Chapter 1

“Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up, and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait, watch, and work. You don’t give up”
-Unknown


Breathe. Count to ten, Breathe. That’s what they have told me millions of times. Whether I’m mad, upset, sad, or in a bad situation, they’ll know I’m okay. If they see that I breathe, they know that I am capable of controlling all of my emotions inside me.

At this very moment, I breathe for I know what’ll happen once I step into that door. My father does so everyday, and I know the routine like the back of my hand.

The only people I clearly know, including my only school friend, my counselor, and teacher, still don’t understand fully what my true secret is. For they clearly do not need to know what goes on at home in a fourteen year old boy’s life.

My friend, who comes nearly second to the people I can trust only below my mother, is starting to catch on. Her name is Cheyenne Montgomery. She usually calls me Jay, short for my full name, Jaykub, and is the only person I feel safe around.

My father sexually assaulted and eventually killed my mother with me as the only witness. I still remember the painful memory and enduring the pain from the slap my father inflicted across my face, telling me to never speak of this again. Vividly I picture my mother lying on the concrete floor, telling me comforting words in which I know is a lie.

I replay these images as I step onto the porch. I breathe, count to ten, and breathe. I then step into the house. The stench of beer, cigarettes and my childhood past overwhelm me, the sound of wicked laughter and the sound of his buddies frighten me, let the screaming and torture begin.

This is my life…


“Didn’t I tell you to knock?!” My father yelled, while, as always, I instinctively flinch, the smell of booze making my head spin.

“Come on Terrance,” Barkley’s voice slurs sarcastically. “He’s just a boy”

“You shut your mouth Barkley Bradbury. He knows better than to charge through the door like that! He’s 14!” He yelled. I gulped, placing my bags onto my ‘room’, the couch. Barkley remained silent before taking another gulp of beer.

“Make yourself useful, kid,” My father muttered. “Grab us another case.” I open the fridge remembering he never used my name, and carry the case onto their table, not giving any eye contact. I await the beatings as I lie on my bed, as I watch them laugh to their own amusement. I start working on my Algebra III homework, remembering how easy this was, and finish in roughly ten minutes. I’d rather be in AP Calculus, but lacking a signature from my father, I must remain in this class. I finished my Physics and Honors English, answering everything slowly, knowing if I pass I can get a scholarship for anything academically.

My father, after taking another sip, rises from his seat, and I sigh, knowing it was about time. I put my bag on the side and gulp as I raise my gaze to his. His unusual black eyes with red flecks boar into mine, and threaten my eyes, which look identical to my mother’s deep brown ones. I flinch and look at him as if to say, ‘Get it over with’, but for once he hesitates. Only for a second however, and he turns to grab the duct tape and his beer.

I reposition myself, knowing this’ll be bad, for he only does so when he is really drunk and upset. He grabs a fistful of my curly black hair as I listen attentively as his friends, Ed, James, and Barkley, laugh their heads off. I never really trusted those guys, especially James, and Barkley, but I can’t say anything, for I’d have to endure worst. He flings me across the mobile house, and I slam into the window sill. I slowly get up, for I know he’ll scream if I don’t.

“Get up, Punk!” He screamed anyway, delivering a blow to my head. I crumple to the floor as he delivers a perfectly planned kick to my abdominal area, and chest. After a second passed, he used the boots he’s wearing to leave an open wound again near my eye. This time I can’t get up. I’m too weak to move anymore, and I just remain there silent, as always, and let the brutal torture of my father take over.

“Get up boy!” He bellows as more snickers fill the room.

“More, more,” The others slurred, as he drags me to my feet. He unravels the tape wrapping them tightly around my wrists. Then ripping another strip, he places one on my mouth, before delivering a punch to my jaw. The boys laugh harder as I tumble and fall on my shoulder. I wince in pain, and picture what has happened to me only four years ago, my towering father with a metal bat, using it like a golfer when they are frustrated as they can’t get the ball out of the sand dune. I then realize I was picturing it, and open my eyes to see I’m in a four-walled, pitch-black room that I recognize immediately.

I’m back in the closet with one or two gaping wounds as I stare at the light source through the opening at the bottom of the door. I stare helplessly, as one does with hope, and relax as the light soon consumes me.


“And then what?” Cheyenne demands. “What happened after?”

I hesitate, only remembering certain parts of last night. “I-I don’t remember,” I say truthfully. Mr. Bates, our school counselor, and Cheyenne look at me suspiciously.

“You don’t remember anything after that?” He asked softly, sounding more of a statement than a question.

“No,” I simply reply, my best friend stares at me long enough to make me feel uncomfortable.

“We should call the police, CPS, or something! Something has to be done here!” Cheyenne gets up and exclaims, suddenly turning to our counselor. “I can’t let him come to school like this”

The counselor sighs, “We can’t do that”

“Why not?” She demands, as I remain silent.

“For one, we have no evidence or proof.”

Cheyenne gestures towards my face, “He’s our proof! He comes to school all beat up-Everyday!” She shouts.

“Cheyenne, please sit down, I want to take action too, but the school board announced two years ago, that we can’t get involved with in-home violence. If it’s not on campus, we can’t take action.”

“That’s not fair!” She yells. “Who are they to say that, Jay could get killed and you’re saying that we shouldn’t do anything about it!? This is nonsense!”

“Calm down,” Mr. Bates says calmly. “I understand but we can’t control what happens outside our campus.”

I remain quiet the entire time, not wanting to speak.

“One phone call-One phone call can stop…stop this!” She points to my swollen eye.

“I know…” He responds. Silence fills the air for nearly a minute before, “Jay, You alright?”

“Yea,” I speak up, thinking about how Mr. Bates is the only adult that calls me Jay.

“Well,” he speaks up, checking his watch. He closes the composition book on his desk. “You should get to class, Cheyenne can you grab those passes?”

“Sure,” she mumbles, still mad about the topic on the school board.

After getting our passes, we walk towards our first class, Geography with Ms. Gano. On our way, she turns towards me.

“I worry about you sometimes,” she says quietly. I’m stunned for a second, not knowing how to respond to that. She says that a lot to me, but I still never can find a way to respond.

“You’re so quiet. I worry there are too many things in your head,” she goes on.

“What do you mean?” I ask slipping my hands deeper into my pockets.

“Aren’t you afraid all those thoughts and images you have lodged in there are someday going to explode?” She mutters, slowing her walking pace.

“No?” I answer uneasily.

“Well, I am, you’ve got to let it out. I don’t want all these things to eat you alive, you’re my best friend, Jay, and I don’t want this to continue on, it’s got to stop” She said.

“The thoughts or the beatings?” I joke, smiling half-heartedly. She slapped me on the arm.

“It’s not funny”

“Ouch…” I rub my arm. She rolled her chocolate brown eyes and placed a brown strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re funny, how do end up happy and joke around even after every night of that pain and torture?”

“I’m a special boy,” I smiled, receiving another slap to my arm.

“You shut it,” she said back playfully as we reach our class. “Come on”

I adjust my backpack and she fixes her silky long hair. We enter class, and I automatically go into silent mode, avoiding the stares and snickers from the crowd. The first to start are the two popular jocks, Dave Hanks, and Dylan Rew, who both of them are trying to get a scholarship in football. We give our teacher, Ms. Gano, our passes and have a seat in our assigned seats.

There are 21 people in our class including Cheyenne and me. I sit next to our Italian transfer student, Mario Da Vinci, and the school favorite, Luna Augusta. Both are nearly as quiet as I am, the only difference is, that both seem clearly to like each other. Helen Austin, her best friend, notices this too and teases them about it non-stop.

Cheyenne sits next to Raleigh Trenton, a bubbly person who never stops smiling, her best friend Madison Lansing, and class clowns, Christian, Rhys and Henry. The only difference, Henry can’t remember anything besides his girlfriend Phoenix Thompson, and Rhys can’t stay out of peoples love lives, and Christian, loves his new word, ’Eleventeen’

In the middle of the room sits the ‘Pop 3’, Amber, Taylor, and Austria Grace. Austria, the youngest, only a freshman, is quiet and acts nothing like the other two girls. Amber and Taylor call her the ‘messenger’. The rest sit jumbled up, including a high-pitched voice girl, named Courtney Kim, Thomas Levine, a student who had moved from Florida, Cimi Wood, and Alexander.

It’s one of the smallest classes, but it feels great to have a bunch of variety in the class.

Time went by swiftly at school, and, luckily, I didn’t have that much homework, but I soon realize the bad part. The more time I don’t have homework, the more time my father can brutally hit me again.

I walk up the porch again, breathing heavily, seeing all the beer bottle glass on the ground. Still, from the outside it look almost normal besides the glass, and the laughter and slurs of words coming from inside. I paid attention and knocked silently. As he always does, he ignored me, and I opened the door slowly making sure it wasn’t too rough.

“Didn’t I tell you to knock?” My father bellows as he storms toward me in his work clothes and heavy boots.

I froze; my eyes trained on the beer and bloodstained carpet. He then wraps his large rough hands around my neck forcing me to look up. I shut my eyes instinctively, and as he tightens his grip I slowly start to open them after counting to ten. I picture an iron fist plummeting towards me, but then sigh knowing I shouldn’t think that. I see the three men in the back trying not to drop their beer from laughing, and I start to imagine my mother. My happy thoughts, if there are any with her. I can’t think of one, and I ultimately think of the last night with her. That way he had punched her and ended her life. Her comforting words she had sweetly sighed to me before her last breath. I count to ten, and then sigh.

I think one last thought before I go unconscious. This is my life.

Chapter 2

“Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you, the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars and change the world”
-Harriet Tubman


“Cheyenne,” I yell, as she leaves her locker and heads to lunch. “Wait up!” She turns and smiles as she sees me.

“Hey Jay,” she says back as she starts to run towards me. “How are you feeling? Come on, let’s get lunch.”

I nod, “Fine, thanks, we can’t be late again”

“Yea, yea, you don’t even eat,” she shot back playfully and I give a solemn laugh.

“At least I don’t eat like a pig,” I shot back, playfully, the same way she had.

“Whatever,” we head to our usual spot and she goes and buys her lunch. As I wait, I start my history homework. She buys the usual, a salad, an apple, milk, and the entrée.

“Back to your ‘father’ topic,” she starts. “I know the school board won’t do anything about this, but if I must, I will take action,” she demands as she swallows a mouthful of fried ramen.

“It won’t do you any good,” I tell her, reaching for my physics work. “Like Mr. Bates said, they can’t react to any situation off of campus.”

“Well, I’m not apart of the school board, so I can take action”

“But you are apart of this school,” I reply, finishing up question one.

“Jay, shut your mouth, you, Mr. Bates, and the school board can’t stop me,” she argued.

“Well, if my father found out you were trying to do this, he’d kill you before you touched the phone.”

“No he won’t!” She exclaimed taking a bite of her salad viciously. I shook my head.

“Look Cheyenne, I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but I’m fine, and I don’t need the help.” The minute I had said that I regretted it remembering how easily she got upset with the topic of my father.

“Oh, so you’re saying you’re just going to allow this. Allow your father to beat the crap out of you? Not on my watch, Jay, I can’t stand seeing you like this, and not to be offensive, but your father is a cruel, diabolical and wicked man, and I can’t keep letting this happen to you,” she said seriously.

To lighten the mood, I smile and reply, “’Cruel’, ‘diabolical’, and ‘wicked’, mean the same exact thing.” I say as I finish my Physics and History work.

Instead of yelling, she threw a piece of her noodles in my face.

“You know what I mean,” She said finally swallowing the last of her ramen.

“Yea, yea,” I mutter. “Either way, my father wouldn’t change”

After a long silence, and her constant staring, she speaks up, “Do you still love him? Your father I mean”

I hesitate, and then look at her face to see if she was just joking, and then I realize she’s dead serious.

“Uuhh…I-I…” I falter, not knowing what to say about him.

“It’s okay; I shouldn’t have asked that, it’s a bit too personal of me to ask,” she continues looking down at her salad glumly.

“I-I can’t really say I hate him, since he’s the only family I got, but I don’t-like look up to him or anything,” I say, ignoring her apology.

“No, Jay, seriously, you didn’t have to say anything, it was a bit too much this time. I went too far.”

“I’m fine with it,” I respond looking at her with a smile, her face still downcast. “I mean there are far worse things that are even more personal”

“Well, I’m not, come on, let’s go to Mr. Bates’ office after, okay?

“Do we have to?” I whine like a little kid.

“Yes,” she says bluntly, as I walk with her to throw her plate away.

“Okay, but it wasn’t that bad yesterday”

“Yes,” she said sarcastically. “Having a swollen eye, with a reopened gash next to it, and a sprained wrist isn’t ‘bad’”

“Too me…it isn’t so bad,” I mumble rubbing my wrist.

She shakes her head and cracks a smile. “Come on then,” she grabs my arm and literally drags me to Mr. Bates’ office.

Once we get there, we notice the notebook. He raises his gaze and automatically and puts a stack of papers on top of it. Everyday we see him working on writing in that book, but we never had the chance, or had the nerve to ask him what it is.

“Hello Jay, Cheyenne,” He says distracted. “I didn’t see you two this morning; I was starting to get worried. Jay, how are you?”

“Fine, thanks,” I reply. “It wasn’t that bad last night”

“Oh, really?” He asks, grabbing the green notebook. “Can you elaborate on that?”

“Uh... sure, I guess” I reply as I watch intently as he places the pencil on paper.

“Go on,” he whispers.

“Okay well….” I continue. I start talking about the way I had looked at him, and went into detail about the bruise on my side the table had left me. Cheyenne was still staring at me, making sure she had heard every word.

I then talked about the beer bottle he had swung against my swollen eye, and his fist coming towards my jaw. I talked about the laughs and comments that the three other men had said to me. Then about the wall slamming into my face, and how his grip had sprained my wrist when tossed me towards the front door.


“Okay class,” Mr. Smith, our English teacher, exclaimed. I thought about what Mr. Bates had said during lunch; about how appearance and approach can always fool anyone depending on their secrecy, and how well they can hide their inner fears.

“Hey where is Raleigh?” He asks. Everyone turns to her seat and find it empty.

“I don’t know, she was here earlier,” Raleigh’s good friend Madison replied.

“I saw her at recess, but she had gotten into a cop car,” a boy from Madison’s table replied.

“Why?” Many of the kids asked.

“Her other friend Elizabeth said that she had problems with the mom last night,” he continued. “She said that she was trying to commit suicide”

Everyone gasped. “That’s why Elizabeth was crying in chorus class”

“Yea, the cop car came and security told her she had to leave”

Madison frowned, “Just like that? Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know” The boy, Ethan I believe said.

“Okay, well copy the homework down, then turn to your books to page 162, we’re reading ‘The City’, in the ‘Illustrated Man’”. Everyone groaned, knowing how violent and upsetting the book was.

After reading the story, everyone, besides me and a couple of shy boys and girls, chatted amongst themselves about how the City had dissected each man.

I then realized what Mr. Bates meant. Looks can be deceiving. I suddenly realize what he had meant. Raleigh was known for being so peppy and happy and bam the next day she tries to commit suicide.

“Class, what do you think the theme of this story was? What was the message?” My English teacher asked, interrupting my thoughts. No one raised their hands; they were too busy talking about how descriptive the dissecting part was.

Finally, I sigh, and then raise my hand.

“Yes, Jaykub?” he asks.

“That looks can be deceiving,” I mutter.

He nods his head, “Okay, there also can be another one, anyone knows?”

“Uh, that karma’s a b****” the goofball Christian exclaimed next to me. I chuckle, at the thought, and so does the rest of the class.

“Yeah, basically,” my teacher says. “Because how long did the City wait?”

“Eleventeen!” Christian shouts. Everyone laughs, while the people in the front say twenty thousand.

“Why do you use that word?” Madison asks.

“Because I can, and it’s awesome!” He shouts back.

“It’s not even a word,” A kid muttered

“I created it!” Christian says. “Like Rhys who created ‘Tenteen.’”

“Alright,” Mr. Smith said. “Now, your homework is to find the main character and what character trait can describe him. In addition, work on finding a group for your project. You will need to create a movie trailer for one of the stories in this book and a poster. You may work with groups up to five people. Alright folks, time to go”

As soon as I packed my stuff and exited the room, Cheyenne pops out of the doorway after the pop three, comes running up to me, jumping up and down.

“Can I join with you?” She demands as she hops up and down around me in circles.

“Calm down, will you? Of course I’ll join with you.” I sighed.

“Yes! Just one thing, we might pair up with Luna and Madison,” she says softly.

“They don’t want to work with Luna’s friends, Helen, or Phoenix?” I ask.

“Yea, but Helen is going on a trip, and Phoenix will be working with her boyfriend, Henry, and the pop three,” She says.

“Well, okay, I guess, so long as we can cooperate, I’m fine with it” I shrug.

“Okay, come one, let’s get to our science class” She says, a bit too happily.

“Calm down, Cheyenne” I say, ignoring the stares from the other kids.

As we enter our Physics class, with Mr. Simmons, we take our seats, and grab our notebooks. He is writing an equation down, probably for our lesson, and everyone, besides the two lovebirds copy it down. George and Alicia hold hands, and talk lovey dovey, as they slowly take their notebooks out.

“George! Alicia! Sit down and copy this down,” Mr. Simmons yells, and the couple sits down, blushing at each other stupidly.

“Okay class, we’re going to start in on the equations quickly, so grab your books and try and solve questions 1-6, in your notebook,” he explains quickly.

As always, I am the first to finish, but I act as if I’m still working. The questions were easy, taking me only one or two minutes on each, the last being the hardest, for I had to explain how each step affected the outcome. Mr. Simmons then takes out the globe for some odd reason. He looks at it carefully, looking for something. He seems to find it then puts it away.

After class is over, we have our last elective to go to. I chose year booking, a fun class that gave me a full credit for fine arts, getting that out of the way, would open up other options. I sit down quietly in my assigned seat, next to three popular people.

“Hey Jaykub,” they said, and turn on their computers. I smile, and then turn mine on.

“Hey guys, did you guys hear what happened at lunch?” Phoenix’s friend, Crystal had said, dropping her bag on the floor.

“What? What happened at lunch?’ Elizabeth asked.

“That bastard Reece broke up with me!” Crystal shouts.

“Aww, was it another girl?” Phoenix said sweetly.

“Yea that piece of s***, Heather was hugging and kissing him,” she shouted. I sighed and continued working. There was a moment of silence before Elizabeth stared at me, but I continued working.

“Hey Jaykub, how come your eye is swollen everyday? I’ve always wanted to know why,” she asked as I looked up. I hesitated, and then shrugged.

“Oh, it looks pretty bad; you ain’t going to put a band-aid?” Crystal continues, noticing it too.

I shake my head, “No, I’m fine”

They let the subject slide, and then begin talking about their problems. I ignore them, and stay focused.


“Jay! Wait up!” Cheyenne yells, running towards me.

“Yea, what’s up?” I ask.

“You want to come to my house and work on the English project?” She says after catching her breath.

“Uuhh, I’d have to ask my father, though,” I respond.

“Well, my mom could pick you up after you ask,” she suggests.

“I’ll just go to your house after school, no point in walking to mine and then head out afterwards.” I reply.

“But, your father,” she says softly, and I shrug.

“It’s not like he would care. He might just be happy about me leaving,” I respond.

“You sure? I don’t want your father getting madder because of this”

“I’m sure he’d be fine,” I say reassuringly.

“Okay, here,” she takes out a pencil and paper. “Here’s my address”

“So, after school” I ask.

“Yea, my Mom’s cool with friends coming over,” she says, smiling big, and exposing her dimples.

“Okay, well, let’s get to our advisory,” she says.

“Cheyenne, I have a different advisory then you,” I say smiling at her foolishness.

“I knew that, okay,” she said dumbfounded. I laugh and shake my head as I walk to my last class with Mrs. Gano.

“Okay, class, we have a lockdown drill tomorrow, so don’t panic when our siren system goes off, like one of my last year student did.

A couple of the students laughed.

“I’m serious, so now we have about five minutes of class, you can work on your other classes work, or you can have study hall quietly,” she announces then turns to something on her desk. I sit quietly looking at Cheyenne’s directions to her house, and I tried to picture where it was. I sigh in frustration knowing only part of the roads here.

The bell rings, and all of us try to exit as quickly as we can. I finally exit the door when Mrs. Gano stops me.

“Jaykub, I wanted to know what happened to your eye, could you please tell me,” she says sweetly. We are the only two in the room, but I still feel uncomfortable.

“You could have asked me in advisory or homeroom,” I muttered.

“I know, but I didn’t want to embarrass you. Your eye hasn’t gotten better since last week, I am quite worried,” she says, frowning.

