by JR Thompson
Alayna put her hands on her hips and words shot out of her mouth faster than a bull could break out of a chute, “Scottie threw a temper tantrum yesterday. He ran away from home. We found him about a block from the store. Scottie’s mad because Collin and I dragged his little behind back here and now he’s gone and burned our store!”
Titus dragged into the room rubbing his eyes. “What’s all the noise about?”
“The store burned last night,” Alayna snapped.
“The store? Which one? There’s only like a few dozen of ‘em in Farmington.”
“OURS!” Alayna shouted.
Victoria stomped into the room. “What is all of this shouting about?”
“YOUR SON…,” Alayna began to yell before pausing and calming herself down. “Your son… is an arsonist. He burned Collin’s store to the ground an hour or so ago.”
“Do you have evidence to support your allegation?” Brock asked.
“I will have. Get your son out here — that is, if he’s even here.”
“Want me to get him?” Titus asked.
“Yes, please,” Brock instructed.
Within thirty seconds, everyone in the living room heard Titus wake Scottie up by saying, “Did you not get your backside beat hard enough last night or what? You must have buns of steel!... You better hurry up and march out to that living room.”
Moments later, Scottie made his way out front and asked what everybody was so upset about.
“Don’t play stupid with me, you little fire-starting maniac,” Alayna snapped. “You destroyed our livelihood!”
Scottie took a step back and in almost a whisper answered, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You didn’t sneak out again in the middle of the night? You didn’t go to Collin’s store? You didn’t light it on fire?”
Scottie looked at his mom and dad, hoping one of them would say something. When they didn’t, he argued, “No! I’ve never done anything like that. Why does everybody always blame me?”
Titus couldn’t help butting in. “Probably cause you’re the only one here who’s insane. Why do you think?”
“Titus, you’re not improving matters. Depart from this room and allow us to deal with this situation,” Brock ordered.
As Titus obediently walked away, Victoria attempted to empathize, “Alayna, I understand how you feel. And I can definitely understand why you would suspect Scottie… but he wouldn’t do that. You have my word.”
“You better hope you’re right,” Alayna scoffed before turning her wild glare to Scottie. “If she’s wrong, we’ll be pressing charges and we’ll see to it you’re behind bars until you’re twenty-five.”
Turning, Alayna made her way to her vehicle where she sped off in the direction of the shoe store.
As soon as she was out of sight, Brock placed a firm hand on Scottie’s shoulder. “A while back we discovered a lighter in your bedroom, son. Why’d you possess that lighter?”
“I found it and was playing with it. That’s all.”
Titus hesitantly glided into the room with one hand behind his back, while giving Scottie a playful wink. He then gave Brock a once-over and said, “I decided I’d bring this out here just in case you need it.” Pulling the paddle out from behind his back, he laid it on the arm of the sofa, offered Scottie another wink, and quietly headed back down the hall toward his room.
“Do I need to apply this, son?” Brock asked, motioning toward the paddle.
Scottie glanced over at the board for a second. “No. I’m telling the truth. I was here all night. I don’t have a lighter — you took it from me, remember? I couldn’t have started the fire. I didn’t have anything to start it with!”
“Hon, would you mind rummaging through his room while I check his person?” Brock asked.
“On it,” Victoria replied, slipping out of the room.
“Clear the contents of your pockets,” Brock ordered.
Scottie turned his pockets inside out; they were empty.
“Shirt off.”
Hesitantly, Scottie complied while insisting, “Everybody blames me for everything. It wasn’t me. I promise!” Once he got the shirt off, he tossed it to his dad.
“Now the pants.”
Scottie’s face turned red and a tear dripped from his left eye. “No, dad. This is embarrassing... I don’t have anything on me... Please believe me.”
“Take ‘em off,” Brock insisted.
Scottie bit his trembling lip as he shifted his gaze toward the floor.
“NOW,” Brock ordered.
