow and less of a reflection. Michael raised his back off the bed and cradled her head between his hands, taking her lips in his and telling her with action what he couldn’t yet utter from his lips.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Mary always knew there was something traumatic in Michael’s background. Something to account for his innate wariness of the world and people around him. Some reason as to why he was such an old soul when she first began tutoring him at Wisconsin. She’d discovered exactly why tonight.

  “Michael?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Mary?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you scared of me, now? Knowing what you know?”

  “What? Why would I ever be scared of you?”

  His shame came through his quiet words.

  “Because of where I come from, who my father was. Who my parents were.”

  “Oh, Michael.” She moved her hands up from his to rest on his face, tracing his nose, his lips, his cheekbones. “Based on what you said, I think your only legacy from your parents is their genes. Nothing else. You are nothing like them. Do you understand me?”

  “You don’t think if we ever get into a fight, I’ll haul off and hit you?”

  “Have you ever hit a woman in your life?”

  “No. But I’m genetically disposed to.”

  “No. You. Are. Not.”

  In the room, looking at him, thinking of everything he’d been through, she melted. He’d never had a loving, nurturing base that would have explained to him how the world should be, how to form relationships, and how to trust people. How to trust women. And now he was trusting her, completely and absolutely. A rush of tenderness coursed through her. She wanted to love him for forever, show him how the world was supposed to be, how relationships were supposed to be. But she’d have to be content with baby steps in whatever way Michael was receptive to.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  The sun was filtering through the shades in his bedroom when Mary opened her eyes, snuggling deeper into the pillow and considered for the first time ever, taking a personal day. After the events of the prior night, she just wanted to be with Michael. Hold him close all day long, telling him repeatedly she loved him, how much she loved him and reassure him there was nothing he could say or do that would change her feelings. She was as sure of Michael and of Michael and her as she was of anything in her life. Appearing at peace in his sleep, Michael now laid beside her on his stomach. Knowing what she needed to do, she moved the comforter down and revealed Michael’s back, covered in angry red scars. There was not a single inch his monster of a father hadn’t marked. Mary moved through the sheets and began her repair work, kissing each and every single scar, hoping when he woke up, he didn’t freak out since she was sure this was the first time anyone would have touched his back in anything other than a violent, sadistic manner. Mary rested her right hand on his waist while her kisses peppered his back, tracing her own patterns to make sure no mark was left untouched.

  He groaned in his sleep and flexed his back as she continued, the strong muscles rippling in response. After several minutes, she knew exactly when he woke up as his entire body stiffened, and he grabbed he
r right hand with his.

  “What are you doing?” Michael asked, his morning voice husky from sleep and slightly muffled by his pillow.

  “What does it feel like I’m doing?” she responded, moving down his back to lick and kiss some of the longer scars raised up and off his skin.

  “Mary, you don’t have to do this,” he croaked, remaining on his side, not looking at her. Not wanting to reveal himself to her.

  “I don’t have to do anything, Michael, I don’t want to do,” she reminded him, as she used her kisses to try and ease the place deep in his soul.

  “I think you’re beautiful, Michael. Every part of you is beautiful and every part deserves to be touched. And touched with love.” Mary placed her lips on every single upraised piece of skin on Michael’s back--every sharp one, every indentation.

  With every brush of her lips she wanted to shred every last defense of Michael’s, internally and externally, letting him trust through her actions she would accept every part of him and nothing less. Beneath her lips, Michael’s body stiffened repeatedly, until he completely relaxed as though each kiss peeled away another layer to his soul.

  Abruptly he flipped over, landing on top of her and penetrating her in a single, loving thrust. She received him gratefully and kept her eyes locked on his the whole time, unwilling to break contact for a second, unwilling to miss the communion of the moment. This was what life was all about. The connection with a person who represented the other part of you, the better part of you, the best part of you. When she began this morning, she believed that Michael was the only one who needed to understand that, but she was learning the depths of love, too.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  “There’s something else I need to tell you,” he later stated, holding Mary in his arms.

  Since they’d begun sleeping together, for the first time that night he’d slept on his side, no longer worried Mary would wake up before he did and freak out. She didn’t. He had been correct to trust her with his darkest secret. His woman was strong and stable. Now he had to trust her again. Be truthful with the rest he held close to his chest.