“I don’t know,” I try to lie, but she knows me better than this.

“Jaykub...” She warns.

“You can ask Mr. Bates, if you’d like, but I have to go now,” I say, leaving the room, turning around the corner, and hoping she would leave me alone.

I reach for the directions and try to follow them as best as I can.


I stare at the tall house. It is no mobile home. It’s what most would call a regular house, but I call it a mansion, with the tall glass windows, and the neutral-colored paint on top of the concrete walls, the nice flowerbeds and trees outlining their yard, their cobblestone path leading to their doorstep and a path extending to a metal shaded gazebo, and their benches. I notice the car, a nice slick black Scion. It’s beautiful, I think to myself. What I’d give for a house like this.

I walk up to the porch and knock. What appears to be Cheyenne’s mom opens the door. “Hello, you are Jay, yes?” She asks with the same bright smile as Cheyennes.

“Yes” I say shyly.

“Please, come in, I’ll go get Cheyenne,” she says sweetly.

“Thank you” I say, stepping inside to the house. I take a whiff of the air, nearly shocked at how it felt; clean, open, and not like my house.

I’m nearly dreaming inside, that I nearly jump when Cheyenne says, “Jay!”

“Hi Cheyenne,” I say, “I love this house, it’s so…” I can’t describe it.

“Thanks, come on, let’s get to working,” she says.

“So, what story are we doing?” I ask.

“Um, I haven’t decided yet, oh, and you can sit down if you want, there’s plenty of chairs.

“No, its okay, I’m fine,” I respond, shaking my head slowly.

“Okay, well, I like ‘Kaleidoscope’, but we’d need a lot of people, and then there’s ‘The Rocket’, we would just need 2-3 kids, but I can ask a neighbor or someone from school,” she says, twirling her pen in her hands.

“Cool, does your dad or mom have a camera we can use for the video?” I ask.

She sighs, and then replies, “I have a camera I share with my mom”

“Okay, do you or your parents have an editing software?” I say.

“Yea, it’s hooked up in our laptop and our desktop both” She smiles. “So, ‘The Rocket’, or something else?”

“Um, anyone’s fine with me” I shrug. “What materials would we need?”

“Um, I don’t know yet, we’ll decide that later, and Jay...” She mumbles before hesitating. “One more thing”

“Yea”

She clears her throat, “I don’t have a dad. He died in a car accident”

Chapter 3

“Everything that we see, is a shadow cast by that which we do not see”
-Martin Luther King Jr.


Nothing could prepare us for what could happen next. Not even Mrs. Gano’s or Mr. Bates words.

“What?” I say, not knowing what to say.

“You alright?” She asks and I shake my head.

“But-I never thought…” I falter.

“What that I would have family problems too?” She says smiling. I just stare, still speechless.

“But, you seem fine; you never said anything about it,” I point out.

“Like you said, I’m a special person,” she chuckled.

“Touché,” I mutter.

“You don’t take French,” she said back.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

“Same reason why you didn’t tell me about your father before we came close,” she smiled half-heartedly.

“But we’re close now, and you still haven’t told me this,” I point out.

“Well, I was always worried that my troubles weren’t as important as yours were,” she says softly.

“Not having a father is really bad,” I state.

“Having one that hurts you all the time is really bad too,” She says plainly.

“I’m used to it,” I lie.

“Yea, well I’m used to it too, I don’t want my father around either.”

“Wait, how’d he get in the crash?” I asked. She sends a glare telling me to drop the subject. I sigh and let it slide.


“Hey, it’s getting late, I better head home,” I say finally.

“It’s only six o’clock,” She states, pointing to the clock.

“It’s getting late,” I say, hoping she understands. “My father would be upset by now.”

“Jay, I mean come on-“

“I really should get going,” I cut in.

“Fine, but try not to get that beaten up today, alright?”

I smile, and look back at her, “Can’t make any promises.”

She shakes her head; “Okay” She mutters and waves as I exit the door.
I head home, the sun setting. I stare at the majestic colors smeared in the sky, and smile, as I look down and keep walking. Once I come near the trailer park, I can hear the laughs and the smell of beer escaping the window. I scowl silently, and sigh as I step up the porch.

“Where have you been?!” he shouts, and I’m surprised to have only seen James, and Ed. Barkley wasn’t here unless he had left to puke or something.

“I was at a friend’s house,” I murmur, placing my bag on the side

“Don’t you ever do that again. We had a rule boy, and that’s to go to school, come home, and listen to me!” he shouted, as I heard the affect of beer in his voice. Snickers could be heard from Ed and James.

“I’m sorry” I lie.

“Sorry!? Sorry! Is that all you have to say to me?” He demanded. The two men were laughing hard. I repeated my ‘Sorry’. As I did, he aimed the bottle at my head. His accuracy and judgment was terrible that I barely had to block it.

“Get over here now!” He shouted in front of my face. I stay still, ready for the blow to start their entertainment. I close my eyes, and he uses his grip to make them reopen, I widen my eyes at how close his face was to mine. With his hand on my throat, I can’t do much, but when he throws me against the floor, I am able to back up on my elbows. He scowls then turns around, setting his beer on the table, he goes in the kitchen and grabs the keys from the key holder. I furrow my brow not knowing what is going on. I turn to the sound of laughs and snickers, for they seem to know what he was doing. I gasp slightly, and realized that he had the tape in his back pocket. I see him reach for the bat leaning against the window and start to panic.

“Come here,” he says before walking wobbly over to me, with the bat swaying in his hands. I shut my eyes before I can see the bat ram itself against my ribs. I wince at the horrible pain and dare myself to look. He had already placed the bat on the side and was beginning to unravel the tape.

The tape held stretched tightly against my wrists in front of me, cutting off my circulation, and the tape made my lungs burn as I could only breathe through my nose. My ribs were on fire, feeling broken almost, and I can barely see, black spots had already begun to dance in my eyes.

“Where should we take him?” Ed says, as I can hear James laughing hysterically.

“That old cliff over by that bridge,” James says finally yelling. I can hear a loud crunching noise and I realize I’m in my fathers red pick up truck, being carried off somewhere.

“Did you bring the empty beer bottles?” My father asks, as I can’t see straight I just listen carefully.

“Why would we forget?” they ask.

“Just making sure,” my father replies.

“It’s starting to rain Terrance,” James notices.

“So what?!” he snaps.

“Just thought I’d point that out,” he replied. The truck screeched to a halt, making my head slam into one of the walls of the truck. I finally heard the trunk open, and someone pulling me out, dragging me somewhere.

“Ed, grab the bottles,” my father commanded. The hands I recognize are my fathers. He grabs my cuffed wrists and drags me towards what I believe is the cliff.

“Do you think he’ll be alright during that fall?” James asks.

“It’s only a twenty foot drop and the cliff ain’t that steep, just the last part of it,” my father exclaims. I sigh, knowing this’ll be probably more steep than he thinks.

“Alright, we just leave ‘um here Terrance?” Ed asks.

“Ehh,” My father says. “If he can watch the mother die, I’m sure he can make it back home.”

“Alright, grab a beer bottle guys and start throwing!” James says still delirious. I sigh and shut my eyes tighter, expecting the glass to hurt. For highly drunk and intoxicated people, they had good aim, and I wince at every bottle. Once they’re finished, I open my eyes slowly; to see that they were just starting to drive off. I shake my head, and reach up, peeling off the tape on my mouth, breathing deeply again. I try to find the largest piece of glass, and I try desperately to cut the tape through. I cut my skin badly at times, wincing but still try, and when I finally get it loose enough, I shake the pain away.

I check my surroundings to see I am near a lake, and I can feel the rain start to pour. I sigh then try to stand up. I fall at least three times before actually carrying my own weight. I then lean against the cliff until I reach the bridge where I pull myself up. I start walking, knowing I won’t be allowed in the house until he’s asleep, and I painfully make my way to the park. The rain seems unstoppable now; soaking me to the bone just like Simmons did in the ‘Long rain’, a perfect night to videotape this scene.

Cars drive by and stare but I don’t look, I mainly limp my way there, and they seem to go on. My head is pounding, and I get very dizzy. I start to panic when I get nauseous, because this has never happened to me. I got so bad that I vomited in the bushes. I couldn’t help it, and I finally fell to my knees and just stayed still thinking about this night. They must have drugged me, I thought, then slowly closed my eyes.


“Jay? Jay?” Cheyenne woke me up. I looked around to see I was in class, starting to fall asleep.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“You alright?” she asked. “You look so tired; you could barely talk to Mr. Bates this morning”

“I’m just tired,” I yawned then slowly closed my eyes. She snapped her fingers in my face.

“Get up, you’ll get in trouble,” she sighed.

“I’m too tired to move,” I mumbled, before falling back to sleep.

“Jay, what happened last night? You need to talk,” she insisted.

“No…” I slurred. She sighed.

“Jay, I mean it, you-“ The siren blared, waking me up completely. She smiled and dragged me to the corner of the room.

Ms. Gano furrowed her brow, “The siren wasn’t supposed to blare until advisory, what’s going on?” Most of the students screamed, especially Henry and the ‘Pop 3’.

“Jay, do you know what’s going on?” she asks.

“How would I know, I was trying to sleep,” I say exasperated, still shaken up from the siren. The announcer spoke up.

“THIS IS NO DRILL, REMAIN CLAM, GUNMAN ON CAMPUS, I REPEAT, REMAIN CALM.”

“J-Jay, do you know what’s going on?”

“Just stay calm,” I reassure her. “Move back, make sure everyone’s safe. If the gunman barges through here, we must stay hidden, or as hidden as possible.”

“How do you know this?” She demands.

I shrug, “My father?” In the back, we hear a small noise coming from the corner. It’s Luna, shrieking helplessly, deathly afraid of this lockdown. Mario hears it too, and he scoots closer to her, she looks up and stops trembling when he sits right next to her. Everyone smiles, but only for a second, because the gunman barged through our doors, pointing the gun at our class. Cheyenne squeezes my arm tight, deathly afraid.

“Breathe,” I whisper very slightly. “Count to ten, Breathe” I say to no one in particular. I open my eyes and gulp nearly fainting to see who the gunman is.

It’s Barkley Bradbury, my father’s best friend. He scowls and smiles menacingly at me, recognizing me immediately.

Cheyenne’s knuckles turn white as she grabs my arm tighter. Barkley then raises his gun, straight towards us, and I furrow my brow when he aims not at me, but Cheyenne.

And that’s when the shooting starts.


You could say it was an act of pure protection, or you could say it was because I wanted to be dead, but in my eyes, I had no clue why I had jumped in front of that bullet. Sure, I did want Cheyenne to be safe, but I surely didn’t want that bullet in my shoulder. No matter what, I have no idea.

The last few minutes had slowed down. My vision was worse than the night before, my energy completely sapped, and I could no longer feel anything on my arm. I could hear the screams and other firings, but I couldn’t react to them like the first one. I could take in the worried face of Cheyenne, and the screams emanating from the rest of the class, but no matter what I felt…dead. I didn’t feel completely dead, because I was breathing, and seeing, and all my other senses were working, it just felt like my whole body was numb, and failed to cooperate.

Most of all though, I felt hopeless, and I was soon to learn, hope was the least of my worries.

Chapter 4

“You can discover what your enemy fears most by observing the means of what he uses to frighten you”
-Eric Hoffer


Fear has a funny way of ruining everything. It can hit you like tidal wave, everything so calm, and quiet, and then it suddenly hits you.

Same thing had happened as I lay in the hospital bed. I can’t remember all of what happened since I was shot, but I remember seeing the worried faces of my classmates. I remember hearing more gunshots as I was on the ground. Two, three, four people got shot I believe. Mario, for one, then my teacher, Austria, and I believe Henry too. I can’t remember for sure, but I do remember their screaming.

I slowly wake up to someone call my name. I see the nurse, Marissa De La Cruz her nametag says, and I smile half-heartedly.

“I see your up,” She smiles pleasantly, with a clipboard in her hand. I hear the machine beeping again and I see the tube connecting to my arm, keeping me on fluids of some sort. “I was getting worried, you wouldn’t get up.”

I look around the bright room, noticing how clean it is and see a bag on one of the chairs near the window. I try to get up, but the nurse’s hand clamps my right shoulder.

“No, don’t get up,” and I see why, my left shoulder starts throbbing from the wound.

“Whose bag is that?” I sound terrible, my voice sounding worse than a croaking frog.

“She said she was one of your friends, she had to use the restroom. She should be back soon. What was her name? Cher, Cheyenne?” She mutters. I widen my eyes at the name of Cher, my mother’s name. Then I relax knowing that was Cheyenne’s bag. I should’ve known I thought. She’s the only one with that kind-of bag.

“Cheyenne,” I respond, and she nods.

“That’s it, here you should drink some water, and Dr. Peter should be here shortly to check up on you,” she says sweetly, handing me a bottle.

“Thanks,” I say awkwardly, not knowing how to accept this, I normally drink from the tap. I struggle opening the cap, since my shoulder refrains movement from my left arm.

“Jay? You’re up?” I hear Cheyenne say a bit loudly. I turn to her direction, and I’m afraid she’ll squeeze me to death, but she stops herself and just smiles, her excitement all in her smile.

“Yea,” I say softly. She rolls her eyes.

“Your voice sounds so raspy, oh well, at least you can talk, and the doctor said you might not be able to form words, but look now!” She rushes; spitting out words like a dragon spits fire.

“I know,” I say after the nurse opens the cap for me. I take a sip, and then smile.

“I can’t believe that shooter!” She says finally. “He goes and shoots like four five people, then shoots himself, it was terrifying, I’m just glad you’re okay,” she smiles.

“Me too,” I say back, thinking about Barkley, with his gun.

“I was terrified,” she says. “The gun seemed to aim at me for a second, and then you came out of no where, and then he shoots. It was crazy”

The memory finally dawns onto me clearly. The actual picture entering my head like a crab trap, it cannot escape. I gasp slightly, and then sigh.

“You alright? You seem a bit dazed still yet,” she mutters. The nurse clears her throat.

“The firing was very traumatic for him; he might be like this for a while till he can get over that fear. This may take longer then a year before he can fully start to recover,” she says, and I shake my head.

“That’s a long time” She says my words exactly. There is a knock at the door and I see a tall, dark with bits of white haired man, which I conclude is the doctor.

“Hello Jaykub, I’m Dr. Peter, I hope you are feeling better after that long…nap,” he says the last word, as if he cannot figure out quite how to put it.

“A bit,” I murmur, as Cheyenne gets up, and if on cue walks near her bag.

“Well, the wound is healing up nicely, and luckily we got to clean it up before you lost too much blood. A blood transfusion will not be needed at this time, figuring that we already had sealed up the wound and it seems that you’ll be up and walking in just a few days. You’ll be here for about a week, only for the rest, and the trauma assessment, which will only be the few last days,” he says, my head spinning at all the words. Traumatic, transfusion, wound, healing, is the main words stuck in my head, swirling with other words that seem to be trapped in my head.

“Dr. Peter, wouldn’t you need Mr. Duane’s legal guardian or parent to sign these?” She waves the clipboard.

“Ah, yes,” he raises his voice. “Jaykub, is there anyone that could sign these forms for the medical costs?”

I furrow my brow, then think of my father. I blink my eyes rapidly and Cheyenne catches my eye. Luckily, she speaks up. “My mom could pick him up that day, we live near each other”

“I need a parent or guardian to sign these,” he repeats.

She is about ready to protest, but then I croak, “my father.”

“Yes, how can I reach him? By phone perhaps?” He asks, and I shake my head.

“He won’t answer his phone,” I mutter.

“Email?” he asks. I shake my head.

“He doesn’t have an email,” I say. He sighs.

“Well, we need to contact him somehow,” he said with a bit of frustration in his voice.

“I can ask him,” Cheyenne offers and I widen my eyes shaking my head violently.

“Jay, why not, you are his son, I’m sure he’ll come, please,” she begs. I shake my head.

“Jay, listen, you heard the doctor, and we need your father here.”

“No,” I croak. She bites her lip, but I beg her with silence.

“So, we’ll just have to wait, how ‘bout your address?” he asks.

I sigh, “The trailer park near the school, our trailer’s closest to the forest,” I mutter.

“Well, once we get down there, we’ll figure things out,” He sighs. I sigh, and then relax a bit, trying to fall asleep again. I am extremely tired and I don’t want to be awake when my father is around knowing I will hear it from him if I am awake.


I soon wake up, to Cheyenne calling my name. “Jay! Jay!”

“Yea?” I ask, fear written on her face.

“I’m scared,” she says worriedly. I see it is dark outside, by the pale outlining of her face.

“Of what?”

“That machine, the one next to you, I keep having a dream it’ll stop beeping and will never beep again,” she says curled up in a blanket that she probably brought from her house. I realize she is talking about the one next to me attached to my arm, and I sigh.

“It’s alright,” I mutter, my eyes trying to fall back down again. “Just go back to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep, I keep having that dream,” She frowns.

“I can’t do anything about that,” I sigh.

“Just stay up with me,” she begs.

I shake my head, “Shouldn’t you be at your house?”

“My mom said I could stay here,” she murmurs. “Please, I want you to talk about something”

“Like what?” I ask.

“Stop being so hard about this, sheesh, okay, how about your past? You never told me much about it,” she mutters.

“Like what? I already told you, what my father does. That my mom’s dead,” I sigh. “There’s nothing much to tell”

She hesitates, “Tell me about your mom.”

It’s my turn to hesitate, the same image from when I was eight still haunting me. I shut my eyes trying to imagine happy thoughts of her. “She was pretty, really pretty, and very sweet”

“I figured you would get her genes not your fathers” She smiled.

“She looks like you almost, the same braid you wore when we first met, when I was in the field, you remember?”

“I remember,” she smiles pleasantly as if she remembers it clearly.

“She has my eyes, and she had the biggest dimples you would have ever seen” I yawn. “She hated my father when he started hitting me. I was about five. It was mainly because he had gotten drunk when his boss fired him - he was really drunk.

“Go on,” she murmured.

“Most importantly, she loved me everyday like it was the end of the world, no matter how tough it was after the divorce. She would tell me everyday, every night, that she loved me and promised she’d never go back to my father,” I stop, not wanting to say what had happened my eighth birthday.

“And then what?” She asked.

“My eighth birthday came, and my mother received a call from my father.” I freeze the memory hitting me like a tidal wave. “My father then hit her that day, and when I tried to stop him, he-he slapped me and then ki-killed my mother” I replied, remembering the memory clearly. Cheyenne looked down, and stayed silent, shame, had crossed her face.

I look up at her and she turned away. I gulp, “And since then he has had custody of me. He blamed me for killing my mother.”

“I-I’m so sorry,” she says, barely audibly.

“Oh, don’t be, the memory always haunts me, I just try and ignore it.” I say quickly. She then surprises me; she takes her warm gentle hand and holds my cold one, and squeezes it tightly.

“I didn’t know that’s what had happened. No wonder you don’t like the mention of death or ‘family problems’. You have your own,” she says sweetly. I look up to see her eyes filled with tears. I smile then bring our hands to her face, where I wipe the tears away.

“Don’t you cry on me,” I say, smiling. “It makes me feel bad,” she smiled, and I chuckled.

“How do you stay so calm about this?” she says.

“Look who’s talking, you don’t have a dad,” I point out. “Isn’t that hard to deal with too?”

“No, knowing that you get abused everyday, and lost your mom because of your father, I’m not that upset at my family issues. I’m more upset at your father than anyone else.”

“At least my father’s trying, it’s not like he threw me on the side of the curb and left me to die,” I say.

“Jay, being abused is about as equivalent as that,” she snaps back playfully.

“But, I’m used to it,” I say back.

“Ugh, why don’t you get some rest, Jay,” she says.

“I thought you wanted me to stay up with you,” I replied.

“I lied,” she says back as she sits down on her chair. I roll my eyes as she literally knocks out once her head touches the pillow.

I sigh and fall asleep too, listening to the muted sound of the machine.


When I awake, I awaken to the sound of my voice being called. The voice I notice almost immediately.

“Jay! Jay! Get up, boy!” My father shouts.

Chapter 5

“Faith is taking the first step, even when you don’t see the whole staircase”
-Martin Luther King Jr.


My eyes widen and to my dismay at my father’s concerned face. I feel his warm hands grab my right shoulder, and I start to panic.

“Are you alright?” he says frantically and I cannot help but stare, for I feel terrified as to what will happen next.

“Y-yes,” I mutter, as he lightens his grip I tense my whole body, knowing I am most vulnerable in this bed.

“Damn Barkley,” he shouts. I close my eyes remembering the rage in Barkley’s face as he pointed the gun in our direction. “Can’t believe he’d do that,” he continues.