Scottie directed his eyes up at Brock with tears running down his face. He then glanced at the floor and then back at Brock.
“Don’t even envisage running. If you have something in those pants, you better forfeit it now.”
“I don’t. It’s just that, well, I—”
Before he could finish his sentence, Victoria stormed into the room bawling. “Where did you get THIS?” she asked, holding up a small box of matches.
“I… I… um… they’re not mine… Where… were they?”
“In your pants pocket — the jeans you were wearing yesterday evening.”
“I’ve never seen ‘em before. Honest. I haven’t!”
Victoria wiped the tears from her eyes. “What do we do, Brock? Do you want to whip him within an inch of his life or make a report to the police?”
Brock, for the first time in a long time, was speechless. He never imagined the day would come when he might have to call the cops on his own boy. He didn’t want to do it, but if Scottie were guilty of arson, he would be legally obligated to turn him in. His boy was owed a sound thrashing, but if he delivered him as hard of a spanking as he deserved, it would probably leave a mark or two and then if the cops searched him… he didn’t even want to speculate on that potential outcome.
Victoria, obviously reading Brock’s mind, took up for him, “Honey, just because he has the matches doesn’t mean he started the fire. Lots of boys go through stages of playing with matches. Didn’t you do that when you were his age?”
“They’re not my matches!” Scottie whined. “I’ve never seen them. I have no idea how they got in my pocket. Why won’t you believe me?”
“Deliver me the paddle, son,” Brock directed.
The tears had not stopped flowing, but Scottie did as he was told.
“Drop your pants and grab your ankles.”
“Drop my pants? Noooooo!” Scottie yelled.
“Remove ‘em now and you can keep your underwear on. Make me drop them for you and you’ll have no protection whatsoever.”
Scottie offered his dad a sorrowful look, hoping the tears in his eyes might somehow convince Brock to either believe him or at least lighten the sentence. Seeing the callousness on his dad’s face, he could tell that was not going to happen.
Sobbing, the boy pulled his pajama pants down, grabbed his ankles, and held his breath while waiting for the first swat. A second later, he felt a worse sting than any of the other spankings his dad had administered to him. He jumped up, rubbed his backside, and begged his father to believe his innocence.
Victoria left the room to do some crying of her own.
“Resume the position,” Brock commanded firmly.
Trembling, Scottie shook his head no.
“Resume the position or we will progress to bare flesh.”
Scottie let out a grunt of frustration and bent over. Brock administered ten solid whacks before asking about the matches again.
Scottie’s eyes darted back and forth from the paddle to the intimidating expression on his dad’s face. “Please don’t whip me anymore. But I… I… found the matches down at the work site the other day and I put ‘em in my pocket. Then, yesterday when I ran away, I found half of a cigarette laying on the sidewalk and I tried to smoke it.”
“Tried to smoke it?”
Scottie’s eyes were drawn to the paddle again. “I… um… tried to, but after I took one puff I started coughing so I put it
down. I’ll never try one again, Dad… I… promise.”
26: T.K.O.
Striving to keep her mind off of the allegation against her son, Victoria decided to join Brock and Titus for their work at the construction site. She insisted on Scottie playing hooky from school so she could personally keep an eye on him all day in case anything else was to happen.
The day went reasonably well and got even better when Ericka showed up around 3:30 pm. “Hi everybody,” she spoke in as chipper of a voice as she could muster. “What can I do to help?” Even though she was speaking to everyone, her eyes were glued to a certain teenager she had a major crush on.
Titus started to speak, but Brock cut him off. “Why don’t you assist my wife? She’s over there knocking nails out of some damaged lumber. Are you skilled with a hammer?”
“I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m skilled with one, but I’ll do my best.”
Victoria took a liking to Ericka right away. The two of them chit-chatted the entire time they worked — discussing the latest fashions, things going on at the church, their families, and on occasion Titus’s name happened to slip into their conversations.
