Lying there Ely looked at his mother through a fog of pain. Her eyes struggled to open, and he could see the fear in them, her fear for him. She coughed up a small amount of blood as she tried to move. But the effort was too much. Her eyes fluttered briefly as she tried to keep them focused on her son. But it was a losing battle, and she fell into unconsciousness.
As her eyes closed, it was as if a switch had been turned on in Ely, a switch that had finally converted all the fear, pain, and anger he had suffered into something powerful, something indestructible. He suddenly found the strength to stand up, anger and determination fueling his battered body, the pain receding into a deep hole somewhere as it gave way to something else. Rage. It exploded to the surface like a volcano and Ely had no desire to control it.
“Is that all you got?” Ely growled, his eyes boring into his father’s as he stood up to his full height.
“You son of…”
But his words were cut short by Ely’s fist. Ely struck his father with the full force of his rage. Bill’s head snapped back, forcing him to stumble backwards. He managed to regain his balance and face his son, his lower lip split open and bleeding down his chin. He was smiling.
“Nice job, son. Finally you’re standin’ up like a man. But I think that was a fluke. I think you’re still a pussy.” He lunged toward his son, swinging the pistol hand again.
Ely held up his arm in defense, but the gun slammed into it, cutting a deep gash in his forearm. Before he could recover from the blow, his father kicked him in the side of the leg, connecting solidly with his right knee, releasing an explosion of pain. He collapsed to his knees, still dazed from the kick to his face.
“You got me kicked out of my own home you pansy piece of shit!” Bill stormed as he punched Ely in the face, knocking him to the ground again. Ely grunted, fresh pain exploding in his head. But the rage was still there, and it managed to force the pain deep within his subconscious.
This time Ely got to his knees, and as he saw his father lift his leg up to deliver another kick at him, Ely threw himself forward, grabbed his leg, thrusting it upward and forcing his father to lose his balance and fall backward. Ely stood and moved forward quickly, jumping on Bill as he struggled to get up, his gun scattered across the kitchen floor. Like a crazed maniac, Ely released all his rage and allowed it to fuel his fists as he brought them down repeatedly. His father managed to get his hands up to block most of the blows, but several connected solidly with Bill’s face.
Swinging blindly, his father managed to land a lucky blow to the side of his head as he blocked one of Ely’s blows with his other hand. The punch hit Ely in the temple, momentarily stunning him and allowing his father to push hard and knock Ely to the side, giving him enough space and time to get to his feet.
Dazed, Bill used the back of his hand to wipe away the blood that was dripping freely from his battered nose. “Finally,” he said, spitting a glob of blood on the linoleum floor. “Maybe yer not such a pussy.”
Ely had also struggled to his feet. The blow to his temple had definitely done some damage, and his head throbbed from the pain. But all it took was a glance at his mother to get him moving again, the pain and all rational thought again retreating before his fury.
Ely instinctively went into his wrestling mode and came in low, going for his father’s legs. He struck him hard, clasping his arms around Bill’s legs and using all his strength to hoist him up. Their momentum propelled them into the dining room table, where they crashed hard enough to tip it over, scattering the table, along with the chairs, against the kitchen cabinets. Bill struck the ground first, the wind whooshing from his lungs. Ely, his full weight pressing down on his gasping father, brought his fists down again and again, his wild blows connecting solidly until Ely realized his father was no longer moving. Ely paused, dizzy with pain and exhaustion, then fell to his side. He struggled to stand, all the while glancing at his unmoving father. He grabbed the kitchen counter to keep himself from falling. His head pounded with pain and he felt a rising nausea. He stared down at his father, his vision so blurred he could barely perceive the blood dripping from his father’s nose and mouth.
Something was wrong. He knew he was on the verge of losing consciousness. He had to get the phone. He had to get help. Stumbling forward, he went to the phone located on a lone end table by the door, and his trembling fingers somehow found the numerals, 911. By this time he felt as if his skull could no longer contain the pressure in his head, and the pain dropped him to his knees. “Hello…I need…help,” he stammered. “My mom…”, and then he collapsed into the merciful oblivion of unconsciousness.