I blink, unable to speak; instead, I search the room for Cheyenne, who I can’t find. Her bag and blanket missing, I start to panic, wanting desperately to be reassured she is fine.

“Are you okay?” He asks and I look back at him, his unusual black eyes seeming to be clam and not in rage.

“I-I’m fine” I say quietly.

“I’m not going to hurt you now, you can calm down, boy,” he says, but I do not believe a word he says. I breathe heavily, as if we were back in the house.

“Calm down, can’t rise your blood pressure, or they’ll put you on some meds” he replies, sitting at the edge of the bed like a concerned father would have.

I remain silent. “Look kid, I heard about it on the news, I freaked,” he pauses. “I knew Barkley hated you from the start, just-just not this much”

I gulp still wary of what he is saying. He looks up to see if I am listening, but I stay silent.

“I can’t believe he would do that to you,” he mutters, scratching the back of his head. “How’s your arm doing?”

“Good,” I reply softly, even though I know he meant to say shoulder.

He sighs as he stares at me, then looks away, “Look, I’m sorry for what Barkley did to you, in a way, I’m glad he’s gone,” he says slowly.

“Barkley was your friend,” I point out.

He shakes his head, “Even if he were alive I’d hate him, he was always stealing our stuff, I thought he’d always give it back, but in the end I let it go, seeming though it wasn’t harming us,” he replied. “But look what he did to us now.”

The way he said ‘us’, made me want to scream, but I refrained from doing so.

“I’m fine though, it doesn’t hurt,” I say quietly, still wary of his presence.

“Look at yourself, you’re not fine, you’ve been shot!” he nearly shouts, but contains himself when he sees my wide eyes.

“It doesn’t hurt,” I repeat.

“That’s just all those meds those doctors been giving you,” he mutters, finally gaining his composure.

“I’m fine,” I repeat. “I just want some rest.”

“He could’ve killed you,” He whispered. “I could’ve killed you”

“You weren’t there, at the school. You were at work,” I mutter.

“Not the shooting, boy! I could’ve killed you the night before,” he says abruptly. “Every night I nearly killed you, and I didn’t see the effect of it.”

‘As if’, I want to say, ‘like you’d care’, I want to shout out, but instead I sigh quietly, “I want some rest”

“You get some rest, I’ll pick you up on Thursday” He mutters then leaves, as if he knows what I really wanted. I then sigh and fall into an unconscious state, relaxing every nerve in my body.


I woke up and see my father in a chair dozing off. I swear it’s only Wednesday, but there he is, sitting in the chair. Suddenly I have to sneeze, and I try to hold in it, for I don’t want to disturb him. However, as always, nothing turns out right for me, and I sneeze louder than I usually would have. He jumps, and I keep my hand over my mouth, embarrassed at what I caused.

“Jay, you alright?” he asks after rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“I just had to sneeze,” I say dumbly.

“I heard,” he replies, then yawns.

“You’re here early, I thought the doctor said Thursday,” I mutter.

“Yea but the guys refused to show up at our place, since you weren’t there. I cussed them out and luckily they left.” He sighs.

“Oh, but you came here,” I said quizzically.

“Had nothing better to do,” he said still looking tired.

“I thought you bought another case of beer, and those cigarettes.” I point out; certain he had just recently bought some.

He hesitated before answering. “Yea, well, I decided to come here,” he plainly says, as if he also doesn’t know why he came here.

“Okay,” I mutter. “What about school? Am I going to be behind because of this?”

“I haven’t spoken to the school yet, but your friend that was here, said she’d help you out with it” He muttered. “I don’t remember her name, but she does look a lot like…Cher” I raise my eyebrows, shocked that he said her name; It’s been years since he had said a word about her, to me anyways.

“You remember her braid she’d wear? Her hair looks like hers when hers is down, she also acts like her too,” he continued, his gaze looking distant as he spoke.

“Yea” I say quickly not knowing how to respond. I’m still new to his un-violent nature. “I remember”

“I can’t believe I let her go that way,” he murmurs.

I want to scream at him that it was his fault, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that, it is like my eighth birthday all over again. Instead, I reply, “It’s not your fault” trying not to sound sarcastic.

When he turns to me and starts yelling, I widened my eyes afraid once more, until I make out what he has said. “It damn right it is! I killed her! I put her through that-you through that, and more importantly, me through that!”

“I-I killed her,” I murmur remembering what he had told me millions of times, not wanting him to put all of that weight on his shoulders.

“That was a lie! I kept denying that! I was putting everything on you, without realizing it; I am the person who killed her! Okay, in all due respect, I should’ve been punished!” I flinch as he continues to shout.

“So what if you killed her, you didn’t mean to, it was all just a mistake,” I murmur.

“You’re saying abusing my son, putting him through hell, letting him watch his own mother’s death is all a mistake?” he shouts I flinch when he says ‘son’, because he has never called me son since my mother’s death.

I remain silent, not knowing anything else comforting.

“It’s all my fault,” he mutters sadly. “Everything.”

“No it’s not; your firing from that boss wasn’t your fault. Having me was a big mistake too, and that wasn’t your fault either. Having a friend like Barkley wasn’t your fault,” I reply.

He tries to protest but can’t find the words to say.

“Beating me wasn’t your fault either,” I continued, my face flushing, forgetting I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.

“What?” he asks. “I started it; I’m the one who threw the punch!” he protests.

I sigh remembering Barkley’s dead. “You don’t remember do you?”

“Remember what?” he spat.

“Barkley threw the first punch, you two were drunk and when he punched me, and he convinced you it was alright. You then joined in”

“H-He threw the first punch?” my father says, shock written on his face.

I nod, “Yes, Barkley told everyone that you threw the first punch, when he was the actual one to do so”

He gasps, “And you never said anything?!” He demands. I flinch and clench my teeth.

“He told me not to tell anyone, or else he’d kill me,” I mutter remembering the day vividly.

“You could’ve told me!” he shouts.

“I was afraid to,” I confess.

“Afraid of what?!” he demands.

I shut my eyes and gulp, I try to spit it out, but my vocal chords shut down, I can’t speak.

“Afraid of what?!” he repeats, but I can no longer say anything.

I bite my lip, then mutter ever so softly, “You.”

Chapter 6

“I do the very best I can to look up upon life with optimism and hope and looking forward to a better day, but I don’t think there is any such thing as complete”
-Rosa Parks


I breathe heavily; glad I finally relieved myself from that burden.

“Me?” he asks. My lip begins to tremble but I force my head to nod. For a moment, it is quiet, and I enjoy the silence.

“Why-Why me?” he asks.

“I was afraid you’d be mad, upset, mainly at me though,” I mumble.

“You? Why’d I be upset at you? I’d be mad at Barkley, if you would’ve told me sooner, I’d get him out of our lives, then you wouldn’t be here, in a hospital bed!” He exclaims, emotion I do not recognize in my father’s eyes.

“I-I don’t know” I mutter. Dr. Peter walks into the room.

“Are you too ready to sign out? Jaykub here is recovering better than we thought.”

My father looks up for a moment then back at me. “Yea, sure” When my father checks the paper, his lips begin to tremble.

“M-may I use the monthly payment?” he sighs.

“Uh, yes sure, just check the box down below,” Dr. Peter says. The shock on my father’s face had already told me that it was expensive.

“Alright, thank you,” he says and exits the room.

“Sorry about that” I mutter, wincing like I did the last time I had said that to him.

Instead of a yell, he sighs, “It’s alright, blame Barkley for that, and thank God it wasn’t an organ he hit”

“Yea, we should get going,” I mutter, but in truth I’d rather stay here, more comfort, and protection from the blows I’ll probably receive at home.


I try and get into the backseat of the truck, but he stops me. I look at him for a second.

“You can sit in the front if you’d like.” He mutters. I shake my head and sit in the back. As he drives out of the lot, surprisingly soberly, I stare at the sign and have a bad feeling I’ll be back here soon. I can’t seem to make out why I think that, but I shake that thought away, and think of the tons of homework I’ll have to make up.

“Some reporter guy wanted to interview you about the shooting,” he says as we are halfway home. “I told him I’d like to ask you before I went through with it, so if you’d like they could bring some reporters and do a story on it. It’s all up to you though.” By the tone of his voice, he sounds like he wants to go through with it, so I just nod my head like I usually do.

“Sure” I murmur. When we pass the bridge I was thrown down, I can hear him sigh and speed a bit faster then he was earlier. I shake my head, and think of how it would be to be interviewed. Probably very scary, I think, and nerve wrecking.

When we turn into the trailer park, I sigh remembering all the memories at once. The times I had to sleep in the rain, the times I had to pound on the door and beg him to open up.

As soon as we get in the house, I sense something is different. I hesitate, then step in once my father’s booming voice replied, “Come on now.”

Immediately, as if I had just come home from school, I sit on my couch, expecting what I usually do, the three boys drinking and smoking while they wait for their entertainment; me.

Instead, my father heads into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of water, and tosses it to me. I catch it and stare at the thing. I look up at him then back down at the bottle. He starts snickering at my confusion.

“It’s like you’ve never had a water bottle before. You open the cap; lefty loosey, righty tighty,” he mutters.

“I-I know that, it’s just I didn’t think we had these in the fridge, you’ve always made me drink from the tap…” I mutter.

“I bought a pack yesterday,” he grins for the first time; and not from my misery and pain. He goes and sits in one of the chairs at the table.

“So who was that pretty girl that looked like Cher? It started with a ‘C’,” he asked, sipping a beer-for the first time-slowly.

“Cheyenne,” I mutter, taking two gulps of water.

“Ahh, what a nice name, how long have you known each other?” he asks as if asking an old friend.

“Since fifth grade,” I sigh, refraining from indulging myself with the water.

“Long time then, yes?”

“Yes,” I mutter.

“What time is it?” he asks.

I check the clock, “Quarter till Six”

“You must be starved, the hospital food tastes like crap, and I’ll heat up a ‘Hot Pocket’ or something,” he says looking through the freezer.

“It’s okay, I’m not really that hungry anyways,” I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.

“I Insist, just wait a bit, I think I see them,” he shouts from the freezer.

I sigh, knowing it’s no use, and on cue my stomach growls. I roll my eyes.

“I just knew you were hungry,” he laughed, as I shook my head in embarrassment.


“But why would your father suddenly, out of the blue, be nice to you?” Cheyenne asks me. I shrug, Mr. Bates puckering his lips in frustration.

“I have no idea, but it somehow scares me. Like out of the blue, he’ll sneak up on me once I get used to this and start hitting me again,” I mutter, Mr. Bates takes notes.

“Yes, I also agree with Cheyenne here, why he would suddenly act so nice to you after what he did to you the night before the shooting,” Mr. Bates replies not looking up from his notebook

“Like I said, I don’t know, that’s why we both came to you, we wanted to know if you would know,” I murmur.

“Not that I’m upset, but I’m struck that there is no physical bruises or sprains on him today, the only wound present is the one in his shoulder,” Cheyenne continues.

“It is very strange, no screams or verbal abuse at all?” he asks staring at my face for the longest time.

“He only screamed at me because I told him something I should have a long time ago, and I blamed myself for his crime,” I gulp. “Nothing abusive towards me that I know of…”

“What did you say?” Cheyenne asked.

I whisper in her ear, “I told you about her”

“Wh-what do you mean?” She says aloud.

I sigh, “She’s looks like you,” I hint.

“You blamed yourself for that?” she demanded. I nodded, Mr. Bates staring at us as if we were nut heads.

“Well, what about the first thing you said?” She demanded.

“I shouldn’t tell you…” I murmured.

“You will tell me now, mister!” She demanded and I chuckled.

“I feel as if I am counseling newly-weds, please Cheyenne, Jay, stop arguing about it, okay?” We laugh, and sit down quietly, blushing at the idea of newly-weds.

“Alright, so hopefully you two finally have the nerve to tell me, anyways, you better get to class you two” Mr. Bates shook his head.

“Okay,” we mutter.

“See you newly-weds,” he jokes and we both stare at each other as if we know that these are our new nicknames.

I shake my head as I walk down the corridor with Cheyenne.

I smile and blush at the whole time, blushing harder when I notice she’s blushing too. I lower my head towards the ground then look up to see her standing in front of me, blushing like crazy.

“What’s up?” I ask. She smiles, and then messes with my hair, and before we open the door to the class, she turns towards me, wraps her arm around me hugging me tightly and then kisses my cheek.

“Come on fellow newly-wed, let’s go,” she says and I run into the door like a fool, shocked by her earlier action.

Chapter 7

“In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends”
-Martin Luther King Jr.


“Why’d you do that?” I demand at lunch.

“What?” She says happily, as if she had forgotten. I sigh then point at my cheek.

“Oh,” she muttered. “Why, you didn’t like it?” she whispered, sounding dejected.

“Huh?” I say falling for her little schemes. “No, I kind-of liked it…A bit,” I confess.

She chuckles and smiles big, “Good, I thought you’d might.”

“But really, why did you?” I ask seriously.

“Well, you wouldn’t know, but you do that to people you love, like your aunts and uncles”

“I’m not related to you, right? Cause I’d hate that,” I sighed blushing.

“What you wouldn’t want me to be around at family reunions?”

“No, it’s just I really hope we aren’t related,” I hint, but she stares at me with confusion. She then shrugs it off and smiles.

“You sure you don’t want some of my food? The pizza’s great!” She emphasizes before eating a chunk of her pizza, melted cheese oozing and sticking to the plate below.

“I’m fine, and stop eating like a pig,” I exclaim. She laughs and put her pizza down.

“Yea, but seriously, you should try, it’s delicious,” she offers and I shake my head.

“I’m fine Cheyenne, let me finish my homework” I reply.

“Look,” she sighs. “Your father won’t hurt you today, you can relax on your homework, and you can do it at home”

“But I-“

“Stop doing your homework!” she exclaims, cutting me off.

I sigh seeing that she is confident, “Okay, but if my father does hit me, I’ll blame my late homework on you” I mutter, placing my books in my bag.

“He won’t hit you,” she says, her eyes soft as my mothers.

“He might, I think he’s just had a drinking withdrawal yesterday, and that’s why he didn’t hit me, I’m sure he’s back to normal by now,” I reply, as she shakes her head.

“Your father seemed really nice when he talked to me, he was just a bit concerned and overly protective at the time, but that’s normal for a parent to say when their kid has gotten hurt,” she mutters.

I snicker, “How would you know? You said you were tired that morning.”

“What you think my mother wasn’t overly protective when the shooting happened? What you think she thought I was one of those kids that gotten shot?” she spats. “Look Jay, parents are always overly protective of their kids, no matter their situation, I lost my dad, and my mom’s still overly protective, your dad is overly protective too!”

“Have you seen my dad? During the beatings, I believe that he wants me dead! You can see it in his eyes!” I nearly shout back, and then blink hard, realizing this is my first argument with Cheyenne, and I do not like that feeling.

“Why do you always say that? That you look into his eyes. If you know there is rage and anger in them, then why even bother looking?” she says softly now, as if she knows our argument has gone a bit too far.

The question hits me hard, ‘Why do I look at them?’ I ask myself.

“I-I don’t know,” I mumble.

“Exactly” She says. A minute later she says, “I’m sorry. About that little fight, I didn’t mean to say that.”

“It’s alright,” I mutter, still thinking about that question.

“I’m serious, I-I don’t know why I did that,” she says her voice cracking here and there.

“Cheyenne, It’s alright, I’m fine about it, I’m sorry too,” I mutter, and then notice that Luna and Madison are walking up to us.

“Hey Cheyenne” says Madison, smiling.

“Hi Jaykub,” Luna mutters quietly, still upset that Mario was in the hospital.

“Hey guys,” Cheyenne mutters.

“So, for the language arts thing, we’re going to do what story again?” Luna asks softly.

“We were either thinking ‘Kaleidoscope’, or some other one,” Cheyenne mutters.

“Well, for the ‘Kaleidoscope’, we’d need many people, how ‘bout ‘the highway’? We could use Jay as the man and Cheyenne, you could be the wife, Luna and I could be the people driving by,” Madison mutters.

“There are two guys in that story,” I point out.

“Well, we’ll just put you as two characters,” Madison smiles.

“It’s a bit hard,” Luna sighs, “How bout the ‘last night of the world’?”

“That involves romance between the couple, don’t you think?” I mumble, I notice Cheyenne blushing.

“So, we don’t have to add that part, it’s just a movie trailer,” Madison mutters, luckily not catching our rosy cheeks.

“Alright, we need to decide on one,” I reply.

“Okay, let’s just agree on the ‘Kaleidoscope,’” Luna murmurs. “I can ask Mario or my brothers to help us out.”

“Thank you Luna, you’re the best, what would you like to do for the trailer?”

“I’ll write the script or anything really,” s he mutters.

“Okay, Jay?” Cheyenne asks.

“I can do the filming or something,” I mutter.


After deciding on our parts for the trailer, Madison asks something, that I don’t want to answer.

“Okay, are we meeting at Jay’s house or Cheyenne’s?”

“Um, probably Cheyenne’s,” I reply

“Why not yours?” she asks. I instinctively looked at Cheyenne for help.

She smiled then looked at Madison, “He doesn’t have the materials at home like I do, and his parents don’t really like other people coming over, the house is a bit small too anyways.” I silently thanked her.

“Ah, okay, so what day should we meet up?” Luna asks.

“How about Friday? Would that be okay with your mom Cheyenne?” Madison suggests.

“Yea, sure,” Cheyenne says.

“I’d have to ask my father…” I whisper to where only Cheyenne hears me. She gives me a reassuring smile.

“So we’re all set, yes?” Luna asks.

“Yup, do I have to bring anything?” I ask.

“No, I don’t think so,” Madison smiles. “Well, we better get going”

“Okay, see you on Friday,” Cheyenne responds. “Where’s Raleigh, she should’ve had a part in this.”

“You didn’t hear what happened?” I ask.

“No, what?”

“In my English class, someone said she tried to commit suicide,” I explain.

“What?!” She demands. “Bu-but Raleigh is so bubbly and stuff.”

“Yea…” I reply. There was no response from Cheyenne; she was just quiet, blinking her eyes trying to figure this out.

“It’s like what Mr. Bates said, looks can be deceiving,” I continue.

“Well, look at yourself!” she snaps. “No one besides me, Mr. Bates, your dad’s friends, and your mom know about the beatings!”

“My dad does too, and I believe Ms. Gano is slowly catching on” I shrug.

“Exactly! They didn’t know it was affecting you for the longest time!” she shouts back.

“Well, they do know, well besides Barkley and my mom since they’re not here anymore,” I say cautiously.

“Still, look, I know you aren’t as bubbly as Raleigh was, but still, she couldn’t take it anymore, which is exactly what’s happening to you. If you don’t let it out, you’ll end up like her!”

“Bubbly and such?” I joke, as she throws another piece of food at my face. This time it was a pepperoni from her pizza.

“It’s no joke,” she says upset.

“I was kidding, gosh,” I mutter, peeling the pepperoni off my face, andreaching for the napkin from her plate, but she swats my hand away.

“Get your own,” she spats. I sigh, grab her napkin anyway, and wipe the grease and oil from my face. She shakes her head. “Pizza face,” she sighs.

I scowl, “That was your fault”

“Whatever,” she scrunches her nose, before taking a bite of her salad.


I stare at the front door, and hear no laughing or any sign of danger. For once it’s calm and quiet. When I step into the house, I smell very little traces of beer, and when I do, it smells old and very faint.

“How was school?” my father says, as I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Fine,” I say softly after I calm myself down.

“Good, hey, you hungry?” he asks, as I widen my eyes. He has never in my life has asked me that, and I’m overwhelmed by it.

“Uh, I’m okay,” unsure by what to say, I nod.

“You need to eat, why don’t I pick up some dinner,” he suggests.

“Nah, I’m not hungry,” I mutter.

“Your going to have to eat sometime or another,” he sighs, grabbing the car keys.

“You watch the house, what kind of food you want?” he asks.

“I’m not hungry, you can decide,” I reply. He sighs.

“Alright,” he says than exits the house. I go and sit down on my bed and wait, as if it was a normal day. But I knew no matter what, this was no normal day for us. He would have his friends over and they be drinking and smoking like crazy. Instead, he was offering food?

I just waited, and waited until there was pounding on the door. I froze then slowly peeked through the peephole. It was Ed. I gasped, at his angered face. He pounded on the door some more, and I just stared in shock. When I saw and recognized what was in his hand I panicked. He had a metal bat and was slamming it angrily on the palm of his hand. I stepped away from the door, terror filling my body.