Around 5:15 pm, Victoria noticed a car pulling off next to theirs. “Who’s that?” she asked.
Ericka looked up. “Oh no! It’s Steve — my lunatic brother. What’s he doing here?”
Steve practically leaped out of his car and rushed toward Titus. He shoved him backward with both hands. “I’m quite certain I told you to stay away from her!”
“Stop it, Steve! Don’t do anything stupid!” Ericka shouted, sandwiching herself between her brother and Titus.
Steve grabbed a piece of a broken 2x4 and held it up in the air. “Ericka, you have two choices. You can move out of the way and let me clobber him, or I’ll clobber you first.”
Ericka raised her knee and firmly connected with Steve’s groin. He dropped the board and fell to his knees. Titus grabbed the 2x4 and belted him upside the face with it, knocking him unconscious.
“OH, MY GOODNESS! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DID THAT!” Ericka screamed.
“I did it for you! He threatened you, and I’m never going to let anyone hurt you — no matter who they are,” Titus bragged.
“What if he’s dead?” Ericka cried.
Victoria was already checking his pulse. “He’s not,” she assured her. “Just a temporary black-out more than likely.”
Victoria placed her ear to Steve’s mouth; fortunately, he was still breathing.
“Titus,” Brock lectured, “Ericka’s right. You could have exterminated that boy and then you would have been rotting in jail for murder.”
“It’d be worth it to keep this young lady safe.”
“You sound like him,” Ericka fussed.
“Like who?” Titus asked.
“Him!” Ericka insisted, pointing to where her brother lay on the ground. “I have to get out of here. I’m gonna call Mom and have her pick me up.”
“No, Ericka… please… let me explain,” Titus pleaded.
“There’s nothing to discuss. I witnessed the whole thing. You don’t get what it means to turn the other cheek. You don’t understand longsuffering or patience. You’re just like my brother. I can’t be with someone with that kind of temper.” With that, Ericka stomped toward the driveway.
“Hold on, Ericka!... I’ll give you a ride,” Victoria called after her. “I’m too shaken up to do much else.”
“Thanks,” Ericka replied. “I don’t want to put you out. It’s not your fault.”
“I know, but I want to help. Scottie, come on. You’re coming with us,” she called over her shoulder.
In the car, Ericka opened up more than she had at the worksite. She told Victoria horror stories about Steve. When he was seven years old, he found out his mom had initially been pregnant with twins; even though his brother was carried to full term, he was stillborn. At first, Steve seemed like he took the news well, but within a year of finding out, he started having violent anger outbursts. He felt like it was his fault his brother died. Steve claimed he was the only one who had been in the womb with him. The only one who could have protected his brother. He failed. His parents took him to counseling to see if a therapist could help him understand there was nothing he could have done about it, but Steve convinced himself it was his fault and no one could persuade him otherwise.
Since that time, Steve went through cycles. He would be manic depressive one day and homicidal the next. Her dad was telling the truth about the family trying everything. Ericka felt her parents had bent over backward trying to help Steve, but her brother refused to accept their help. He somehow convinced himself it was his responsibility to be Ericka’s protector. Whenever he sensed anyone might be a threat to her, war was looming. She, her parents, friends, and multiple therapists tried to encourage Steve to think before he acted, but his adrenaline seemed to kick in at all the wrong times and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
✽ ✽ ✽
A furious fit of sneezing brought Steve back into a state of consciousness. His nose not only hurt, but it was so swollen it was partially obstructing his vision. Out of instinct, he brought his hand up to touch his nose, which forced him to let out an incessantly loud groan.
“Are you okay?” Brock asked.
“What… what happened?... Where am I?”
“You tried to bully the wrong person,” Titus proclaimed firmly, standing over him.
A look of panic filled Steve’s face. “You did this to me?”
“I did. Don’t mess with me, man. And don’t you even dream of hurting or even threatening to hurt Ericka.”