***
Ely opened eyes, and as his vision slowly cleared he struggled to take in his surroundings. Through the haze, white walls materialized and he noticed a familiar antiseptic smell. Then it hit him. He was in a hospital.
As that realization dawned on him, a flood of memories suddenly overwhelmed him. He tried to sit up but his body ached all over and he collapsed back down onto the soft sheets of the bed. He reached up and felt the bandages over his nose and face. There was a dull ache in his nose, but it wasn’t terribly painful. They probably had him on pain medication since he felt a bit groggy and his body was so relaxed he found it difficult to move. He turned his head slowly and saw Jeff sitting in a chair next to his bed, his eyes closed as he dozed. Then he remembered his mom.
“Jeff, what happened to my mom?”
Jeff opened his eyes instantly and looked at Ely in surprise. “Oh, thank god you’re awake. You’ve been unconscious for two days.”
“What happened to my mom, Jeff?”
Jeff swallowed nervously as he leaned closer to Ely’s bed. “She’s hurt pretty bad, Ely. But the doctors say she’s going to make it.”
“I have to see her.” Ely tried to get up but his body wouldn’t move. He was so tired and the effort nearly caused him to pass out.
“You were beat up pretty bad, Ely. You suffered a severe concussion. The doctors have you on some strong pain medication. Don’t worry, I’m looking after her. Everything is fine, I’m right here.”
“Thanks,” was all Ely could say before he again succumbed to oblivion.
When Ely finally awoke, he didn’t know how much time had elapsed since he had fallen into that deep sleep. This time it was Mr. Seljin who was sitting next to him.
“Hey, how do you feel?” Sel asked as stood up and leaned over the bed.
Ely’s mind still felt a bit foggy, though he did feel better. “My head still hurts but I feel a little better now.”
“Well it should. Your nose was shattered and you suffered a severe concussion.”
“Is my mom okay?”
“Yes, she is doing better. The doctor said that the bullet passed through her abdomen. They had to do surgery but they said she was lucky it didn’t damage any vital organs.” Sel reached out and put his hand on Ely’s arm. “I’m sorry this happened.”
Ely looked away. “Me too.”
“Why don’t you get some more rest. We are looking after your mom, so don’t you worry.”
“Thank you,” Ely said as he closed his eyes, sinking wearily into another deep sleep.
Ten
In history there are events called watersheds. These are events that are considered turning points in history, important transitions between two eras. An example of a watershed would be the Emancipation Proclamation, or WWI, any major event that marks a significant or radical change in our culture. I bring this up because when my father came into our home and shot my mother, beating me up in the process, this became my own personal watershed, one of several in my life. Even though it was a devastating event, it set me on a path that would change my life. It forever severed the ties between me and my father. It reinforced my relationship with my mother, and with my friends, both of whom helped to steer my life in the right direction. This was a turning point for me. Yet it could have been a turning point that turned me in the wrong direction. If my mother had
died, then who knows what would have happened to me. That single event could have sent me spiraling downward into a dark abyss of pain and depression. But luckily that did not happen.
Ely Carter
——————————
It was a beautiful day, but none of its beauty could penetrate Ely’s thoughts as he lay on his back on his favorite bench outside the cafeteria. His eyes were closed and he was having trouble dispersing the mental images of the fight with his father. He couldn’t erase the sight of his mother, sprawled across the kitchen floor, blood pooling around her body. His father’s drunken snarling face was burned into his mind, and despite his efforts he could not escape the nightmare images of that terrible morning. And later, when he saw his mother in the hospital, hooked up to the machines, her chest slowly moving up and down, he was forced to relive the whole terrible experience again. His own father had done this to her, and beat him, and turned his world upside down. Ely was so angry, that it was all he could do to hold it back, to keep it below the surface.