“Terrance, open up! I know you’re in there!” He shouts, pounding on the door some more. I notice that the windows are letting the light in, meaning he could see through them, and I fiddle with the sheets in the closet and drape it over the metal rod. He must have noticed because I hear loud crunching footsteps before pounding on the glass. I close the small window near the kitchen and put another sheet over that rod, careful not to be seen.

“Terrance!” He shouts, and I breathe heavily. Soon enough I hear a loud crack in the window and glass came flying in. I cover my head instinctively and cower into a corner. Soon enough he’s in the house with the bat in his hand. He scowls and snickers coming closer to me with the bat. But before he swings, he takes out a pocketknife and grabs a fistful of my hair. He drags me to my feet and pins me to the wall, placing the dangerously sharp blade against my throat. I gulp, panic written all over my face.

“You killed Barkley!” He shouts. “Huh?”

I shake my head slowly careful of the blade; not saying a word, for one word could set him off. He snickers, and then raises the bat to my weak shoulder and swung.

I wasn’t used to the pain coming from him, and I winced and crumpled to the floor if he didn’t pin me up against this wall.

“Get up, boy!” I imagine my father saying when the voice belonged to Ed.

I sigh, the metallic taste of blood starting to form in my mouth. He then swings again directly at my head. I fall to the ground ready to pass out from the pain, when I wake up as the knife starts to dig in my throat. I gasp slightly, his weight pinning my wounded shoulder. I gulp then shut my eyes, hoping he’d get it over with.

I jump once the front door is swung opened.

“Ed!” My father snarls, tossing the food on the couch, and then taking action by pushing him off me. “Get off of him!”

Ed snickers as he is suddenly pushed off me. “I was just helping you get started Terrance, after all he did kill the mother.”

I stare at the anger-filled eyes of Ed as he puts the blade away. “That’s a lie!” My father shouts.

“How do you know? How do you know that boy is lying? After all, he’s been with mother for three whole years without you,” he snarls, and my father gasps slightly, and then shakes his head.

“Get out of my house, before I call the cops on you! They already have a file for you,” my father screams checking my eye, making me flinch under his touch.

“I’d be glad too; I hate your guts anyway. How do you know that little runt of yours lied to you and killed Barkley? I mean come on who trusts the media anyways?” he replies, before stepping out of the house. My father’s eyes filled with anger, but surprisingly the anger wasn’t set on me. He gets up, and then steps out behind Ed. I hear a fight starting and I shake my head. Swearing and punches could be heard from inside the house. I gulp daring myself to look. My father’s left eye swollen and gashed, had punched uselessly at Ed, but we both knew that Ed had the advantage. He had the bat in one hand and the knife in another, swinging desperately at my father. I look away, wincing as Ed swung the knife at my father’s arm. Then I look up, when I hear a grunt coming from my father as he nearly stumbles. And I see why; Ed had swung the bat at my father’s head, and had hit him directly in the temple. My father then yells at Ed uselessly to leave us alone.

“Get out!” he shouts. “My son did not do anything to you!” Once again, he slashes at my father hitting him where I believe in the chest. My father then crumples to the ground, moaning in pain, and I suddenly feel bad. Ed then raises the bat over his head and I realize what he is about to do.

“Get up Terrance,” he coos. “Or you’ll end up like Barkley-dead.” Before he can slam the bat against my crippled father, I jump and tackle him.

“Lay off!” I yell, surprised by sudden outburst. He scowls then runs off not looking back. I sigh heavily then remember my father. I look back and gulp He looks worst than I did the night before the shooting. He’s still breathing, but the way he’s positioned and the small puddle of blood makes him look worst. I turn him onto his back and try to wake him back up. He moans a bit then I hear a slight sigh escape him. He slowly opens his black eyes, and tries to put them to focus as he stares at me in disbelief.

“You alright?” he asks, and I shake my head, nearly laughing at the unbelievable response.

“The question is, are you alright?” I say my eyes still wide with fright.

He chuckles, “Yea, I am actually.”

“Come on, I don’t know what am I supposed to do. I can’t drive you to the hospital and I certainly can’t carry you there with this shoulder,” I whisper.

“I’ll be fine just grab the first aid kit and help me up,” he says using all of his strength to lift his upper half up. Blood seeps through his shirt and drips to the floor in a continuous pattern.

“Stay still, you’re going to hurt yourself more,” I say, as he starts to laugh silently.

“Now I know how it feels to be you,” he says. “I don’t remember my pop hitting me this bad.”

“Huh?” I ask.

“What, you think I was a well treated kid back then too? I got beaten too,” he whispers.

“Let’s get those wounds cleaned,” I say. “Then you can talk all you want.”

Chapter 8

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that”
-Martin Luther King Jr.


“Wait, he was really cool with it?” Cheyenne asks reaching for the first aid kit in Mr. Bate’s office.

“Well, he was upset at Ed, I don’t know about me,” I try to explain.

“But, you kind of let Ed know you were home, and that’s why all the glass got broken,” she points out as I shrug.

“Yea, well, Ed was kind-of drunk at the time and wanted to kill the both of us, and if my father was mad at me, he would have hit me, unless, of course he was too weak too, which is also possible,” I mutter. Mr. Bates continues to write, his hand working like a machine.

“Kind-of?” she asks

“Okay, he was highly drunk, and anyway my father was being nice to both of us, if he wanted to kill Ed, the police would’ve been chasing him down by now,” I sigh. She finally figures out how to open the kit and then grabs those cleaning, anti-bacterial wipes, and starts to wipe my temple. I flinch at the coolness of the rag, and watch closely as she peels the backing. She then places the band-aid on my eye, before grabbing an icepack.

“Hold this,” she says placing it in place for me.

“I know what to do,” I say back. “I’ve done this before, remember?”

“I know, but I’m making sure Ed didn’t hit you that hard,” I shake my head at her response.

“No he didn’t, just about two swings with the bat, nothing much,” I mutter.

“Yea, yea,” she chuckled. “So what is your dad doing now?” she asked.

“Probably drinking, smoking a few cigarettes and/or making sure his cuts and bruises are healing.”


“Hey Jaykub, you meeting us at Cheyenne’s house?” Luna asks me in our English class.

I nod; “Yea, I just have to grab something from home after school, and then I’ll come over,” I lie.

“Okay, you’re videotaping right?” she asks.

“Yea, if you want me to, it doesn’t matter what I do,” I reply.

“Okay, see you there,” she says, returning to her seat, sits down and starts reading her prized book, The Hunger Games. I swear that girl has read that book over a thousand times, and yet she still smiles at almost every page.

“Okay class, we are reading the short story, ‘The Rocket’ in the Illustrated Man, please turn to page 177 in your books,” Mr. Smith says.

“Wait, what are we doing?” says Kaleb, a clueless kid who had recently transferred said.

“Go to page 177,” I whisper. He silently thanks me as I chuckle remembering that he always zoned out.

“Get to reading,” our teacher says as he sits down and starts the audio reader.


After everyone finishes it, everyone starts asking questions.

“Wait, why is it supposed to be scary? It’s not at all,” Madison says.

“That’s because there is an important theme,” Our teacher explains, does anyone know what it is?” Our teacher says smiling like an idiot.

“How are we supposed to know?” Christian asks.

“Well, you need to know that to finish the packet and to study for your summative,” he says.

“What?” he demands. “No one told me that!”

“Well, you better figure it out,” he says. “Okay, who can tell me what you like the most? That could help you out.”

I raise my hand, “The way he used his imagination to make his family happy,” I say honestly.

“Okay and the theme was…” Our teacher hinted. “Something to do with the rocket.”

“The money spent on it had to do something right?” Austria speaks up.

“Thank you, and what did it contribute to Fiorella Bidoli’s family?” Mr. Smith says.

“It made them happy?” I suggest.

“Yes! Thank you!” Everyone’s attention is on me. I blush and I see Luna smile as she then continues reading.


As we slowly get out of class afterwards, Mr. Smith stops me.

“Jaykub…” He says.

“Yes Mr. Smith?” I respond adjusting my bag on my shoulder.

“Your essay from last week…I haven’t quite had the nerve to tell you but is this real?” he says worriedly. I blush remembering my essay I based off my past.

“Uh…Yea, a bit,” I say. “In a way.”

“I see why Ms. Gano was so worried, Jaykub, listen, how did you receive those bruises and cuts?”

I hesitate, remembering what Ms. Gano wanted to talk to me about. “Uh, I got a bit clumsy the past days, you know the shooting,” I lie.

“Jaykub…Those wounds aren’t from clumsiness. What’s been going on?” he asks, nearly bending over being about 6’ 5’’ tall.

I remained silent, not knowing what to say.

He shook his head, “How long has this been going on?”

“What going on?” I say, still refusing to speak up.

“Has your father ever hit you or anything?” he asks.

“Well, this eye wasn’t his fault, and the wound in my shoulder wasn’t his either,” I say cautiously.

“Has he ever hit you before? The description of the abuse in this essay was almost realistic as if I was experiencing it in person,” he points out.

“I-I got to go to my next class, I can’t be late,” I say and walk out like I did on Ms. Gano.


I walk home, thinking of the ways I could ask my father if I could go. Then I realize what he’d be doing once I get there. Angered, asleep, upset.

I hear some of the juniors and seniors walk by and hear them talking about the shooting. I nearly flinch at the idea of the shooting, and the way Barkley had stared with anger and death in his eyes.

Occasionally a kid would walk by and ‘accidentally’ ram into me, but I ignored most of them, watching as they ran like idiots. I kept walking, thinking of all the possibilities of tonight. Would it run smoothly or bumpy like the rest of my life? Most likely tonight will be a rollercoaster.

I start walking some more, until I hear a car horn. I panic then look at the car and in the driver’s seat is my father.


“Hop in,” he says and I stare at him funny, not knowing what I should do.

“What are you doing here?” Is all I can say.

“Picking you up, now get in” he says. I blink not knowing what to do.

“Bye Jay!” I hear Cheyenne yell as she gets into her mom’s car.

“Your friend?” he asks. I nod, and then he continues, “Well, get in”

I hesitate then hop in the back seat cautiously. I sigh, no yelling or orders from my father.

“Wh-Why were you picking me up? I could’ve just walked,” I suggest.

“Not after what Ed did to us, he could be lurking in one of those trees over there waiting to hit you at the right moment,” he explained.

“Okay…” I say uneasily. I notice that he heads in the direction of the bridge, and I furrow my brows, unsure of why we were heading in that direction.

“Where are we going?” I ask, suddenly smelling the faint trace of alcohol on him.

“It’s about time I show you your mother’s grave,” he sighed. I stare in shock, as he then sighs.

“But,” I manage. “Now? It’s just a normal day though.”

“You don’t remember probably, do you?” He asked.

“What is it?” I ask. “What’s so important about today?”

He sighs, “Our anniversary.”

“How did I forget,” I lie, trying to make him feel better, but I remember the last memory of her vividly.

“It’s easy to forget, it’s not like we really celebrated it after you were born,” he stared at the dashboard for a bit, as he swerves into the one-lane road.

“Oh...” I reply. He then speeds, pushing at least 80 when he suddenly swerves to the left, missing what seems to be a foot deep and three feet wide pothole. He then swerves to the right avoiding the on coming traffic. He suddenly realizes he can’t swerve left and looses control of the wheel, the wheel seeming life-like twisting like crazy. He turns to me before we hit the little valley formed by the hill on the right.

“No!” he screams, before I black out from the massive pain coming from my leg.


I can only see bits and pieces after that, consciousness indecisive as I wake up to some parts and loose focus in most.’

I hear my father’s rushed voice, seeming frantic and desperate.

“Son! Get up, boy!” he shouts at me, but I’m mute, and I can’t react to anything. My nerves useless, all I can feel is the pain throbbing in my head and leg, and my neck feels stiff.

Then I hear a siren in the distance and orders from unrecognizable voices, Shouts on things that must be done, and things that are questioned.

“Who’s injured? Get the oxygen mask ready!” I hear, my father’s frantic voice being questioned.

“You’re the father?” I hear.

“Yes, please help him!” I hear faintly, not knowing whose voice that was.

“We’ll try our best, just remain calm,” I hear more.

Then I see the bright lights, only darkness near my feet, white walls with medical supplies hanging from them, and then the rest of the wall folds and blocks out the dark exterior. And that’s when my consciousness finally decides to consume me.


I slowly open my eyes to a painfully bright white room, light shining in from the window. I see my father sound asleep in one of those chairs near the window. I remember this place vividly, it’s a bit different, but I know it’s the same hospital. Then slowly I realize the day before. I’ve been in a car crash. And this time it was my father’s fault, not Barkley, Ed, or my mothers, but, my father.

Then I realize that I am still alive. I gulp, and then hear the machine once again. I scowl at it as if it was another day with my father. My father twists and turns in his chair as if he can’t get comfortable, and I see what’s sitting next to him. My backpack and his phone are on the ground. It starts vibrating, and I squint my eyes, wishing I could see the caller ID, yet it’s nearly twenty feet away from me. He turns toward me in an attempt to reach the phone and I pretend I’m still sleeping. He checks the caller ID and then puts it near his ear.

“Hello?” he croaks. He nods his head to whoever is calling him.

“Yea,” he says, “He’s asleep” I then realize whoever is calling him knows my father and me, and actually believed I was asleep.

“No, I won’t wake him up, if you’d like to talk to him, I could call you back, yea. But really, I won’t wake him up at this time” My father mumbles. “No, he needs his rest, like I said before,” he raises his voice. “I’m not going to wake him up.”

“Goodbye,” he says putting the phone back down. I open my eyes slowly when the phone rings again. My father groans then picks it up; pressing what I believe is the reject button, upset.

He tosses and turns once more, sighing, and goes back to sleep. Once I hear his recognizable snore, I use my elbows to get up, and then nearly scream in pain when I realize I cannot move my left leg. I pull the covers back to see it’s in a cast, heavy I drag it off the bed, and wince as it hits the table next to the bed. My father moves a bit, and I widen my eyes, not knowing what to do. I sigh in relief, as I hear the continuous snore again.

I breathe in smelling the memory of yesterday. The way those car lights terrified me, and the big flash of green and black consuming me. I start to relive the moment, remembering the scared looks of the old man in the first car, and the young woman in the other, and my alarmed father trying desperately to have things under control, and the last look of him as he turns towards me.

I gasp right before the moment of unconsciousness had surrounded me, and I breathe deeply.

“Hey,” the sound of my father’s voice making me jumps. I turn to him and he chuckles.

“I thought you would prefer the blue cast for your leg. We can always change it out if you’d like,” he says, sitting up painfully. I realize that he remembered my favorite color and I smiled.

I know what happened yesterday but my instincts take over. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” he asks furrowing his brow. “Well, the doctor said you most likely wouldn’t remember, but, I got us into a car crash, you broke your leg in that and was unconscious for the most part.” He said, standing up.

“Did you get hurt?” I ask dumbly, not knowing what to say.

He sighs then looks down, “No”

“Oh…” I say quietly. “Who-Who was on the phone?”

“Huh? Oh, that was that reporter person. He wanted to ask for an interview. I told him you were sleeping, and-“

“I heard you on the phone, I wasn’t sleeping,” I murmur back.

“That’s right, you wouldn’t have heard me if you were sleeping…” He says, realizing his statement.

“It’s okay,” I say. “We didn’t crash into other people, did we?”

“No, but I did scare a couple of cars. Luckily, my phone was in the car at the time. If the Paramedics hadn’t gotten to you sooner, you could’ve entered a coma,” he sighs. “That’s what the doctors said.”

“Oh, that would be bad,” I say slowly.

“I can’t believe I did that,” he says, and for once, I’m confused at what he means, the crash, terrifying others or terrifying himself.

“For what?” I say silently.

He sighs, “That accident, I didn’t even see that pothole till I swerved out of the way, I could’ve killed you” For the first time he sounds unselfish like he actually cares. Once again, I feel speechless.

“Could’ve killed those other people, too” I am surprised he didn’t say himself.

“You could’ve died too…” I point out.

He sighs, “Yea, like that would’ve mattered.”

I squint my eyes, not understanding what he had meant.

“How long will I have to stay here?” I ask.

“Not for too long, they already fixed your leg, it’s just got to heal for a couple of weeks, but you’re allowed to leave after tomorrow at the earliest.” he says. “They wanted to keep an eye on you for another day that’s why.”

“Okay…” I mutter.

“You should rest,” He says. “I heard you get up quite a few times last night.”

“I thought you were sleeping,” I frown, remembering the room at night.

“I was making sure you were alright,” he says finally sitting down in the closest chair to the bed.

“Oh…” I say then put my leg back onto the bed, still sitting.

He hesitates then sighs, as if he remembers something. “Hold on,” he exclaims, looking through his pocket. “Here,” he shoves something into my hands his hands shaking quite a bit, and I gasp recognizing the object immediately. The gold heart shaped necklace I remember vividly.

“H-her locket,” I say. He nods.

“I meant to give it to you when we were at her grave, but, you know,” he mutters, looking down refusing to reach my eyes.

“How? She had it around her neck when she…she died,” I falter, staring at the locket as if it was a block of gold.

“I found it in your suitcase the day I earned custody. It was in small box alongside with a picture and other things,” he whispered.

“Y-You kept it? This whole time? I-I thought you would’ve thrown it out, I thought you didn’t want any memory of her at all,” I say, and then he finally looks at my gaze, his black and red eyes filled with sadness and what I believe is regret.

“That’s like saying why I didn’t kill you too,” he mutters. “You have her eyes and hair color, her cheekbones and personality; if I didn’t want anything like her I would’ve killed you also.”

I gulp, “But, you said-“

“That I hated you?” he asked smiling, and then chuckling. “I did for the longest time, but people say things they don’t mean. I was mad at you, because you looked just like her, but one thing I remember about your mother was that she said she loved me. But, I knew she was lying every time. She didn’t mean it, but she went along with it, like you.”

He went on, “I could tell you didn’t like being hit because of your reaction, but either way you went along with it. I could see it in both you and your mother’s eyes.”

‘But you still continued when we both wanted you to stop,’ I want to say but I’m afraid to and remain silent.

“What was I supposed to do?” I ask, breathing heavily.

“You could’ve fought back, told me to stop, do something to make me stop,” he says.

“Like I said before I was afraid of you, both me and mom,” I exclaim, then lower my voice. “I still am.”

“Why?” he demands shaking his head. “I’m afraid too! Have you not seen me when Ed came around?”

“You fought him off well,” I point out, staring at his black eyes.

“He nearly killed me if it wasn’t for you!” he shouted.

I gulp, “He had the advantage, in a fist fight you would’ve won-no competition there.”

“Yea right!” He shouted raising his voice louder.

“If you could’ve killed mom in plain sight and get away with it, you could kill anyone!” I snap before a small chuckled escaped my mouth.

“It still doesn’t make sense to why you are afraid of me!” he replied shouting.

I laugh, “You are unpredictable, and when you’re drunk you can do anything without caring about anything.”

“Well, you know what,” he stands up. “Thanks for the locket! Thanks for keeping a roof over your head! Thanks for everything I try to do! Okay? I had enough of this!”

I gulp, watching him storm out of the room. I look down, upset at what I had done. I look at the window and see that it has started to rain. I look at my lap, and pick up the locket, holding it carefully. I open it and brush my thumb over the picture.

The face of my mother hits me hard, and I find tears start to form in my eyes. It was our first family photo. Taken on my first birthday, the date proving it. My father’s hand on her waist and the other on my shoulder. All of us smiling wide in front of the mutual blue screen. I want to throw it but I didn’t have the nerve to throw it, instead I place it on the side table, putting my hand to my face, I sigh aloud and then scream.

“Why me!” I shout, “Why me! I don’t deserve this!”

Then slowly I let the tears stream down my face. “I don’t deserve this,” I wail. “None of this!”

Chapter 9

“You don’t choose your family, they are God’s gift to you as you are to them”
-Desmond Tutu

“Jay! What happened?” Cheyenne exclaimed as I wobble towards my first class on the crutches.

“We got into a car crash,” I explain.

“I’m guessing ‘we’, refers to you and your dad,” she says, I nod.

“Yup, basically,” I say.

“Is that why you couldn’t come?” she says.

“Yes, my father wanted to take me somewhere and then he crashed the car along the way, I broke my leg,” I sigh, not wanting to talk about the night in the hospital.

“Did you walk all the way here?” she says, as I get a bit annoyed at all the questions.

“No, my father drove me here,” I say, trying to remain calm.

“I can’t believe all of this happened to you! You’re having so much bad luck this year!” she exclaims.

I laugh, “Don’t jinx it.”

“Jay, was your father actually worried?” she says.

“Put it this way he gave me a locket, called 911 to save me, told someone off on the phone, then told me off, and left,” I exclaim, frustrated at not just her but everyone and everything. I continue walking upset.

