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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Broken - 8. A New Ally
There is an axiom of war that I had never heard: the side that fires the first shot has already lost. I had won the first battle but it was already shaping up to be a long, ugly war.
I was kept waiting for a half-hour before I was summoned into Vice-Principle Harry Walther's office.
He had me sit down across the desk from him. Coach T was sitting in another chair. There was a file on the desk. This all felt sickeningly familiar.
Mr. Walther's asked, “Jimmy, what happened?”
I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. I was in a quiet panic and shaking. I had answered their questions before. They said that everything would be OK. They lie. I looked down at the floor and muttered, “I don't want to talk about it, sir.”
Walther's snickered, “Taking the fifth, are we? That's OK for now Jimmy, but we're going to have to get to the bottom of this. Coach T, can you please give me any insight into what happened?”
Coach T sat up in his chair and answered, looking me in the eye; “I was taking row call in my homeroom class when I heard a disturbance across the hall. I went over to Carroway's room as fast as I could and saw Jimmy here mopping the floor with three guys. He was furious, and it looked like he was going to take on the whole classroom. I had to pick him up and physically remove him from the room.”
Walthers grinned, “Took on the whole room, did you?”
Coach T chuckled, “Yeah. Jimmy here is a little badass. He's strong as an ox.”
“Any idea what it was about?” Walthers asked, chewing on his pencil.
Coach T shook his head.
Walthers was playing “good cop”. I'd seen it on TV. He opened the file on his desk and said, “Jimmy, I've looked at your record from your old school. You are an A and B student, and you've never been any trouble. You were a stand-out football player and defensive MVP on an unbeaten team. Frankly, you just aren't the kid I was expecting to see here on the first day. Talk to us. What's wrong? We'll help if we can.”
Sure you will. I thought. What could I say? If this got back to my Dad, and why... Shit. Shit, Shit, shit!
I wasn't disappointed in my assessment of the “good cop/bad cop” routine. As I predicted, after I rebuffed Walthers with silence, Coach T charged into the role of bad cop. “Jimmy, this is serious. You did a number on Eric's face.”
“It's just too damn bad that I didn't break his neck”, I growled with an intensity that could only be generated by pure hatred.
Walther's and Coach T were stunned by my vehemence. Walthers asked quietly, “Jimmy, what's wrong between you and Eric Rainer?”
I was trapped. There was no way out. Silent bitter tears rolled down my face. “Please... please, please, can't you see that I can't talk about this? My Dad made me swear that I wouldn't.”
Walthers said softly, “Then I've got no choice. I'm going to have to call your Dad in for a conference.”
At the mention of my Dad being called into this, I lost it. I went down on the floor in a ball, sobbing uncontrollably and begging no, no, no.
Principle Walthers and Coach T were stunned. They both came around the desk to see too me. I was out of it babbling: “No, please don't, he won't want me anymore.”
Coach T said quietly to Principle Walthers, “Harry, something is badly wrong here.” He put his hand on my back and I jumped. I heard him mutter, “Jesus Christ. It's just like out of the textbooks.”
Coach T gently rubbed my back and spoke softly, “I'm not going to hurt you, Jimmy. I'm going to help you to the nurse's office.” The big, powerful man picked me up in one smooth, gentle move and started carrying me to the nurse's office.
It felt good to be held. It felt good to be touched. I doubt that my parents consciously did it, but they quit touching me after my horrific “birthday party”. It felt like the way my Dad used to hold me. I held on to Coach T. I held on to him tight with my eyes closed, pretending that it was my Dad - the Dad that I used to know.
After a short walk to the school nurse's office, he put me down on the examination table. I rolled over on my side and faced away from everyone. Coach T, Mr. Walthers and the Nurse conferred outside the office for a few minutes. Then the nurse and Coach T came back in the room.
The nurse said, “Jimmy, I'm Miss Green. I want to check you out after the fight that you were in. Could you take off your shirt and jeans?”
I sat up and did as she asked. She looked me over carefully, not finding anything very interesting except for a few scuff marks and a red spot on my back where Billy Wheeler had kicked me and a knot on my head.