Brock put a firm hand on Titus’s shoulder and told him, “That’s enough. You’ve magnified your point. We need to ensure this guy’s alright.”
Steve pulled himself into a seated position. “I’m okay. Just a bit sore.”
“You should be,” Titus replied coldly.
“Titus, that is enough!” Brock scolded.
“Actually… I deserve it,” Steve interjected. “This kid has guts. I think I like him.”
Throwing his hands up in the air, Brock turned his back and ambled away.
“I don’t believe I’ve met anybody else with a temper like mine before,” Steve chuckled after a brief moment of silence.
Titus smiled and let out a short chuckle himself. “To be honest, I wasn’t aware I had it in me.”
“You mean to tell me you’ve never done anything like that before?”
“Never… But I’ll tell you one thing — if you ever cause me any reason to believe you’re gonna hurt Ericka, you’ll look back and see this little episode like it was nothing. I love that girl and I’d offer my life for her.”
A cross between a smile and total confusion donned Steve’s face. “Guess we have something in common. The reason I came after you is because I felt like you were gonna hurt my sister.”
“Hurt her? Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know. I guess maybe I’m a bit quick to judge.”
“Is that an apology?” Titus asked.
Steve held out his hand and Titus helped him to his feet. “I’m sorry, man. I’ve been a real nimrod.”
“You can say that again,” Titus replied.
“Hey now! I’m tryin’ to make things right.”
“I know. It might take me a while though.”
Steve lowered his eyes toward the ground for a moment before slowly bringing them back up to meet Titus’s. He felt tears of shame forming. “Look, man. I messed up big time. I’ve had a problem with my anger for a long time. It controls me! I’ve tried to get rid of it, but I can’t. It’s a part of who I am. I’m sorry for what I did and I promise I’ll never… well, I promise I’ll try to never do anything like that again.”
Titus grinned. “It’s not every day somebody offers me that sincere of an apology.”
“Does that mean you forgive me?”
“Look, Steve. If God can forgive me for all of the stupid
things I’ve done, I’d be a fool not to accept your apology.”
Steve reached forward and offered Titus a hug. Titus appeared as though he felt a bit uncomfortable about it, but he cooperated nonetheless. That two-second embrace was all it took to cause the tears Steve had been holding back to begin trickling down his face. “Can you tell me something?” he asked.
“What’s that?”
“How do you know God forgave you?”
“Cause I believe the Bible,” Titus replied.
“I believe it too. But that doesn’t mean I know God forgave me.”
“Steve, are you sayin’ you’re not sure if you’re saved?”
“Grandma and Grandpa have taken me to church on and off for years,” Steve replied.
“I’m not talkin’ about church attendance. I’m talking about salvation — you know, asking God to save you.”
“I repeated some words when I was a kid. Grandpa asked me if I had a desire to get saved and I wanted to do anything to make him happy, so I told him ‘sure.’ He told me to repeat after him and he advised me what to say so I could get saved. So yeah, I’ve done that.”
“You’ve done that, but you aren’t positive God’s forgiven you?”
“It’s impossible to know that, man.”
“You said you believe the Bible, right?” Titus asked.
“Of course. Who wouldn’t?”
“Well, I John 5:13 says ‘These things have I written unto you that believe on the name of the Son of God; that ye may know that ye have eternal life, and that ye may believe on the name of the Son of God.’ I know God forgave me when I called on Him to save me. I know I have eternal life in Heaven. I’m 100% confident of that, man.”
Steve’s gaze moved to his feet and he didn’t say a word.
“Steve… when you uttered those words when you were little… were you truly speaking to God or were you only repeating your grandfather?”
Still facing the ground, Steve replied, “I recited what he told me. Why?”
“Salvation doesn’t come about by simply saying words. It’s a heart issue. You have to believe in God. You have to believe Jesus is God’s Son. That He died on the cross and was resurrected three days later because of your sin. When you believe that, you have to pray and ask God to save you. Is that what you did?”