She hesitated then tries to chase after me. Before she has the chance, I look back and shout. “And he tells me I could’ve done something this whole time while my mother died and I was abused!” she stops and turns around. And I’m suddenly happy till I realize I have her in my first class. I sigh and then scowl, turn around and walk back to where she was standing.

She smiles deviously, “You realized we had the same class, didn’t you?” I nod.
“I thought you would soon enough.”

“Whatever,” I say.

“Ha, ha,” she says. “Come on; let’s get inside class, before we get marked tardy again”

“Okay,” I give in. “I’m sorry; I was just upset all weekend.”

“At least you’re getting it out” She smiles, and I walk into class. The first thing Ms. Gano does, is ask what happened, and throughout class I explain at least 20 times to the other students. For geography, we started talking about Europe and Africa, their way of life and culture. When they talked about Greece, Italy, and Egypt, Luna started to squeal in delight, talking about Greek, Roman, and Egyptian mythology a bit too well. It must be those books she loves to read, because we did not learn that much in world history class.

Mario was finally back in school since the shooting, and Luna could not stop talking. It was a first because she was well known for being shy and quiet, but you couldn’t make her stop. Once those two lovebirds were outside, they couldn’t stop talking, it seemed as if their minds were set to talk, and only talk.

When lunch arrived, Cheyenne had to help me get in my seat, knowing it would be difficult with my crutches. She smiled once I finally became comfortable and went to get her lunch. Today’s lunch was chicken nuggets, and she nearly stuffed the whole tray down before she even offered.

“You want?” she asked.

I laugh, “No, I’m good.”

“Hah, good, cause I’m starved!” she said while taking another bite of her chicken.

“Pig…” I joke. She sticks her tongue at me. I stare at her long braid she had put up in our last class, and I can’t help but imagine my mother in that seat. She notices that I am staring a while, and she questions me.

“You haven’t stopped staring at me since I put my braid up” She pointed out.

I shake my head, “Sorry, it just reminds me of someone.”

“Who?” she asks softly.

“I mentioned her many times to you, remember when I said she kind-of looked like you,” I hint.

“I’m sorry, I remember now, it was your mom,” she whispers.

I smile, “Yes, I think about her a bit too much lately,” I whisper.

“You can’t think about someone ‘too much’, you love her, and it’s completely right to think about her,” she says smiling, as I can tell she’s trying to cheer me up.

“Yea, but it’s different, it’s ever since my father mentioned that we could’ve told him to stop the abuse that I’ve been thinking about her lately,” I reply.

“Jay, listen, you love your mom, and it’s perfectly fine to think about her,” she says seriously.

“Okay,” I say in defeat. “I get it.”


By the end of the day, I had finally gotten used to the crutches and what was followed by it; the questions. I thought about my mom, as usual on the way home, thinking about what Cheyenne had mentioned. It’s okay to think about her, you love her. I shake my head, knowing this wasn’t the case. I do love her, but I feel wrong and out of place when I think about her.

I sigh then continue walking trying to shake the bad memories of her away. I finally reach the trailer park; I stop and remember all the bad memories again. The abuse and torture, the rain and screaming. The beer and stench of cigarettes consuming the place. My mother being kicked out in the rain and the time I came out and comforted her. Sleeping with my head on her lap and her warm gentle hands stroking my face as the door remained locked. My father yelling and yanking her hair as I begged him to stop. The slaps and snickers directed at the both of us.

Then I realize, it’s not that I don’t love my parents, it’s just I can’t shake those bad memories away. That I can’t seem to let go of the bad things and embrace the good ones. They cling to me, and they seem to never fall off.

I gulp, and then walk in expecting more yells from the men, and then I remember that my father now hates Ed, and James won’t come unless Ed comes.

“Hey,” my father says, closing the fridge door.

“Hi,” I respond shyly. He grabs the keys from the kitchen counter.

“I’ve got to go to the store, want to come?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say, as I place my bag on the ground careful of my leg.

“Okay, here, you could’ve knocked, I would’ve opened the door when you walked in,” he says opening the door. I smile half-heartedly, and then go down the stairs carefully. I breathe, happy that with the crutches I didn’t fall.

“You’ve gotten pretty good at those,” he continues. “I was afraid of the stairs hurting you more,” I gulp remembering another memory of my mother. I step back remembering the way she had fallen on the stairs when my father threw her down them.

“You alright?” he asks. I look up and I see him with his hands in his pockets.

“Yea,” I lie. “I’m fine, just was thinking”

“About what?” he mutters.

I gulp, “Oh, nothing.” He sees I’m lying and up to something but he lets it slide. He closes the door behind him, and then walks down the steps.

“You aren’t going to lock the door?” I ask. He shakes his head.

“We only need to grab a few things from the store, we’ll be back before four,” he shrugs. I check my watch and see it’s three.

“Okay,” I sigh. I go and reach for the handle of the back seat door, when the crutch that was under my right arm fell. I scowl then look at it, and then turn to open the door again. My father sees I’m having trouble and he goes back around, picking up the crutch he smiles.

“Here, let me get that,” he smiles, opening the door then removing the crutches, he waits for me to get in. I get comfortable in the seat and he hands me the crutches. I place it next to me.

“Thanks,” I say uneasily as he closes the door. I watch him walk to the driver door and get in. He starts the engine and drives out of the parking lot. I see a shadow in the bushes but conclude that it’s probably just an animal. I only take it seriously for a second before concluding that because we’ve had break-ins before and of course what Ed had done a couple of nights before.

We drove down past the school and toward the small shopping corner. The parking wasn’t too bad, thankfully, since it was Monday.

As he parked, I opened the door easily then wondered how I was supposed to get down. I moved the crutches upwards so I could scoot closer to the door, and then realized I was nearly three feet off the ground. My father realized the same thing, and comes over to my side holding the crutches, instructs me on how to get down easily. It turns out he was right, and I smiled. It was easier to get up then back down.

“Here you go,” he says handing the crutches back. I returned to walking and entered the store slowly careful of the other people exiting. Most stared or just talked on with the people they came with. Usually couples or kids were talking with others. My father walks slowly making sure I’m behind him, and continues to search for the things he’s looking for. He turns as if to tell me to hold something, and then turns around shaking his head as if he remembered I can’t really hold anything. I spot the things in his hands; piles of food ingredients such as sugar, flour, olive oil. He then grabs a basket and goes to the fresh produce isle. Slowly he grabs tomatoes, lettuce, and other food, that I’ve never seen in the kitchen.

“Hey, do you know where the bread is?” he turns to me again, his basket nearly full.

“It should be near the isle with baking stuff I think,” I respond. He then walks on, looking at the signs grabbing other products as he goes on. I check my watch and see it’s nearly passed three thirty. I nearly trip into someone else, and then look up to see who it is. Madison.

“Hey Jaykub,” she says. I see my father turn into an isle and I turn to her again, I see her smile, what I believe is her mom stands behind her looking at some packages of cake batter. “Your dad?”

I nod, “Yea.”

“Cool, I’ve always wondered what he looked like; he almost looks like you, except he looks more plump then you, no offense,” she murmurs.

“Nice to see you,” I reply, when I hear my father say boy.

“You too,” she says, her mom tapping her shoulder. As I walk over to the isle, I hear Madison’s mom murmur, ‘Who was that?’, and I smile at Madison’s response.

My father spots me and sighs, “Where were you?”

“I saw a friend from school,” I say a bit afraid of his raised voice.

“Was that Cheyenne? I didn’t have a chance to see who you were talking too,” he says.

I shake my head, “No, that was Madison, we were supposed to work together on a project”

“Project? What do you mean supposed to?” he asks.

I gesture to my leg in response, and he nods his head.

“Let me guess, you were supposed to meet up and work on it till I crashed the car,” he responds silently,

I sigh, “It wasn’t your fault, It was that pothole that was in our way,” I say, suddenly try to make him feel better.

“I could’ve at least slammed the brakes, and then I’d be left with a broken neck not destroying your leg,” he shot back, turning to grab another item that he placed in the basket faster than I could send a glare at the brand name.

“If you had a broken neck, you’d be dead,” I point out.

He hesitates than answers, “My point exactly.”

Sometimes, I just do not understand him. I shake my daze off as he starts to walk away and I try desperately to catch up. After paying for the items, he looks at all the bags and starts figuring out he could work this out. I rest the crutch under my right arm against the other, and reach for one of the bags, but he stops me.

“I’ve got it,” he mutters, and I see him struggle to carry all the bags.

I sigh then reach for another bag, and this time we both hesitate, and he hands me another one. “Thanks”

It takes me a while to reach for the other crutch but when I do I turn to the line behind me, “Sorry”

I start walking, the two bags swaying back and forth, the two boxes in one scratch my leg constantly, but I try to ignore it. When we stop at the car, I freeze then again try and open the door, this time with my left arm. I hear my father laugh and he opens the door next to me and then grabs the groceries from my right hand and places them on the seat. He then opens my door, and holds my crutches and places them next to me and closes my door. He shakes his head in disbelief then goes over to the driver’s seat and starts the engine.

“Wait, why did you need all of this?” I ask.

“I’ve decided to make dinner, and when I’m not home, you can make dinner or lunch,” he smiles, one of the first time he has ever smiled pleasantly at me, and wasn’t followed by a punch or a nasty scowl.

“Okay?” I say uneasily. He chuckles then parks the car in his usual spot in front of the trailer. I try to get out of the truck, but he tells me to wait. As always I listen, and watch as he carries the groceries in a big bundle.

I try to get out, but he stops me. I question him, and he just sighs.

“Let me go put this inside, then I’ll help you out,” I nod then wait. I watch him go up the stairs again like the night my mother and I was left outside, wobbly and shaky, as always, as he fumbles for the doorknob. I watch as he disappears into the house, and I wait for what seems to be a long time. I check my watch and realize he’s been in there for nearly half an hour. When was he coming back, I wondered. I watched the clock and I started to panic when it’s a quarter till five. I follow how my father said about getting out of the car and it worked, I started walking to the door and heard yelling. I heared yells coming from what seems to be my father, and sounds that I can’t recognize clearly yet.

I get up the stairs slowly and then open the door.

Nothing could prepare me for what and who was at the door.


I gulp staring at the gun that was poised in Ed’s hand, aiming straight at my head. In the back, I could see James hunched over in pain in his usual chair, and my father on the ground moaning in pain. My lip begins to tremble and I yelp in pain when he grabs a fistful of my hair and throws me against the floor right next to my father, I stare at him to see the welt near his eye.

Chapter 10

“…Until justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream”
-Martin Luther King Jr.


When I finally register the pain in my leg, I wish I hadn’t for it seems on fire, burning right to the bone.

“Get up boy,” he snaps and I flinch as if my father was the cruel man standing in front of me. My father didn’t move when Ed had kicked him again, and I bite my lip, hoping he’d fight back, but like always he does nothing. I see James groaning, clutching his stomach tightly, a big welt could be seen on his cheek, and blood was slowly dripping down the swollen mass.

I slowly back up, trying not to put pressure on my bad leg. I gasp slightly as he then turn around and kicks my father in the head. I suddenly feel outraged, and I try to get up, and push him to the ground, pain in my leg throbbing again. He turns the gun and shoots, hitting the light above us, dust and debris from the light fall on my motionless father. Ed then pushes me, as I fall flat on my back I see my father slowly raise his head, the dust trapped in his curly black hair slowly falls onto the floor. Ed doesn’t notice and he quivers his lip, when Ed points the gun toward me again.

“Nice try boy, but you can’t stop me,” he snaps. I gasp slightly like before, and watch as my father tries to pull himself up. Ed scowls and turns around as if he sees the direction my attention is focused. He turns and cocks the gun and my father’s eyes widens.

“Nice try,” Ed mutters.

My father stares in disbelief, then responds, “Get out of my house!”

“Make me!” he says placing his finger on the trigger. My father gulps and I just stare, my lip quivering in fear. I hear movement and spot James jump from his seat still wincing, as he steps in front of my father.

“Don’t do this!” he shouts, the first time I have ever heard him sound serious.

“Out of my way before I put a bullet through your brain,” he snaps.

“I have nothing now! I don’t care, with Terrance, it’s different! He has a kid! You can’t destroy them,” James says before yelping in pain. I hear the blast of the pistol, and notice the red gaping hole in James’ knee. James gasps and clutches his knee, my father breathing heavily, shaking his head. Surprisingly James still stands in front of my father trying desperately to keep his balance as he leans against the dining table.

Ed scowls, “Out of my way!” James shakes his head angrily, and Ed grabs hold of James’ neck and tosses him towards the door. James still refuses until Ed then opens the door and pushes him down the steps. James lies there for a couple of seconds before moving an inch or two. He continues to reach the edge of the forest and a trail of blood marks his path. My father finally has the strength to rise and stumbles next to me, checking for any physical damage I stare in disbelief at the wound on his head, and yet he continues, while breathing heavily, looking for any wounds. He sighs and relaxes only for a moment when he finds out I’m fine.

“Terrance!” Ed bellows, while pulling back my father with his hair. He continues to look at me, something in his eyes I do not recognize. Ed points the small handheld pistol to my father’s temple, my father, shutting his eyes tightly quivers his lip and breathes heavily. I gulp, wanting to shut my eyes but my eyelids resisted.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters silently resulting in the cool metal digging further into his head.

“Come on Terrance, you know me better that anyone, you know once I start I must finish,” Ed snaps. I hear my father’s slow breaths going in and out rhythmically.

With a shaky breath he mutters something I know he’ll regret, “I-I’ll do anything” he gasp, and he sighs shakily.

Ed chuckles, “Fine,” He points towards me. “Give me entertainment,” my father stares at Ed’s finger and then towards me. He gasps and widens his eyes. I gulp, remembering the cold, cruel word of ‘Entertainment’. Ed pushes my father closer to me, and I see the unrecognizable emotion in my father’s eyes. I try to make it out, but I cannot define it.

My father stares at what seems to be forever until he shakes his head and shuts his eyes, “I-I can’t” I widen my eyes and stare if I do not believe this is the same man that had literally threw me off a bridge just about two and a half weeks ago. I watch hopelessly as Ed places the gun once again at my father’s head.

“You said you’d do anything, now, or I’ll kill the boy first,” Ed says pointing the gun towards me this time. My father’s lip quivers then stares at me for any sign of help. I shake my head slightly, and he sighs.

“Now!” Ed snaps.

My father looks to the side then back at me. He slowly raises his fist and I await the blows like I usually would. Before he can, he mouths something to me. I have time to process it and bite my lip. Sorry. I process and I mouth back before he’s forced to strike a blow, just go.

The pain is like the last, but a bit more painful, knowing this entertainment wasn’t for my father, but for Ed.

I hear the same snickers I recognize as Ed, and hear others as I vision Barkley and James back, as their old selves laughing as my father brutally beats me. I try to help my father and let out noises as if it’ll please Ed more than usual.

“Keep going,” I hear Ed say when my father stops for a split second. The pain continues and I imagine the same abuse that I’ve endured all the past years. From the longest to the roughest, that I’ve experienced, all catching up to me in this one beating. Suddenly my father stops and breathes heavily, and I realize once I open my swollen eyes. My father sits on the floor, gasping and breathing irregular, as Ed is no longer in sight. My head spins and I look around the room from the floor as best as I can to spot him.

I try to lift my head, but find the pain unbearable to endure. Instead, I ask my father, “Where’s Ed?”

My father turns to me and I finally realize the emotion in his eyes. Fear and regret. He sighs, and then replies, “He left…”

Before I can speak up, he continues rushing every word, “I can’t believe he did that! I just couldn’t stop him. I shouldn’t have done that…the hitting” he says the last part slowly.

“You had no choice,” I whisper. “You didn’t want to die.”

“Not me, I wouldn’t care if he had shot me there, it was what he could’ve done to you when I was dead! He can’t control himself,” my father says, as I once again don’t understand him.

“What do you mean; you wouldn’t care if you would’ve died?” I try to shout, but I fail.

He chuckles, “Have you seen how many felonies and misdemeanors I have done in my life? I’m surprised those two boys haven’t called the cops yet,” he cocks an eyebrow. “First your mother, abusing you, being drunk on the job, crashing the car; endangering the lives of those two other people, the shooting happened because of my friend, and who knows how many other charges I could be charged with!?” he demands.

Once again I sigh, “It wasn’t your fault,” I lie, and he catches me red-handed.

“I nearly killed you more than a thousand times!” he shouted. “All because of my stupid actions.”

“You d-didn’t mean too,” I reply. He sighs, and ignores my comment, gains his composure and then checks on the damage he made.

“So you’re saying endangering you with my friends isn’t my fault? I’m the one who called them my friends,” he snaps, as he helps me up. He reaches for the crutches that remained on the floor behind me, and placed them next to me.

“I didn’t injure that leg, did I?” He asks as he points to the blue cast.

“I don’t think so,” I ponder, “If it was injured it be Ed who would have, he’s the one who threw me to the floor.”

“I still could’ve somehow done damage,” he says rubbing the dust off his hair.

“What about your head?” I point out. He looks up and puts his hand to his wound wincing a bit and seeing the red liquid on his hand.

“I don’t even remember how I got that,” he sighed, washing the blood in the sink. “Warm water works best on cuts,” he mumbles to himself, while wetting a towel. I believe he was about to put it on his head, but instead hands it to me. I stare at it for a second then raise it to my eye, unsure about how to do this he shakes his head and walks over to me.
He grabs the towel and dabs my eye, careful of the direct wound, he cleans up the dried blood, and works on another wound, the one on my jaw. I flinch at his touch as he tried to clean the dried blood, but I still let him clean it up, unsure if I should accept his offer.

“There, I think I got it, were there any other cuts I gave you?” he asks.

I shake my head, wanting more of the towel.

“Any Ed gave you?” he asks. I think and notice they were only bruises and I shake my head.

“Well, the foods all over the floor, so we’ll just have to find any that are salvageable,” he mutters as he looks through the plastic bags in the kitchen.

“Oh, okay,” sigh and then help him look.


We finally find some can foods and a case of water in the kitchen from before, and we start eating. The bread was flat, and the bag of flour and mixes for baking foods had exploded, luckily in the bag, and all that was left was the several foods that weren’t as badly damaged.

“I’m really sorry,” he finally sighs once I’m nearly finished with the small bowl of mixed vegetables.

The first time I’ve ever heard him say that to me, and I’m not surprised. “It’s okay, like I said before, you had no choice.”

“I could’ve stopped him!” he snaps back, I look up to see the same face full of regret and fear staring at me.

“How?” I ask silently.

He sighs, “I-I don’t know.”

“Like I said, I’m okay,” I repeat. “It wasn’t as bad as the other times…” I say quietly.

“I never said I’m sorry for just this one, I meant in general,” he says quickly.

“But-“

“I was like Ed; lost, drunk and an idiot. I couldn’t control myself,” he admits.

“But you handled this situation well,” I point out. “Why?”

“I wasn’t drunk,” he points out.

“How did you suddenly just stopped?” I ask. “You told me not even a month ago that you’d never get rid of them.”

“I threw ‘um out,” he says quickly. “Knew how much it hurt you since the shooting.”

“So, you knew how much I was hurting this whole time, you only just recently took action because of some silly old shooting?” I ask, not meaning to be harsh.

He shuts his eyes, “Yes,” he says honestly; his eyes fill with what I believe is sadness.

I rise from my chair and wash the dishes. I place them back into the cupboard and head to my couch. He remains at his seat and just stares at the glass of water. I grab my homework and start working, knowing it’s nearly six, and it takes me at least two hours to finish when I don’t start during class.

He sighs and then speaks, “I really am sorry, you do realize that don’t you?”
I know what he says but I ignore him, not wanting to talk. He seems to understand and then heads to the kitchen to take care of his dishes. I’m just about ready to grab my notebook, when my father clears his throat.

I look up, and then see him standing there with an icepack in his hand. “You should put this on your eye, it brings the swelling down”

I take it and smile as he walks into his room, the place I well know to stay away. I listen closely as I hear him turn the T.V. on and sit on his bed. I try not to watch for I still could get in trouble and work on my Physics homework. I can’t concentrate as I try and solve the equations listed, and I just sigh and sit there, listening to the noise emanating from the T.V.

I start to doze off when the phone suddenly rings. My father sighs, and I watch as he slowly stands up and grabs the phone from the holder.

“Hello?” I hear.

“Yea, why?” he says.

“Okay, so anytime?” he says.

“Oh, today?” he says. “Yea, Sure I think I can”

I hear my father put the phone down, and I pretend I’m still working. He walks into the kitchen and grabs the keys.

“The hospital called, they want me to do blood work,” he explained.

“Okay,” I say. “Do I come?”