A nice knot had risen where Eric's pal had nicked me with a chair. I hadn't given it much thought, but with her poking around, it was tender. The hit had caused a small cut, on which she dabbed some ointment. Satisfied that I wasn't too banged up, she told me that I could get dressed. While I was dressing, she asked me to wait there when I was done. I lied down on the examination table and closed my eyes. A nap would be nice, but I knew that sleep wouldn't come. There was too much going on, and my mind was racing.
I lay there for a while, but my nerves were shot, so I got up and started pacing around the room. Had I seriously hurt Eric? I had always thought he was OK. He wasn't nearly as big a jerk as his older brother Bob. When I had spoken to him earlier that summer before my parental imposed isolation, we had joked around like we always had. He had hurt me with his comments. I was furious with him because he had been a friend not so long ago.
Before too long, Coach T came back into the room and sat down with me and motioned for me to join him. He said, “Jimmy, I hear you're a pretty good linebacker. You want to play football this year?”
That had been the last thing on my mind, but it was something that would please my Dad. “Yeah, I'd like that a lot.”
Coach T grinned wide, “I'm sure that I could use you on my squad. You're the biggest 7th grader to come through here in a while.”
I replied, “Coach, right now, I feel like I'm a lot bigger on the outside than I am on the inside.”
He nodded knowingly. “We've been asking around, and we talked to Bob Rainer when he picked up Eric. We know what the fight was about. Jimmy, are you a homosexual?”
The anger came back in a flash. “There's that damned word again. I don't even know what a homersexual is!”
Coach T looked at me sadly and asked quietly, “Has it caused you a lot of trouble at home?”
“OH, not really. My parents hate me now, and I've lost all my friends. I don't think they want me anymore. Everything is just fucking peachy.”
“Watch the language, Jimmy. I know that you're upset, but I draw the line at the F-word.” he scolded. “Now I'm going to ask you a question, and it's important that you be honest about it. You won't get in trouble, but we need to know: is your Dad hitting you?”
I was sick to death of questions that I needed to be honest about and that wouldn't get me in trouble. I was going to outsmart the bastards this time, so I lied, “No.”
Coach looked at me thoughtfully and asked, “Why are you so afraid of your Dad?”
I looked down at the floor. Could I trust this guy? I had to talk to somebody. All the stuff inside me made me crazy. After pausing for a moment, it all came out, “Coach, ever since Rainer came over and told my Dad that I was a queer, he hasn't looked at me the same. My Mom cries all the time. They try to hide it, but I hear them fighting. I don't want to cause any more trouble than I already have. I'm afraid they'll divorce. I'm afraid that they don't want me anymore.”
Coach T sighed deeply and said, “You don't want to add fuel to the fire. That's understandable. Look. I'm going to talk to Walther's about this. Would you have any objections to moving into my homeroom?”
I nodded eagerly. Coach T was the first adult that I had met in quite a while that wasn't completely insane. It was a welcome change of pace.
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I got off easy. Principal Walthers gave me three licks for fighting, and I think he pulled them short.
There was a problem. The next time that I got in a fight, my parents would be called. It looked like I was going to have to grin and bear it. I was also required to meet with the school counselor once a week during study hall.
Coach T's class was a big change. At Oak Hills, classes were divided by ability groups one through four. I had always been in group one, which was usually populated by A-students. Coach T's class was Group 3. I didn't know anybody in class, but I was a shoe in for star student.
My schedule had been changed while I was in the office. I wouldn't be anywhere near Eric Rainer.
I went to my afternoon classes without incident, doing my best to be invisible sitting in the back, keeping my mouth shut.
Football practice was a breeze. It mainly consisted of having equipment issued and some conditioning drills. We were all issued a playbook and were expected to become familiar with it.
I caught the late bus home and was there by four.
Scotty was in his yard cutting the grass. As no one was around, I waved, but he wouldn't meet my eyes.
I knew what I had gone through that day, but I had to wonder. Was he all right?
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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