It had been a week since the shooting. His mom was still in the hospital but she was now awake. The doctors said that she would heal fully but that she needed to stay in the hospital for another week or so. Ely’s own wounds still looked pretty bad. His nose was splinted and bandaged and there was bruising around his eyes and cheeks. And he had had to get stiches, twelve of them, to close the cut on his face caused by his father’s gun barrel. He looked as if he had just gotten out of the ring with Mike Tyson. Jeff’s moms had offered to house Ely until Mary was fully recovered, and she graciously accepted the offer. Ely was thankful as well. He couldn’t imagine going back, particularly by himself, to stay in their mobile home. It housed too many bad memories.
The sound of two kids talking snapped Ely from his thoughts and he opened his eyes to the glaring sun, a rare sight in February. He was screened by the foliage around the bench and the two boys that sat on the adjacent bench on the other side of the clearing had no idea Ely was there.
“Did you hear about that shooting at that fat kid’s house?” a red headed boy asked. “He’s back at school today I guess.”
Ely reached up and took the half-eaten sandwich off his chest. Then he sat up, the rising anger barely restrained. There were two young boys sitting across from him. They sat with their backs to him, eating their lunches. He didn’t recognize them, but by their height and stature they must have been freshman.
“Must be one messed up family,” his dark haired friend replied. “I heard it was his own dad.”
Before he knew what he was doing Ely was up and walking towards the two boys. “What about that fat kid?” he said, his voice quivering with emotion.
Startled to see Ely materialize before them, they looked up, their faces blanching as they recognized who he was. “Nothing, man, we were just talking, that’s all,” the red head responded.
“You want to know what it feels like!?” Ely yelled as he lunged aggressively toward them. He had lost control. Whatever it was that was holding the anger at bay had crumbled and blew away like a feather in a powerful hurricane. It was as if another being had taken possession of his mind and body. The real Ely was no longer recognizable; he had been replaced by a rabid raving maniac.
He came at the nearest boy with a wide swing of his fist. The red head who probably weighed no more than a hundred and thirty pounds, didn’t even have time to blink before Ely’s fist connected solidly with the side of his face, the force of the blow throwing him from the bench as if he were a rag doll. The dark haired kid turned to run but Ely grabbed his shirt from behind, yanking him off his feet and throwing him hard onto the concrete.
“You piece of shit!” Ely screamed as he stood over the cowering boy. “You’re not going to hit me anymore! Do you hear me!?” Ely reached down and grabbed the astonished kid, jerking him back up to his feet.
“What are you talking about!?” the terrified boy screamed. “Please don’t hurt me! I’m sorry!”
But all Ely could see were the flashing images of his father hitting him again and again, ten years of repressed memories boiling to the surface. “I’ll show you what it feels like!” Ely roared. He held the boy up with his left hand, slapping him viciously across the face with his right. Ely outweighed the unfortunate kid by a hundred pounds and his misplaced rage added even more strength to the blow.
By this time a crowd had formed around them. As soon as the fight had started students had flooded from the cafeteria into the courtyard to watch the spectacle.
The boy’s nose was now bleeding and he was openly crying. “Don’t cry, you pussy! Isn’t that what you always told me!?” Again Ely hit the kid. This time the strike sent the boy flying to the concrete.
“Ely! Stop it!”
But Ely didn’t hear anything except for his father’s taunts in his head. He stepped toward the kid who was slowly trying to get up and get away from him. “You’re not going to hurt me or my mom again! Do you hear me!?”
Suddenly Jeff was there and he tried to grab Ely from behind to keep him from striking the kid a second time. Ely, still possessed by his blind rage, pivoted away, swinging his right fist in Jeff’s direction, and catching him solidly on his right cheek.
Momentarily stunned, Jeff stepped away from Ely, holding his hand up to his bleeding lip. “Ely! Look at me!” he shouted. Ely paused, then looked at Jeff more closely, as if he was seeing him for the first time. Maybe it was the sight of blood dripping from Jeff’s mouth that finally broke Ely’s trance.