“If you want, you can stay home if you like.”

I lift my eyebrows as to question him.

He sighs, “Sure, I’ll lock the doors just in case.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, and watch as he exits the door.

Chapter 11

“You are never quite alone”
-Unknown


“So, Jay, do you know why he had to do blood work?” Mr. Bates asks lifting his gaze from his work, his glasses on the tip of his nose.

“He hasn’t told me yet, or he doesn’t want to,” I reply, wanting desperately to know what’s on that paper.

He moves it slowly from the table and questions me more.

“How did you feel when you wanted to know what the blood work was for?” he asked, and I squinted my eyes.

“Uh, I kind-of wanted to know, not a whole lot, since my relationship with him is a bit shaky,” I respond.

“Shaky?” Cheyenne demands. “It’s quite more than that Jay!”

I chuckle, “Well he’s getting a bit better, he didn’t really want to hit me this time, but he was forced too”

“Yea, but he still hurt you,” she replies.

“But it wasn’t his fault,” I point out; Mr. Bates sighs shaking his head at our small argument.

“Yea, letting those three insane people in as friends isn’t his fault either,” she says sarcastically.

“Well, they seemed cool to him before,” I mutter back.

“Look how that turned out,” she says.

“Well, calm down,” Mr. Bates says. “You’ve got to get to class.”

We both look at him then smile, “Alright,” Cheyenne says.

We both walk out of the counselor room, and walk to Ms. Gano’s classroom. As we stepped in class, we noticed she was on the phone, blushing and giggling on the phone.

“Yes, yes they’re coming in class right now, oh, don’t worry,” She whispers sweetly smiling at us as she then puts down the phone. The rest of the class are having study hall and are either talking amongst them or reading.

“Sorry Ms. Gano, we were late,” Cheyenne explains.

“Oh it’s alright,” she says kindly sitting straight again, she smiled, a bright red blush spreading on her face. “Mr. Bates had told me already you’d be late. He was telling me other things too.”

“You seem peppy,” I say quietly, and she chuckles.

As if she was delirious, she replies, “Oh, yea, I guess I am”

“What are we doing today?” I ask.

“We’re just having study hall today, you guys can talk, and I need to call someone anyways,” she mutters, picking up the phone earnestly.

“Okay,” Cheyenne mutters. We both give each other looks as if to say whom is she calling, but we drop it and I head to my seat but she grabs my arm.

“Sit with me,” she replies and I widen my eyes before I follow her slowly on my crutches. I stand until she grabs an empty chair from behind her desk and motions me to sit.

“Come sit,” she smiles. I smile as I see the dazzle in her eyes like my mother had when my father signed the divorce papers.

“Hey Jaykub,” Madison exclaims while she sits next to her friends.

“Hi,” I respond.

“Okay, tell me more about yesterday,” Cheyenne says smiling, not seeming to stop bouncing in her chair.

“Well, I already told you guys in Mr. Bates room, but I remember he was making a phone call after he came back. It was really important because he had put his palm to his forehead looking stressed,” I replied.

“Oh, are you going to figure out today or not?” she says, inquisitively.

“I’ll try but you’ve met my father, he can be quite secretive when it comes to himself,” I respond shaking my head casually. She sighs.

“Well, I want to know what happens,” She says as Austria comes up behind Cheyenne.

“Hey Austria, what’s up?” Cheyenne says after the big-hearted girl taps her on the shoulder.

“Is it alright if I take pictures of you guys for the yearbook?” She asks sweetly. “It can be funny or cute, our teacher doesn’t mind.”

I look at Cheyenne and she smiles, before I can stop her, she jumps in. “Sure,” She says nearly as peppy as Ms. Gano. Cheyenne scoots her chair next to mine, and smiles as she puts her head on my shoulder. I look down instinctively, and then relax after feeling safe. As Austria takes a couple of pictures, then looks up.

“A cute one, please,” She says smiling big..

“I thought that was the cute one,” I say tentatively.

She smiles, then tries to speak but then turns to Cheyenne. “Cheyenne, you know what I mean”

“Oh, shush,” she blushes as bright as Ms. Gano.

“Oh come on, just one picture for the yearbook,” she says sweetly as she always does.

Cheyenne sighs in defeat and I stare as she shakes her head hopelessly. “Oh, alright.”

Austria gets into mode to snap the shot when she looks back up. “Cheyenne,” she warns.

“Okay,” She says and then does something that scares me for the second time. She kisses my cheek and I start to blush as the camera flashes and then smile when Cheyenne raises her hand onto my shoulder laughing with me, as Austria continues to snap shots.

Austria looks at the photos on her expensive camera and then smiles. “Perfect, thanks”

“No problem,” Cheyenne says looking down before going insanely delirious blushing like a rose.

I continue to laugh, trying to shake of the sting-the good sting-on my cheek as I playfully punch her in the arm. “Stop, you’re going to turn into a rose.”

“I thought roses were beautiful? You’re saying you don’t want me beautiful?” She says still smiling it’s hard to believe that she was serious.

I try to ignore it, but then mutter, “N-No…”

“Good,” She mutters returning the punch in my stomach. We had been too caught up in the moment; we hadn’t realized Austria and Elizabeth still standing there. Austria tells Elizabeth-another yearbook student-and Elizabeth starts writing notes.

“You two are just so cute,” Elizabeth smiles, as she continues writing as elaborate as Mr. Bates does.

“Yup, and good luck to you Cheyenne,” Austria winks and I find my best friend in a laughing and blushing fit again.

“Okay,” she finally manages to say between her unstoppable laughs.

“What was that about?” I ask, still smiling.

She’s too giggly to make me believe that she wouldn’t quit and then when she catches my gaze she doesn’t stop for a long time and something that is indescribable inside me starts to become incredibly warm and fuzzy. Her brown deep warm eyes bore into mine, and I can’t seem to let them go, as it was with those last few moments with my mother, where I didn’t want to lose those last few moments with her.

But this was different.

As if it was the first time instead of the last, as if this was the start of something that I could not define.

Soon, enough she starts smiling then looks down then breaking our gaze and I lean in if I want more, until I shake my self of my daze and hear her say, “Nothing I-I’ll tell you later.” The way she said it make me feel those little warm fuzzy feelings again, and for once in what seems to be forever when in reality it was only nearly six years ago, when he actually felt sure of someone and could actually trust their powerful words. And I finally realize how much Cheyenne-my best friend-really does seem like my mother.

The way she mentioned those words made me feel secure and safe as if she really meant the truth.

After what seems like a lifetime, I nod my head, “Okay”

I hear Elizabeth squeal in delight at us and I furrow my brow, wondering if she was alright.

“Oh, I’m fine,” She says a bit too peppy. Austria tells something to Elizabeth and points at Luna, who’s resting her head in Mario’s shoulder, hugging him tightly, as he shuts his eyes slowly rubbing her right arm and resting his head on hers, twirling her hair with his left arm. Both Cheyenne and I laugh, as Elizabeth tells Austria to take a picture without the flash, and everyone smiles as Austria takes a bunch of pictures of them.

Austria goes around taking a picture of more people, including Henry, and Christian acting like goofballs with their girlfriends and Elizabeth grabs her camera and joins in the fun taking pictures of our blushing teacher, Ms. Gano, as she talks to someone on the phone. She blushes more and Elizabeth moves in on taking pictures of the ‘Pop 3’ and the two hooligans Dave and Dylan who tried to hit on Cimi, and Heather.

“Why is Ms. Gano blushing and laughing on the phone?” I ask Madison as she sits back down near Cheyenne.

“You haven’t heard?” she smiles. “She’s been talking and hanging around Mr. bates a lot”

“What?” I ask, scratching the back of my neck.

“You’re kidding right?” Cheyenne asks.

“No, they’ve been dong that for quiet a while I’ve heard. I think they should date. They make a cute pair,” Madison winks, and stands up to talk to some of the other kids.

We all laugh even through the bell, telling us it was time for the next class.

I head to my Physics class and see Austria with her camera taking pictures of George and Alicia holding hands in their little table. Alicia begs her not too, and I can’t help but smile as little Austria pops out of her normal shell.

“Just one more picture, please!” she begs sweetly, and George gives a swift kiss on her cheek for the camera before Mr. Smith enters the class again.

Austria would you please stop taking pictures you’re disrupting the class,” Mr. Smith says.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, and fumbles to put her equipment away, the class clown in this class, Cameron teases her and tells her, ‘Ooh, you’re in trouble’ and things like that, but Mr. Smith yells at him, making the rest of the class smile.


As I head home, I am abruptly stopped by little Austria.

“Hey Jaykub…” She says. “You know how I mentioned that good luck thing to Cheyenne?”

“Yea,” I say, smiling as the big camera hanging from her tiny neck.

“Did you really want to know what I had meant?” she smiles.

I hesitate, still hanging on Cheyenne’s word. “Sure…” I mutter.

“Okay, I’m glad and happy to say this,” She says sighing. “Okay, what I was doing back there, was something I owed to you guys for a long, long time”

“Go on,” I reply.

“Okay,” She sighed and breathed deeply. “Cheyenne, she-she really, really-wait, I…” She falters

“Spit it out Austria,” I joke.

She hesitates then sighs, “Okay, Cheyenne, she really wanted to tell you that she really likes you”

“Huh?” I’m caught off guard.

“She really likes you,” She muttered. “That’s why she’s been blushing a lot”

In the distance I see Cheyenne, now, walking home, Madison talking to her for a bit then walking up to her mothers car.

“She-She likes me?” I ask. Austria smiles big and nods her head.

“But…” I’m still stunned and don’t know what to say; all these emotions and thoughts swirling in my head. My thoughts are abruptly erased when a car horn is honked. Austria turns, her golden brown hair twirling around her.

“Oh, that’s my dad, got to go,”

Before she fixes her strap, I muster up, “She actually likes me?”

“Yes, maybe a bit more if you know what I mean,” she smiles big slapping me in the arm playfully. “Like Ms. Gano and Mr. Bates”

“Austria!” her father yells from the car.

I thought your mom picked you up,” I murmured remembering two weeks ago when I had walked home late.

She gulps, “Yea well, that was before she was diagnosed with-with cancer. It was a bad one, a tumor had grown in her head and one day my dad came home from work and found her in the bathroom. Ever since then my dad took her place for practically everything”

The only thought that comes to mind, is, ‘Too many shocks in one day’, but I know not to say that.

“Austria!’ Her father yells again.

“Got to go,” she says and runs off to hop in the front seat. She waves at me and I naturally wave back. I continue to walk and think about today.

First the yearbook pictures with Austria, finding out Cheyenne liked me, and learning Austria’s mom passed due to cancer.

What a life for her, losing your mother in less that two weeks, seems worse then mine, I think to myself.

Then I realize something very important.

“I’m not the only one then,” I mutter to myself. “I’m not the only one with a bad past or challenges in life.” Compared to Raleigh and Austria; my life seemed not even half as bad as theirs. Having a mother who suddenly snaps at a mostly peppy and cheerful person leading to a near-suicide, or a dying mother who had made an innocent girl’s life complicated wasn’t as bad as what I’ve been through.

I sigh in great relief, thinking the events leading to this very moment again. The look of fear on my father’s face this morning as he made me breakfast for the first time, and the way he told me he had some important news to tell me and didn’t know how to quite tell it to me. The better understanding of Austria’s life and what had happened to her mother. How Cheyenne was developing a liking towards me right under my nose and how she had mentioned this to Austria, and not Mr. Bates or I.

I sigh remembering what Cheyenne had told me about her father. I’m glad he isn’t apart of our family anymore, he doesn’t deserve too anyway. The way she had described his unusual disappearance at night leading to a big cheating problem, ending up into a divorce that split the family apart. The way he had wounded up back at her front porch begging for her back, and the way he had slapped her if she didn’t. Cheyenne had had tears in her eyes when she mentioned her grandma was watching and had to call the cops on him for the attack, and had faced a fine for being highly intoxicated and assault. The way he had managed to get on bail and crashed the car drunk killing him along with six others.

“I’m not the only one…” I sighed. “I’m not the only one now.”

Chapter 12

“While there’s life, there’s hope”
-Marcus Tullius Cicero


I reached home and set my bags down, as my father entered from his room.

“Hey,” he murmured, I look up to see a dark circles around his eyes.

“Are you alright?” I ask, pointing out the dark circles.

“Oh, yea, I could barely sleep last night, that’s all,” he muttered, yawning then reaching for a glass of juice from the fridge.

“How come? You usually sleep fine at night,” I ask.

He shrugs, “It’s nothing.”

“Okay, well,” I mutter. “Ed didn’t show up did he?”

“No, if he did, I’d tell you the minute you stepped in the door” He says. “If I was alive.”

“Of course you would,” I sigh, smiling at his now comfortable nonsense.

“Look, I’m just tired, I’m going to try and sleep,” He says quietly leaning against the table with the cup of orange juice in his hands. “Can you keep it down a bit?”

“Yea, sure, you won’t hear a peep out of me,” I whisper.

He sighs then places the cup in the sink, He sighs and looks out the window and shakes his head. He turns off the silver faucet and walks over to his room, shutting the door behind him. I finish the rest of my homework for Physics and English and then start to drift off to sleep too. The first thing that settles on my mind is my mother, again I try desperately to shake it off my mind, but I can’t help but remember the memories I’d share with her. The time I had spent with my mother in the pouring rain was one of the worst, my father inside highly intoxicated, the smell of booze and cigarettes clouding up our beaten lungs from the outside.

The dangerously threatening words from my father making my mother tremble in fear at his presence.

I remember looking up to meet her brown eyes and relax as I know that when I was with her, I became safe and felt comfortable no matter what. My mother woke me up every once in a while to make sure the rain hadn’t gotten into my lungs, and then she would set my head back to her lap.

“It’ll be alright,” she muttered. “It’ll be over soon, he won’t hurt us anymore” I remember her saying calmly as she stroked her nimble fingers against my beaten face. I sighed and take in her kindness hoping they’d cover up the scars from my cruel father.

“I’ll get you out of this, even if it kills me,” I remember, knowing I hadn’t understood what she had meant before until now. Then I remember her and how she had failed to take me away from him

It was a nice try, but it only lasted for three years, nothing more, yet I remember the three years being the best in my entire life.

The way she’d do anything for my safety, and the way she struggled to support the both of us and yet how she still managed to keep me in school. The way she had to work two jobs six days a week, for nearly twelve hours and how she’d pick me up right after work sometimes an hour after the bell, and how the teacher would tell me to wait in the classroom.

How I’d watch all the kids go home, and how I’d stare at the window with my backpack on my back waiting for the car I recognized really well.

And then I remember most of all, was my eighth birthday, where my father finally destroyed the two of us. And as she left I slowly began to realize that she was no longer coming back and I’d be back in that trailer with my father, instead of the small apartment near the school on the opposite side of town.

My small dream faded and soon popped out a new one, which nearly made me jump. The shooting, with the shadow of Barkley there with the gun poised in his hand, but when I looked closer I saw not Barkley but Ed standing there with Barkley’s gun, and I slowly realized the one Ed had used back here at home was the one Barkley used to shoot me and those other kids in my class. The same gun Barkley had used to shoot him. A small pain entered my shoulder as if I could feel the pain I had felt on the cool school floor as if my arm’s nerves remembered the pain it experienced during that time.

Then I experience a dream I haven’t experienced and I start to panic. I’m in the house alone, with my father gone for some reason. I don’t smell beer or cigarette smoke and realize this would have been after the shooting, and I hear the same pounding I’d experience when Ed had first broke in while I was home. Nearly like before I had retreated to the corner cowering in fear as I prayed I wouldn’t get killed.

Ed stands over me, with his knife in his hand, and I start to panic worst, wondering what he is doing.

“Get over here boy!” I hear him bellow and I ultimately flinch instinctively.

“No” I somehow scream. Then he grabs my hair, the pain actually affecting me, like a vacuum to my head it was yanked from my scalp, and I scream in pain, hoping he’d let go of his grip.

He shoves me out the door and throws me into the bed of his truck that I don’t recall him having. He stuffs me in there and I realize my leg isn’t in a cast. Its fine besides the bruising form being thrown and I realize the gash above my eye has started to swell, preventing me from having view from that eye.

The ride is quicker than I imagine and I realize where I am once I step out, the nearly frozen over lake is in front of me besides the fifteen foot cliff down wards into the freezing water. His hand is still grasping my hair, and I realize hypothermia is one of my biggest threats besides death, only because I don’t know how to swim.

I face the cold freezing water as my body collides with it as he pushes me off the cliff. I fall in falling downwards I believe without my sense of direction, and struggle to gasp for air. Once I figure which way up I struggle frantically to breathe and when I take in a breathe I start to bob up and down, my head barely reaching the surface. I claw desperately for a chunk of ice for I remember the big chunks of them swirling around.

When I find one, I manage to climb and reach my upper half of my body out of the water, my teeth chattering and I can’t seem to breathe right. Ed starts laughing menacingly and I shut my eyes tightly, wishing I’d wake up, but my eyes are prevented from opening. Slowly I turn my head to see another piece of ice starting to grow larger. I stare closely learning it wasn’t becoming bigger but it was coming nearer, and I slide off the ice easily right before the ice can puncture my back. I struggle to find and opening, realizing I can open my eyes, I pound on the ice above and as if on a film, it shows me from above, a small dark figure trapped under a sheet of ice. I can’t breathe for I am still the same person down below, and heat sirens blare and lights flash on the side rushing to get out of their vehicles. I continue to pound and I suddenly realize the beat-up pick up truck on the side. My panicking father rushes out and tries to reach the cliff, but the firefighters and police tell him it’s under control.

I finally let the ice and hopelessness consume me. As I take in another dying breath, I wake up to hear someone calling my name.

“Jay! Jay, Get up!” I slowly wake my painful eyes to see my panicked father. I cough what I believe is water to realize that I’ve been breathing deadly fumes I suddenly realize is coming from a fire.

“Jay!” my father yells again, as I remain shocked as he, for the first time calls out my name. “There’s a fire, let’s get out of here!”

I can’t move, still feeling that I am trapped under ice. The cold water hits me in my face and I realize I must get up.

I shake my head, as I notice there is no water in sight, and the only sounds are my father sighing and the sound of the consuming flames.

But my body refuses to rise and I find myself being swooped up by my father’s strong warm hands. I gasp slightly, finding I can finally breathe until I start coughing heavily. I want him to put me down, but I can’t talk or I’ll breathe in more smoke.
He stumbles out the door and sets me down outside gently. He checks my breathing a bit then swears as he realizes something and heads back in there. I gulp knowing how dangerous that could be.

I try desperately to sit up and try to run after him, but my leg prevented me from moving at all. I finally managed to sit up and I just stared, taking in how badly our house was in flames. Suddenly from the flames, I see my father carrying two bundles, one my backpack, and the other a box of something I can’t make out. Neither is scorched and he suddenly places them on the ground as he swats out the small embers of flames on his arm. Ash and soot are seen on his face and I can see a nasty burn on his cheek along next to a bruise which I believe is from a piece of burning wood.

He kneels next to me and sighs coughing a bit then relaxing.

“Boy, where’s the phone?” he asks before coughing again.

“I don’t know,” I say quietly.

“Is it in your bag?” he says. “I can’t remember”

“No, you used it a while ago for the car crash, you had it in your room I believe,” I falter knowing what this meant.

“Go ask the neighbors or something,” he sighed. I shake my head not wanting to make contact with them at all.

He sighs, “We need to put out this fire.”

In response, I struggle to stand up. He questions me but I ignore him and continue to walk. I sigh and step up the porch.

“Jay! Get out of that damn house!” I hear, but I keep walking trying to reach his room. Once I hit the doorway, I stop, knowing I’m not supposed to be in there. I hesitate then finally shake my fear and step inside knowing I have to if I want to get that phone. I step in and smell a trace of beer. I see some empty bottle on the floor and I walk to his drawer remembering he had put it there. I turn to see the left side of the trailer starting to crumple like paper. I scowl then look through the first drawer. With no luck, I open the second and gasp as I find the picture I have missed for so long, the only surviving picture of my mom, my family picture taken on my first birthday.

“Jay!” I hear my father suddenly croak. I see the picture is undamaged and I slip it under my jacket, wanting to keep it. I look at the third drawer and find the phone. I cough and then reach for it, as I turn to leave his room, a wall of fire erupted in font of the door, the heat intensifying in seconds. I suddenly realize I am surrounded and I’m lost like I was the day my mother passed.

Behind the flames, I hear a faint scream, “Jay! Jaykub, get out of there!”

I’m ready to jump over the lowering flames when I hear a creaking noise and look to find one of the roof panels coming down towards my head. The once silver piece of metal knocks me off my feet, and I cripple to the floor, the phone in front of me. I try desperately to reach it but I’m too weak to move and the phone is merely inches from grasp. Frustrated I stare beyond the flames and see the door wide-open, ready for me to escape, but yet I can’t move and I can no longer feel anything. I am completely numb, and cannot move.

I remember the dream before, in which Ed had thrown me in. The murderous look in his eyes, and I suddenly realize that he might be tied in with everything. Including this fire, that may end up kill me.

“Jay!” I hear once more, until I black out.

Chapter 13

“Honesty is the first chapter in the book of wisdom”
-Thomas Jefferson


“Jay?” I hear my father say as I slowly get up.

“Huh?” I struggle to say.

“Jay, can you hear me?” I’m still stunned as he says my name but I try and open my eyes as best as I can until the hospital lights start to blind me.

“Yes,” I say slightly.

He sighs in relief, and leans back from the chair, and he whispers silently, “Why would you go back in there?”

I finally remember yesterday night and I sigh, “I-I don’t know,” I say honestly.

“You could’ve been killed. Like those firemen said, smoke inhalation is like poisonous gas,” he mutters.

“I thought we needed the phone,” I sigh then realize the picture. In an instant I pat where I had placed the photo when I realize I’m not in the previous clothes from yesterday.

My father chuckles, “You looking for this?” He holds up the photo, which was currently in a plastic bag. I gasp and reach for it. He notices my arms are weak and he places it in my lap, as I can’t lift it high enough from this position.

“How-How?” I asked.

He smiled, “They found it in your jacket when they got you out of there.”

“I-I didn’t know you had that. I thought you threw them out too,” I falter.

He shakes his head, “That’s part of the reason I had went in, I grabbed your bag and that box I told you about, I had forgotten about this photo.”

“You-You saved my backpack? For school?” I ask him.

He ignores my comment, and then replies, “I had intended to give it to you when we were at the grave, but I must’ve forgotten to bring it…”

“But, you didn’t throw it out?” I ask. He shakes his head.

“Why would I throw it out?” he said.

“I don’t know,” I muttered. “I just thought that you would throw it away after her death.”

“I still care about her, just ‘cause I may have made mistakes leading to her death, doesn’t mean I hate her and want anything related to her like a silly old photo gone,” he mutters.

“Oh…” I replied. He snickered.

“I’d never do that,” he says slowly. I pucker my lips, wanting to tell him that he is lying, but knowing that I can’t say that.

“You said you hated her…” I mutter silently, trying to sound as weak as I am. “You said that she stole me away from you…” I say honestly.

“Did it look like I meant that?” he points out.

“Well, yes, yes you did,” I say bluntly.

“I was drunk, I don’t mean the things I say when I am drunk,” he says.

Yea right! I want to scream for all those times, yet my voice seems to be blocked. Instead, I mutter, “You looked it…”

“Deep down, do you think I meant that you were useless and a freak?” he demands.

I hesitate then say honestly, “Yes…I really did think that. For a long time actually I thought that…”

“And let me guess you still feel that way?” he finishes.

“A bit...” I said truthfully.

“I thought you might…” He says sadly, as he looks at the ground.

“I didn’t know you didn’t mean those words, honestly I thought you hated me…” I mutter as I start to close my eyes a bit.

“Why?” he says simply not lifting his gaze from the ground.

I remain silent, hoping he’d just understand himself.

“I’m guessing you wouldn’t want me to know…” He says silently as he then leans against the back of his chair.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, I thought you’d already know by now,” I muttered as I relaxed my head against the bleach white soft pillow of the hospital bed.

“You are right…I guess I should know why by now” he says, and then stands up. He walks over to the door, and I abruptly stop him.

“Where are you going?” I ask, as he turns around I see he is staring at me for quite long time.

“I need some time to think, alone, perhaps. And I think you need time to sleep” He says quickly then heads out the door. Before he leaves my view, I see his right hand rise to his eye, and I see him rub it as if he as crying or it was itchy. I wanted to believe it was itchy but knew that it was tears, for he never done that since my mother’s death. I know they are not like they were from the burial, because I could tell they were fake tears, and he did not stare at his hands after rubbing them as he did now.

Doesn’t sound easy but I somehow, miraculously fall asleep easily, only thinking about today once before my eyes got heavy.

In my dreams, I think of my father instead of my mother this time, thinking about how I practically made him leave, with my words. My mind keeps replaying the way he looked as he left the room and how he had raised his hand to his face. But for some peculiar reason I couldn’t imagine my father crying. Not now, or even before. Even if I had died twenty times in a row, I wouldn’t think he’d be crying, but I left myself hanging as he left the hallway seeming as if he was crying, but not knowing exactly for sure.

I wake up, and as I expected my father isn’t there. I sigh, a bit disappointed, and a bit happy about this, until I feel completely bad about this. I shake my head, and soon enough the same doctor, Dr. Peter walks in with his clipboard.

“Hello Jaykub,” He says. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” I say still disappointed at my father’s no show.

“Well, today you can be released, if you like, we’ll just need your father to come in and pick you up. We re-wrapped your cast, because it was a bit scorched by the flames, but your leg wasn’t hurt at all, just some bruising but that’s about it.” he explains.

“Thanks,” I mutter. “Did he come back at all?” I ask.

“Um, no, actually once he left, he wasn’t shown on the cameras near the front desk.”

“Oh,” I say a bit more disappointed. “Okay”

“Yea, he might have gone to the store or something.” he says.

“Yea…” I mutter.

“Well, your lungs are all cleared up, and your breathing sounds normal, you don’t need medicine at all really, unless you want some decongestant on back-up, incase you catch a common cold afterwards.” He says checking his clipboard.

“I’m good,” I say.

“Alright, if you need anything, just press the button on the machine, one of the nurses will be there shortly” he says.

“Okay” I say, and in mere minutes, my father veers around the corner, opening the door slowly. I stare at the door, and he walks in once he notices I’m awake.

“Hey…” he says, and I can see the bags under his eyes.

“Hi,” I say a bit harshly, not meaning to be rude.

“You’re awake,” he says obviously.

“Why are you so tired today? You’ve got bags under your eyes again” I point out.

“I couldn’t sleep, bad dreams keep occurring” He says silently, looking back down on the ground.

“You were…” I decide not to say the rest at a bad time.

“Huh? I was what?” He asks, finally looking up.

“Never mind…” I say quickly.

“What was it?” He asks.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” I mutter.

“Okay…” he says awkwardly. “I heard you can be released, yes?”

“Yea,” I say and then it hit me. “Wh-Where are we supposed to go?” We lost our house, where else were we supposed to stay now.

He gulped and cleared his throats, “I was looking for apartments this morning, nothing was cheap enough…”

“Oh…” I say.

“They reminded me too much of…you know” he says the last part quickly.

“Mother, perhaps?” I ask softly.

He shuts his eyes at my response, “Yea…”

“Glad you at least think about her” I accidentally say, I shake my head, not meaning to say it that harsh. I see his face contort with pain.

He hesitates, “Y-Yea…”

“I didn’t mean that,” I nearly shouted, not wanting him to take it that harsh.

“I-I know what you meant,” he stutters clearly lying.

“No you didn’t, and I didn’t mean that!” I say back.

“If you keep screaming it’ll damage your vocal chords along with your lungs,’ he says silently, trying to calm me down.

Since when did you care! I want to scream. You never cared about mother or me!

“So nice of you to care” I say differently, and he looks down at the ground, his bags seeming to become bigger.

“Did you still want to look for apartments? If not we could go to one of those red-cross shelters...”

“What do you think,” I’m surprised by my attitude lately, and it doesn’t make me feel better. The look on my father’s face makes me feel like I’m on the line, but I can’t seem to stop.

“I was just asking…,” he says.

“…I-I’m sorry,” I finally am able to stop once I see the hurt on his face.

“You shouldn’t be talking, I finally understand why you thought I hated you so much,” he says finally.

I look up hoping that he finally got it, but also scared that he understands also.

“I hurt you how many times…” he starts. “I acted like-like…I don’t know, just-just terrible!” he says, putting his hands to his face in something I can’t describe. “I treated you like you were a speck of dust, like you were nothing to me, y-yet, you are…” he says, and I widen my eyes. I suddenly realize how long this took him to have the nerve to say.

“No wonder you’re treating me like this, because of how I treated you, it’s like that’s saying, what goes around, comes around, and it’s finally hit me” he says looking up, I see he’s almost in tears. I tighten my jaw, not knowing what to do; apologize, act surprised, comfort him.

“I-I can’t believe I could be this terrible… to my own son too!” He says in defeat. I have a sudden urge to comfort him, but I quite don’t know how, or if it right for me to do so. He runs his hand through his unusual thin brown hair as his lip begins to quiver, he doesn’t reach my gaze and I can’t seem to take mine off of him.

“No wonder…” he says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you said you hated me right now!” he said in what I believe is denial.

“I-I don’t hate you…” I finally say surprised at my honesty.

He chuckles, then slowly looks up to my eyes, “After everything? First that beating, the divorce, your mother…then-then all this! I’ve nearly killed you how many times?!” he shouted.

“It wasn’t your fault…” I say silently.

“Everything was my fault!” he says loudly. “Everything”

“The divorce wasn’t really, and you didn’t mean to kill mother or nearly killing me…” I say slowly trying desperately for him to calm down.

“The divorce was because of me, I killed her! What don’t you understand?”

“It was just a mistake, you were drunk…” I say my eyes down like his.

“Mistake? I chose to drink that night! I shouldn’t have even drank in my life! If anything, I’m the mistake!” he shouts.

“Stop…Please, just stop, you aren’t a mistake” I say softly, trying not to lie.

“No wonder you never call me dad!” he says, and that one hit me hard, because it was true. I’ve never called him dad in my life.

“I say father…” I point out.

“Never to me, only to other people have you said that!” he shouts, as his voice cracks. I remain silent, for I don’t know anything else to say, I’ve blew it, I’ve got nothing to say.

“I can’t believe you even can stand to live with me! Even be near me, or talk to me!” he shouts, as I give up. There’s nothing that I can say that’ll make him better.

“Now don’t you? How do you even manage to be around me?” he says, a tear rolling down his cheek. “When I’m losing my mind as the doctors put it, how can you even stand to be around me?” He stops talking then notices something that I slowly catch on.

“What did you mean by that? Losing your mind?” I say, and I can see he’s blown it also. His lip begins to tremble.

“I-I shouldn’t have said anything…” he says quietly a brick slowly falls from his structure.

“What did you mean?” I say louder trying to find another loose piece of hid brick wall.

He shakes his head violently, “Nothing”

“What did you mean?” I demand.

“Nothing,” he says quickly.

“What-“

“I’ve got that stupid disease Alzheimer’s!” he blurts out. “You happy, that’s what I meant!

I nearly choke, “What?”

He scowls, “I’ve got what they call pre-Alzheimer!”

“But, you’re not quite fifty,” I say.

“They said it was all the beer and cigarettes I’ve been having, that’s why I tried to quit.”

“It worked, right?” I ask. “Please tell me it helped!”

“It might, they say, only for about five years though,” he scowled, staring at the floor, while I continued to stare in shock.

“How long did they say till it got worst?” I demand.

“I don’t remember, ten, fifteen years?” He said.

“That’s pretty good, considering most find out when they’re in a later stage,” I say, still alarmed and shocked by this news.

“Yea, I’ll be about sixty, sixty-five, when you’re about twenty-nine, thirty,” he says, I’m shocked that he even remembers my age and of course math.

“That isn’t fair!” I shout.

“I agree…” he mutters.

“There must have been a mix up! They could’ve switched a blood test thing, or something!” I say, and he notices that clearly I’m in denial.

“That’s impossible, they don’t find it through the blood,” he says.

“It’s all a mistake! It has to be!” I shout, furiously.

“Boy, calm down, your heart rate will go up” he says softly now.

“I don’t care!” I snap. “This has got to be a misdiagnosis!”

“It’s not Jay!” he says, as I’m forced to look up to his gaze. “Face it, boy; I’m literally losing my mind!”

My lip quivers as I deal with the cold hard truth.

“No…It can’t be,” I say silently. His eyes are suddenly filled with sadness.

“There’s no cure for this boy…” he says finally. I finally shut my eyes and let the tears coming down, not wanting this to happen. Surprisingly I’m mad at myself; mad at the doctors, and at this disease for ruining my father’s, but also my life.

“There’s got to be one,” I say faintly, starting to weep like a child.

“I researched it this morning, there is no cure for this kind-of disease,” he says.


What we do next, surprises all of us, I scoot next to him as best as I can, and we just sit there, my head resting on his shoulder, and he then wraps his right arm around me.

“What are we supposed to do?” I ask silently, becoming extremely comfortable to this once awkward moment.

“I-I don’t know…” he says. “We should get going…”

“Can we just wait,” I ask. “Let’s not ruin this, shall we?”

He chuckles softly, seeming to become closer, “Alright, that’s a great idea.”

Chapter 14

“Around here, we don’t look backwards for very long…We keep moving forward opening up new doors and doing new things because we’re curious…And curiosity keeps leading us down new paths”
-Walt Disney


“Did you figure out what the blood was for? For your father I mean” Mr. Bates continues to question. I do not speak of the night in the hospital. I lie and say that I do not remember after the fire.

“No,” I lie.

“Oh, okay...” he mutters clicking his pen off he places it down for once.

“But, you’re okay, yes?” Cheyenne says.

I nod, “Of course I am” I mutter. “I wasn’t physically hurt, I did get a minor concussion and a few burns but nothing dangerous,” I see Mr. Bates slowly grab his pen and write notes down.

“Alright,” she says. I stare at her for a split second remembering what Austria had mentioned only a couple of days ago about Cheyenne liking me.

“Okay, well, it’s about lunch time, I better leave you two, so you can eat” He says closing the composition. We rise from our chairs and head out the door, Cheyenne behind me says something hushed to Mr. Bates and I can’t make it out.

I sigh then respond, “Come on, Cheyenne, the lines getting long,” I lie.

In an instant she runs out, and sighs irritably, “No it’s not”

“I know,” I whisper. She scowls, and then continues to walk with me, heading down the stairs.

“Hey, what did we learn in class yesterday? I wasn’t here,” I mutter.

“Oh, we learned more about Asia,” she said. “In Mr. Smith’s class we read another story from The Illustrated Man, and in Mr. Simmons class we learned a new alternative for one of those equations we used.”

“Okay, sounds pretty easy, I can make it up in about a week,” I reply, as we head to our table.

“Yea,” she says slowly as she sits down. “I’m going to get lunch, want anything?”

“No, I’m good,” I say, and grab my physics book and try to work on yesterdays and today’s work. It takes me the whole lunch because of Cheyenne constant complaining, but I finally finish as she takes her last bite of salad.

Surprisingly we finish early and I point it out.

“Yup, come on, let’s go,” she says as she nearly drags me out of the cafeteria again, that I nearly drop my homework.

“Wait up,” I say, making certain my papers won’t fall, and then I catch up.

“Come on, let’s walk around campus,” she says.

I roll my eyes, “You drag me out of the cafeteria to walk around?” I demand.

She chuckles, “Yup, pretty much”

“You’re annoying sometimes, you know that?” I say sarcastically.

She scowls, “Ditto”

I chuckle and notice that she’s giving me a glare again, “Stop staring and keep walking,” I mutter as she slaps my arm.

“How rude,” she mocks in pain.

“Whatever, you wanted to walk,” I point out.

“Okay, okay, let’s see what shall we talk about?” she says.

I shrug, “Anything, I don’t really care”

“How ‘bout this,” she thinks. “We name a bunch of things we appreciate or like in general”

I gulp, remembering Austria’s words. “I-I don’t really want to play this game.”

“Oh, come on its fun, you start,” she says, smiling.

“My education…” I say truthfully.

She smiles, “My mom”

“My mom,” I mutter.

“Okay…my house.”

“Um…” I think. “My educators?”

“Really, Jay?” she asks. “Alright, my dad when he was sane and was a real dad to me.”

“My first four years, since my father was a bit okay…” I mutter.

“Okay…Ms. Gano and Mr. Bates,” she says.

“Umm, that too,” I say. “And you as a friend”

She smiles, “You too” And I can’t help but think she meant like instead of appreciate.

“I can’t think of anymore,” I respond.

“I can think of tons,” she says. “Probably you do too.”

“Are you sure you remember what I said in the past, how many years I’ve known you?” I question.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have a lot of people you appreciate too,” She smile, and then the bell rings.

“Let’s get to our class”she says and continues to walk this time, making sure I was following her.


“Hey Cheyenne, is it alright to stay after school to do research?” I ask at one point in our History class.

She nods, “I’m pretty sure, I’d remind your dad though”

“I’m sure he’ll be okay,” I say unsure now if he would or not.

“Okay, well what did you need to research?” She asks.

“Oh, I was thinking of going into a medical field and I wanted to look up something, before I should…” I lie half-heartedly.

“Oh, cool, what kind?” she says.

I think hard of last year’s biology and science. “Um, Pathology or Epidemiology…”

“Oh so outbreaks of diseases or something like that…” she guesses.

“Yea, like diseases such as Dementia and Alzheimer’s” I explain.

“Oh, cool,” she says. “What’s made you decide you wanted to take that course?”

“Uh, I’ve seen how many people have been affected by it in the hospital.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t remember anything at the hospital…,” she mutters, and I gulp.

“The time before the fire, I remember the faces of those patients…” I lie.

“Oh…That’s sad,” she says.

“Yea,” I say as I write down notes about history of Greece. I see Cheyenne struggle as she can’t read one of the words, and I point it out for her.

“It says Greek Philosophers includes Plato, Socrates, Aristotle, Pythagoras and many others”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” I continue.

“Could I stay after school with you? My mom told me she’d be late from work anyway,” she says, and I can see she really wants to.

I think for a minute, and then respond unsurely, “Sure.”

“Thanks,” she says. Mrs. Caldera, our History teacher finishes up as the bell rings, signaling the end of school.

“Come on Jay…” Cheyenne sighs as she stands next to my desk.

“Okay, I’m coming,” I respond. As we head out of class, we pass by Mr. Bates who walks with a wrapped box in his hand, a large red bow on the top, with a card sticking up. We say ‘hi’ but he’s too busy walking to even notice. I shrug when Cheyenne gives me a questioning glare.

“Who knows?” I ask smiling.

“Let’s get going,” she says and we head to the computer lab.

We head to a free computer and press the Internet button. As we wait for it to load, Cheyenne takes a seat next to me and grabs her phone. I stare at her when she smiles and texts someone, the sound of the keys at a continuous pace.

I type in Alzheimer’s disease, and press the seventh down, as I am most familiar with Wikipedia then foreign sites. I scroll, read the information at the top, and immediately look at the picture with the diagram of a normal and Alzheimer’s brain. Cheyenne and I gasped at the gaping hole in some of the brains, and we scroll down. As I start to read about heredity causes, and the disease leading to death, I can’t help but picture a funeral like my mothers again. How he’ll be leaving me on my own in maybe two-three decades or less, depending on his overall health and stage he is.

When I read about how he is only about in the earliest known as pre-dementia, which I thank everyone that he might only be at this stage. I sigh in relief and Cheyenne stops and ask what’s wrong.

“What happened? Why’d you sigh?” She says.

“Oh, nothing, I was just looking at the prevention section and how some things weren’t really proven but some rumors say they help” I mutter, showing her the chess picture, a way to help older adults with memory.

“Oh, cool,” she says and then texts someone back.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to text in school,” I say, just to strike a conversation.

“Yea, but it’s after school,” she doesn’t take her gaze from the phone.

“Okay,” I say as I exit the site, and turn off the computer. “I’m done looking it up”

“Okay,” she rises from her seat, and puts her phone in her left pants pocket of her jeans. “So have you decided if you are going to consider taking pathology or that epidemiology class?”

“Umm, I probably will take the pathology, considering I already am taking Algebra III and physics. I think that’s all I need right?” I ask as we exit the computer lab and into the sidewalk home.

“Yea, unless you have to take chemistry…” she mutters.

“Physics is above Chemistry, I took it last year, remember? Or what you call summer school,” I say.

“Look at you, always above at the top,” she smiles. “What’ll you take in junior and senior year?”

“Probably, the classes that are most fun, like yearbook or photography. Hobbies and interests I like…” I respond.

“I should’ve done that!” she exclaims.

“Well,” I mutter, “Summer school’s shorter than the full year, and plus it seems easier.”

“Okay, okay, sheesh,” she says. “I’ll look into it.”

“Good,” I say, “Then I won’t be the only smart one in that class that has a bunch of seniors and juniors.”

“Yeah, alright,” she says. We pass the bus stop, and she turns towards me.