Ely, dazed, looked around at the crowd of students surrounding them; there must have been close to fifty, their faces mirroring emotions ranging from surprise and horror to morbid interest and excitement. Ely’s entire body seemed to deflate as the anger drained away as quickly as it had arrived. Amanda was standing behind Jeff, her hand to her mouth in shock. Ely blinked for the first time as his eyes focused on Jeff. Then, when he caught sight of Amanda, he fell to his knees, the violent anger of just moments ago transformed into utter sadness and defeat. He crumpled over and began to softly sob. “I’m so sorry…I’m so sorry,” he cried as he buried his head in his hands.
Jeff walked over and kneeled down next to him, wrapping his friend in a tight embrace. “It’s okay, Ely. Everything will be okay.” Jeff’s eyes were rimmed with tears as he looked up to see Amanda step closer, her eyes reflecting the same sorrow.
***
Six staff members sat around a conference table in a closed room in the Peninsula High School office. Soon after the fight, Ely and the other unwilling participants were sent home. And once Mr. Seljin heard about what had happened he had asked the principal, Paul Youngchild, to hold a staff meeting with Ely’s teachers to discuss Ely and the recent events. He was even missing wrestling practice to attend the meeting, something that did not happen often. Sel wasn’t too worried though, as his able bodied assistant coach would be fine running the practice. His immediate concern was Ely.
At the table were three other teachers and Ely’s counselor, Mr. Nelson. Everyone was in a heated debate and Mr. Seljin seemed to be in the middle of it.
“For a fight like this, standard procedure is suspension for a full week,” Mr. Youngchild argued. Mr. Youngchild wore a dark gray suit and a red and blue striped tie. He was in his early fifties and for the last ten years had shaved his head as he lost the baldness battle to resignation and a sharp razor.
“Come on, Paul, I think that’s the worst thing we can do for this kid,” Sel argued, “He’s had no behavior problems in the past. In fact he has been an exemplary student in all respects, which has been particularly impressive given the abuse he’s suffered at home. Look, we can’t just follow the rule book because we think that’s what we’re supposed to do. Each student is different and should be handled accordingly.”
This time Ely’s French teacher spoke up. Lisa Sampson was a young teacher fresh out of college. She was cute, but her stylish conservative clothes gave her an executive look that seemed to tone
down her beauty. “You know him better than I do, Rick. But you must admit that this is a classic case of the picked on kid exploding and losing control. What’s next? We have to think of the safety of our staff and student body. Considering what this student has been through you don’t know what he might do.”
“I agree. We don’t know what he might do next,” Leslie Scott added, clearly in agreement with Mrs. Sampson. Mrs. Scott was Ely’s English teacher, a slightly heavy set, matronly looking woman with short dark hair and dark rimmed glasses. “I really like Ely, but we have to think of the safety of our students. I mean he clearly has anger problems.”
“You would too if you had been beat up by your dad all your life and had watched your mom be nearly murdered by the same man!” Sel’s voice rose as his frustration began to take over. “This is bullshit. So he snapped once. Think about it. After everything that has happened to him he has had no behavioral issues, none whatsoever…that is up until now. That tells us something. Ely is a strong kid. He is a smart kid. He’s had virtually no guidance his entire life. He needs us to stand up for him now, when it counts. If we suspend him now then we really should be asking what he will do. He has no support at home, his mother is still in the hospital, and his mind is in a dark place. Let’s keep him here, close by, where we can watch him.” Sel looked at each one of them hoping to gain some support.
Mr. Youngchild sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair. “What do you think, John?”
Mr. Nelson slowly took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I’ve known Ely for almost two years now and I’ve never seen a mean bone in his body. Not only that, he’s a genius.”
“What?” Mike Turner, Ely’s math teacher, asked. Mr. Turner was the school’s basketball coach, a tall lanky man in his early forties with light brown hair and emerald green eyes.
The Life of Ely Page 15