“Got to go,” she says. “See you on Monday, if it doesn’t pour, have you seen the weather today? It’s been glum all week.”

“Yea, see you on Monday too,” I say and head towards the trailer park, before I remember it’s the shelter I have to go to instead. Luckily, the shelter is past the park, and I have a chance to stop by it and see the ashes that used to be our house on the ground. I hope that the rain will wash it away taking the bad memories with it. And maybe it’ll help us start a new one, fresh from the ground, like leaves in spring.

As I enter the shelter, I try to spot my father, when I immediately find him among the terribly large crowd, talking to one of the volunteers.

I walk up to our small section in the shelter and see my father’s eyes widen as he sees me sits down.

“Hey, how was school? I was starting to get worried, it was kind-of late” he says, sitting next to me.

“I was just looking something up on the computers at school,” I said. “I should’ve told you before I left.”

“Nonsense,” he says, awkwardly nice. “I was asleep.”

“I could have left a note or something here…” I mutter.

“It’s okay,” he says. “At least you’re here now,” he says pausing at the word here, as I can tell he was about to say home.

“Yea,” I mutter.

“Well, I’ve got to get to the store to buy some water and some food, would you like to stay here or come with?” he says.

“I’d rather stay here…” I mutter honestly.

“Alright, make sure no one steals anything,” he winks, as he says that sarcastically.

“Okay” I mutter. As he leaves, I can’t help but think how he is more like a different person. Everything has been changing rapidly. It only was a couple of weeks ago, that my father had been out to torture me with everything he could do. And now, I’m living in a shelter with my dying of Alzheimer’s father, and with a serial killer out to find both my father and me, for something I did not cause.

I sigh and place my bag at the edge of the foldable bed and relax by lying sprawled out on the some-what comfortable bed. After laying there for about ten minutes, I get up and unroll the sleeping bag, for me, and try to clean up the place to fit the sleeping bag.

After a while, I spot my father’s remaining things on the opposite side of the bed, and I see the black box again. I take a deep breath and look around me. My father isn’t here, so I take a peek. What I find, will be something I will regret terribly.

Chapter 15

“I have learned over the years that when ones’ mind is made up, it diminishes fear; knowing what must be done does away with fear”
-Rosa Parks


I stare at the thin piece of paper carefully, my trembling lip refusing to stop.

At the top read, ‘LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT’, in big letters and I was stunned to realize what this was. My father’s will was in my hands, as I read the paper carefully. I read every word from the top, including my mother and me, and the many words necessary for an accurate will. I scanned the paper till I reached the bottom, describing what shall be done during execution. When I hit the second to last paragraph, my eyes began to water, I couldn’t stand the printed words, for they were too different, things that he would’ve and I thought he wouldn’t ever say or do.

‘Should my son, Jaykub Duane survive me, I give, devise and bequeath to him, if any and all my inheritance earned after death, by thirty years after date of execution, property, and belongings owned until death may be awarded also,’ I read and gulped knowing exactly what this meant.

‘Note: Property has been destroyed a couple of days prior to completion of Will, and will be paid off in the same thirty years if not been given a chance to purchase another piece of property.’

As I read the next part, I start to question him.

‘I appoint James Monroe as alternative guardian, shall I leave behind a minor’ I know my father understands that James isn’t only just someone you can’t trust, but he has also predeceased my father, meaning he couldn’t even be a guardian. I then realize why he had put this for the second person appointed, is actually for me to be taken in by the orphanage only a mile away from the school. I then gasp, knowing I have a high chance of entering that place, when I realize my father is still in pre-dementia, meaning he still has over a decade ahead of him, long enough until I reach legal age.

When I read his words about Cher, my mother, I start to cry, knowing now, that not only do I just want her back, but also the both of us do, for I notice the tear stained corner of the paper lying right next to the words about deceased wife.

I can’t take anymore of this paper, I get frustrated for a peculiar reason, and I rip the paper in half. I do not think and continue to rip the paper, upset not at my father, not at the world, or myself but for the doctors’ word. I wouldn’t even be reading this if it wasn’t for that diagnosis. My father wouldn’t even have to write this at forty-eight years of age. He wouldn’t have to be in this position being in a shelter, being abused as a kid, being an alcoholic, having a son who is plain out messed up physical and mentally. Us, as a family wouldn’t be so dysfunctional. Our lives wouldn’t be dysfunctional, and of course, I wouldn’t be such of a dysfunctional mistake.

I didn’t realize how badly I was making a fit, until a volunteer had grabbed my shoulder. “Young man, are you alright?” the two ladies in front of me ask.

“Yes,” I snap, “I’m fine.”

“Please calm down,” one of them said.

“No!” I snap.

They sigh, and luckily back off, as they try to feed the other elderly people. I get back to ripping the will, in my tears, not wanting any of this.

I then realize what I had just done, as I hear a familiar voice call out.

“Jay? What are you doing?” My father asks, carrying a bag of what seems to be brochures or flyers of some-sort, but I look up to see his unusual black eyes stare at me questionably. I stare back at the ripped paper, and my lip begins to tremble, the words not seeming to come out.

“I-I can’t explain,” I stammer, not knowing what to do. He stares at the paper, and sighs quickly realizing what it used to be. He sees the opened black box.

“Th-That was my will…”He says quietly. “What did you do?” He asked, trying to pick it up as one does with sand, letting the paper fall to the ground.

I breathe irregular, “I-I’m sorry,” I falter. “I-I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You-You read it?’ he says, sniffling his nose which sounds runny.

I nod. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, wanting the will to reassemble itself.

“I-I didn’t want you to read it that soon…” he says to himself. “You read all of it?”

I nod again, and apologize once more.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, as he quickly grabs each piece of ripped paper and stuffs it in the black box.

“B-But…” I respond.

“I didn’t want to even think of that will, not at this age…” he says quietly, placing the black box under the bed and then puts the plastic bag too. “I’ve wanted to tear that thing up the minute I received the paper.”

“But, that was your will, you need that, and I basically destroyed it,” I say, still very sorry about the whole thing.

“I can always get another paper,” he says. “Anyways, I was looking for some apartments and a couple of cheap houses”

“You find anything?” I ask.

“A couple, but their a bit pricey for us, and they remind me a bit too much of…well, you know,” he mutters.

“Yea, I know, but isn’t that a good thing? You’re remembering things,” I try to lighten the mood.

“Sure, but I don’t want to think of that big mistake I made,” he says quietly.

I smile, “What, having me, or killing mom?” I joke.

“It’s not funny Jay,” he warns..

“Seriously though, what do you consider your ‘big’ mistake?” I ask. “It can be lots of things.”

“I’m sure you know what it is…” he says softly.

To make things worst for him I continue, “Okay, It’s me then, I understand.” I smile.

“Jay!” he warns staring at me from above as he sits on the bed.

“What?” I ask, chuckling.

“It’s not you, it’s your mother,” he says quietly as he tries to relax.

“Oh,” I say, “You shouldn’t have had me with her”

“Jay!” he warns.

“I’m just kidding, I know what you meant,” I muttered, poking him in the side. “I thought you would know I was kidding.”

“Whatever, I brought dinner home today; you want it now while it’s fresh?” he asks.

“Um, sure” I say. “But I’m not hungry now”

“What a shame,” he says bringing the container of food out of the bag, the food smelling delicious and quite frankly familiar. “I thought you’d like your favorite as a kid; eggrolls and deep-fried gyoza”

“Gy-Gyoza?” I ask, remembering the tasty food I once and still loved.

“Yup,” he says loudly. “And they’re all delicious and fresh!”

“Oh…” I say really quietly that could have also been a small squeal.

“You sure you don’t want any?” he says letting the aroma and smoke of the heated food under my nose.

I lick my lips then watch as he takes a bite of one of the eggrolls. “I-I, maybe I’ll just have one” I mutter, reaching for one, as he then slaps my hand away. I pout and almost protest and complain like a child when he turns around and hands me a container, filled with what I unveil as eggrolls and gyoza.

“I knew you’d want,” he says. “That’s why a bought two plates” he smiles as he sees my crossed emotions of happy, upset, and confusion.

“Y-You tricked me,” I shout after taking a bite of the steaming hot gyoza. “Ooh, hot! Hot! Oww…” I say, as I soon blow frantically at the gyoza that burned my mouth. First time in years I’ve endured something warm, besides the painful warm feeling after being hit and slapped and the flaming building a couple of nights ago.

He chuckles, “Caution, its hot” I just glare at him and scowl playfully as if I was with Cheyenne.

“No duh,” I say, and then grab my homework.

“That looks complicated,” he mutters, finishing his eggroll, staring at my physics homework. “How do you even begin?”

“How did you remember I like eggrolls and gyoza?” I say back as I get to the last step at solving the equation.

“Sure I was drunk a lot, but I still remembered before your mother passed and how much you loved it when she brought some home, and plus that night…she had bought some for you for dinner before the cake was brought out.” he says and I raise my eyebrows surprised he still remembered that much.

“You still remember that?” I ask dumbly.

“No,” he says sarcastically. “Your mother told me before I ran off.”

“Real funny,” I say in the same exact tone. “But seriously…You’re not mad about that paper?”

“Why would I?” he says, eating another gyoza. “Does it look like I want to write my last will now?”

“No, but I thought, you know,” I say, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Since you didn’t want to write it this time, why would you write a second?”

“Well,” he says sighing and sitting on the sleeping bag. “I have to; I can’t just leave you with nothing, that’s worst then leaving you on the streets of this grand old New York”

“Yeah, well, I’m really fine,” I say quietly not knowing exactly what to say.

“I can’t let Ed or someone like him to have your custody, and I’ve got no one else you could be with” he says.

“If mom was here it would’ve worked, but we both know that were just like the divorce,” I say faintly not wanting him to hear.

“Yea, I could’ve put that nice girl’s mom, but I don’t think she’d want some stranger walking and living in her house,” he says. “That’s partially why I put that orphanage there.

“Yea, I didn’t tell Cheyenne about the Alzheimer’s…” I say. “I came close to accidentally spoiling it to her, but I lied and said I wanted to research it for some of the patients at the hospital.”

“I thought they sent the patients to a caring facility maybe two three miles from here,” he says, gazing at nothing particular.

“Yea, they do, that’s why I’m surprised she hadn’t caught on,” I say quietly putting the food on the side.

“Oh…I haven’t even met her mother, and I highly doubt she’d let me put her name on the paper,” my father says quietly.

“Yea, I don’t really want Cheyenne to know quite yet, she’d be non-stop extremely patient and cautious” I say. “I’ve had enough of that when she found out about the past six years of my life.”

“She seems smart,” he replies his gaze seeming distant and very far away. “I thought she would realize that, she’s as smart as your mother.”

“Are you okay?” I ask, hoping this wasn’t a side effect of Pre-Dementia.

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine” he says, his voice seeming dreamy as if he was lost in thought. I gulp and shut my eyes, and take in a deep breath. I sigh and let my small fears vanish.

I reach my hand and place it on his shoulder. Slowly without breaking his train of thought, he turns toward me, and his black eyes tell me what’s the matter.

I breathe deeply, and smile, looking up to his eyes, I mutter. “You’re going to be alright, you aren’t leaving me so soon.”
~ ~ ~

I think of all the moments shared with my father, my mother, Cheyenne and everyone else. Every meeting with Mr. Bates, the shooting, the fire, and all those moments, terrible to beautiful in an instant, as I sigh and breathe deeply.

My father struggles to rise with the gaping hole in his side that I had once just poked a mere three days ago. My lip begins to tremble and I can’t control my breathing when I had just breathed deeply a minute ago. The moment of now had just struck me, the hidden truth and realization struck me hard and the feeling inside me is worse then the days during the beatings, and my mother’s death.

But surprisingly my father staggers to his feet and I gasp again, as Ed walks over limping from my father’s kick, and points Barkley’s gun, that had twice been pointed at me, my shoulder still throbbing from the once wound it had gave me, and the thought of James who had died from it a week ago, at my father. My father shows fear in his unusual black eyes with red flecks and gulps, knowing death, and guns is his worst fear.

I look up to remember the continuous beat of the pouring rain, pound hard on the slab of concrete that used to be our property. I laugh silently in my head remembering that I wanted the rain to wash away the ashes of our house. I hear puddles being splashed by someone I recognized a while ago, shouting no as her umbrella made more noise.

“No!” The sound of a begging Cheyenne screams, seeing my father in physical pain for the first time. I stay in between of Cheyenne and my father afraid if I rush to my father’s aid, I’ll kill the both of us.

“Come on Terrance! I know you better than this! Fight back!” Ed screams, as my father shuts his eyes.

“Ed, please don’t do this,” my father says, his curly brown hair plastered to his face as he clutches his side immensely.

“I have to Terrance!” he continues, “You and your son drove Barkley to shoot himself! Time for a piece of your own medicine!” he shouts, as I gulp.

“Please, we didn’t do anything!” my father pleads but fails. I hear my father wail in agony, as the sound of the gun fires, leaving a wound in my father’s left thigh. My father’s breaths can be heard from here, and I can’t help but speak out.

“No,” I say, “No!”

My father falls to his knees, trying to stop the bleeding in both wounds. Ed comes from behind him and head locks him. My father suddenly reaches for the strong arms around his neck, trying to get them off. My father struggles, and then elbows him in the gut, and turns around to see Ed on the ground pointing the gun painfully at my father. Before Ed could have cocked the gun, my father tackles him and knocks the gun out of his hand. He hesitates then punches Ed in the face, shutting his eyes, as if he was forced to like before.

The gun lies in the pouring rain nearly ten feet away from me and I see my father take a heavy blow to his face. Ed tries to tackle him but I shout out before.

“Stop it!” I shout, pointing the gun shakily at Ed. Ed looks at me and snickers as if it was another entertainment day and opens his arms wide. He doesn’t realize my father behind him has a shovel ready to direct a blow. I gulp and listen to his taunting.

“Try, boy! You can’t even take care of your sick father! What was he doing here anyway huh?” he says and I hear Cheyenne gasp slightly in the back, wanting to question me. “You don’t have the nerve to shoot. Why don’t you do that girl, your father, and your mother a good deed and point the gun at the one holding it! Like your father said before, you’re just a big, mistake; you shouldn’t even be alive, time for a taste of your own medicine, shoot yourself not me! I had no part in destroying you, your father or even killing James and Barkley!” I gulp, taking in his words painfully. Somehow they seem powerful and soon sicken me. My hand lowers, and my father’s eyes start to widen before he slams the shovel against Ed’s skull. Ed tumbles face first on the ground and I sigh, slowly I stare at the motionless body and gulp.

My father coughs and falls to his knees, slowly falls onto his side and lies there, clutching his stomach and leg.

Shocked at my words, I scream, “Dad!”

My father stares at me with big eyes, “Y-You called me dad”

I nod, “Ye-Yes, I-I did…”

He sighs pleasantly, the closes his eyes, and I can no longer hear his breathing.


Stupidly, shakily and fearfully, I raise the gun to my head, placing my trembling finger to the trigger, and shut my eyes. I hear my father’s breathing slowly die down, and hear something clatter on the concrete. It’s Cheyenne’s umbrella I believe and I hear her yell my name.

“Jay! No!” She screeches, but I keep my eyes shut, knowing it’ll all be over, with one bullet. All this regret, pain, dread, and torture instantly gone in a second. Just one second of pain and I’ll be free, but my finger refused to put pressure on the trigger.

“Jay!” I hear my father croak, and I realize he wasn’t gone quite yet, but I knew I didn’t want to see him dying, not another person. Not another parent. Not another person I could finally trust.

I remain silent and dig the trim of the gun where the bullet will emerge and end this pain.

Closer, I hear Cheyenne yell, “No! Jay don’t!” And I hesitate. But I don’t remove the weapon from my temple.

“Jaykub, don’t be foolish son!” I hear my father yell, his voice cracking.

My shoulders tense and I slowly open my eyes only a bit, to see a knife at my father’s throat. The hand holding the knife belongs to Ed, who still lies there on his stomach but the aggression in his face makes up for his lack of strength.

I shut my eyes tighter, not wanting to see this. My knees become wobbly, and I can’t seem to control my nerves. I breathe deeply and try and steady my hands as I hold the gun in my hands.

“Jay, please don’t!” I hear Cheyenne yell.

I suddenly yell back, “I don’t care! It doesn’t mean anything anymore!” I ignore her yelling because I do not need her, and don’t want this life anymore.

“I’ll just end up as my father was before! ‘Cruel’, ‘Diabolical’, and ‘Wicked’, as you say!” I continue, the rain covering up my tears.

She says nothing, or the numbness from the rain has gotten to me. “I’m a big mistake,” I mutter. “I can fix this simply”

“Jay please don’t, you’re my best friend!” She shouts. “Don’t do this to yourself”

“I must,” I whisper. “No more mistakes”

“Jay, don’t do this to you,” My father says wincing. More faintly he says, “Don’t do this to me”

“Jay! Don’t, you promised Mr. Bates-promised me you wouldn’t do this!” My hands tremble worst then before and the rain starts to soak me the bones.

“There’s nothing! Nothing to live for anymore! I was only a mistake!” I shout, pressing the gun closer to my skull.

“Son!” I hear my father croak. “Stop now!”

“I’m sorry for everything, Jaykub” my father replies, seizing my trembling hands. “About your mother, the beatings, everything, Just please, I’ll do anything, just don’t pull the trigger!” He continues. “Don’t be selfish”

“Selfish!?” I scowl, shocked at my outburst. “You tore the three of us apart! You ruined us, ruined me, and most importantly, ruined yourself!”

“You have a future ahead of you Jay, not me, death isn’t the option here: He manages to say.

“Jay,” my father croaks one last time and it startles me. I open my eyes wide and stare at my father. His pleading eyes tell me not to, but I must. I shut my eyes and pull the trigger, causing extreme silence. The ringing in my ear won’t stop, and a second seems like an hour. My knees become jelly, and I can not describe the pain. My whole body becomes numb and weak. My numb hands drop the device and the ground rushes to my face.


My life flashes before me, thoughts my mother, her death, the abuse, and the meetings with Mr. Bate. The first time I met Cheyenne, the car accident, the shooting and the fire, the time my father was extremely nice, finding out about the ticking time bomb destroying his brain. I picture the dark four-walled closet with the light source. The light, once again consumes me, but before it fully is able to, I hear a voice that I recognize immediately.

“Breathe,” Cheyenne tells me. “Just breathe”

Then another, “Son, don’t go, I want to see mother’s eyes again. Oh just please won’t you breathe for us, all of us.”

“I try to resist, but then the darkness consumes me.


Breathe they tell me, count to ten, and Breathe…

Epilogue

“Damaged people are dangerous because they know they can survive”
-Unknown


“And then what?” Tony Bates’ two children asked at the same time.

“What do you think?” he asks, closing the composition book.

“Does Jay die? What’ll happen to Cheyenne and his dad?” the eldest child, Andrew asked.

“It depends on your imagination, you have to think of what could happen,” Tony asks, smiling. His wife Jazmine sat next to him, placing a cup of tea on the side table.

But if he doesn’t die, what happens,” their eight year-old girl, Amelia asks. In response, the dad smiles and looks at his wife.

“Honey, are you going to tell them?” Jazmine asks.

“Why of course, if I’m going to publish this, they should know Jaykub and Cheyenne a bit more,” he hinted.

“Oh, Tony” The wife said.

“What do you mean?” Andrew replied. “You already told us the story; we know them better than the other people who haven’t read this.”

“For a ten year old boy, you’re pretty smart, just like Jay was.”

“You said was, so he did die!” Amelia shouted as her mother hushed her down.

“Or…,” Andrew went on. “You make it sound like Jay is a real person.”

In response to their guesses, Tony Bates stared at the photo on the shelf, the one with the couple holding hands.

“It says Jaykub…,” Andrew noticed.

“And Cheyenne,” Amelia added.

“Yes,” said Mr. Bates. “That’s them.”

“They were my students in homeroom,” Jazmine replied.

“And they came to me for advice, I was their counselor” Tony muttered. “If you haven’t noticed, your mother was Ms. Gano, and I was their counselor. I based this story on Jay’s life.”

“What about the other pictures?” Amelia asked. “Did you base stories off of them too?”

“Well, I’m working on them, sweetheart,” he said quietly holding her hand. “I’d be glad to read you the others once I’m done.”

“Read us another, daddy,” she says.

“Well, give me another six months and they should be almost done,” he smiles.

Andrew spoke up, “Does Jay know? About this book?”

Tony thought about the days Jay and Cheyenne had caught him writing in the same notebook. He then closed the book and sighed. “I’m sure he knows,” he says finally. “I think they both know a bit too well about this.”