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I couldn’t explain to you in a
nutshell how boring and uneventful my time with Rafael was. He wasn’t
the most exciting person to be around although he did try. It’s just
whatever he tried never worked. He tried to take me out to this comedy
show at some bar but I wasn’t allowed in so we ended up just going to a
small diner to eat. He tried making a nice lasagna dish but it almost
went up in flames so we ended up calling for Chinese takeout. If there’s
one thing for certain it’s that he and Emera were polar opposites. She
was clean, he was messy. She cooked well, he… well, you know.
At least my job at his little car shop on the corner of W 21st street
was making me a good sum of cash. I wasn’t doing too horribly without
John around. It wasn’t until about a week in to my stay with Rafael that
things started to go terribly wrong.
I was at the car shop, on the cash at the front in a little confined
room with loads of little pieces and equipment for automobiles all piled
on top of each other on shelves. There weren’t any customers since it
was practically closing time. I was alone in the shop with another kid
called Malcolm Torres who I believed was working on some guy’s car
overnight. My eyes were scanning through the window over the other room
to the side of me where all the work got done; repairs, washes, oil
changes. It was a large room and there was a car lift in the center and
spare parts scattered on the ground and on shelves. You’d think Rafael
would take better care of the place. It was then that I saw Malcolm
Torres talking rather inconspicuously in the back corner with what
appeared to be a taller, older version of himself. Malcolm was a buff
kid, a few years older than me and definitely had pure Filipino blood.
He told me once that half his family lived there still. He always
smelled like gasoline and I don’t think I ever saw him with a clean face
that wasn’t smeared with car oil. He rarely spoke, but when he did I
took note that he had the scruffiest and deepest voice I’d ever heard
for someone his age.
The older boy he was speaking with kept looking around, as if he was
afraid someone was watching them. He seemed dodgy, with his low cap
almost covering his eyes, his handkerchief poking out of one pocket, his
jeans barely covering his ass, his gun in the tight grip of his hand…
Hold it. His gun?! Crap.
Now that I think about it I’d never seen Malcolm so scared. He was
perfectly still, shifting his weight occasionally on either of his feet.
The older boy appeared to be threatening him or something.
It was then that I was spotted. Both their eyes landed on me at the same
time and I thought the older boy was going to lift his gun and shoot me
through the glass. I was happily mistaken. The older boy hooked his gun
securely in his pants and let his shirt fall over it. He said something
all up in Malcolm’s face then fled the scene and jogged out of sight.
Malcolm stood still for a few moments then made his way over to me. I
immediately pretended to be oblivious though I was aware he saw me
looking. I was fumbling with the cash register when he threw the door
open with a huge clang. The shelves shook and a few tiny bottles of
nails and gadgets even fell off on to the ground. He took me by the
shirt and slammed me against the wall near the door.
“What did you see?” He yelled in my face.
“Nothing,” my heart was thumping in my chest.
He only slammed me harder against the wall. My head banged against the
cold brick and it felt like my skull was going to shatter.
“Don’t lie to me!” He shouted. But he released me and pulled out a shiny
black pistol from his pants and touched it to my chin.
“Holy shit,” I gasped. “You have one, too?”
“You saw Kayan threatening me, didn’t you? Just like this?”
I swallowed hard, trying to push the lump in my throat down. “Yeah, yeah
I did.” There was no point in lying if he was about to kill me anyway.
“Well that was your mistake. Now you have two choices only.” He turned
and spat on the ground. “You let me kill you, or you help me.”
My breathing was getting heavier cause his hand was started to push over
my throat. “Help you do what?”
“Kayan wants us to steal some DVDs and games from the warehouse down on
23rd street. Together they’re worth a fortune. We get to keep half the
loot if we do it.”
It was funny the way he said “us” and “we” like I was already in on it
with him without even accepting. He relaxed his grip on my shirt and
lowered the gun.
“It’s real easy to get in because Kayan has been studying the entrance
and security system of the warehouse.” He licked his lips. “What do you
say? You in?”
I thought about it quick. I knew if I denied his proposition I would be
dead. But then again if I went with him I would probably end up being
dead as well. Either way I was as dead as a doormat. It was just the
question of whether I’d rather be killed now or be killed later. I
decided to go with the latter. What could be so hard about breaking in
to some old warehouse and stealing some goods? There was a part of me
that was wondering what John would do if he were in this situation, but
the other part of me that was saying “fuck it” took over and I actually
agreed to it.
Malcolm let me know the day they were planning on making the big
break-in and left when everything seemed to be sorted. I was the one who
had to close up shop but I was still in shock as I locked the door.
Before he left Malcolm made me swear not to tell a single soul about
what happened tonight or what was about to happen. He said if I did,
he’d be happy to wash my blood from his splattered shirt. He also said
that Kayan would eat my insides for desert, which I highly doubted,
unless Kayan was some sort of cannibal.
When I got in Rafael wondered why I was late but I just said I had lost
track of the time. We had micro-waved dinners and I never breathed a
word about the plan to him.
• • •
It wasn’t until we were actually at the front doors of the run-down
warehouse that I began to regret taking the job with Malcolm. The place
was huge, made of dark brown brick and the whole thing was one story. It
was the middle of the night and I had snuck out of Rafael’s place to
meet Malcolm in front of the car shop. We walked the rest of the way to
the warehouse.
My nerves were acting up now as Malcolm used a tiny device probably
given to him by Kayan to pick the lock of one of the doors. There were
two doors, but once one was open the other would be unlocked too. I
heard a quiet click and just like that we were in. It definitely was
easy. I didn’t ask how hard it had been to get the tiny device though.
That was a different story.
It was dark inside. No one was there, only the sound of me and Malcolm’s
feet against the concrete flooring. There were shelves as high as trees
towering over us, filled to the top with cardboard boxes and a few
buckets. Malcolm sped over to a bucket first and opened it up.
“Jackpot!” I was scared someone was going to hear him. He practically
yelled.
“Shut up…” I tiptoed over to a box and opened it up to find glistening
CD cases all perfectly lined up next to one another.
“Who cares? No one’s around.” Malcolm stuffed his huge duffle bag on his
shoulder with all his hands could grasp. When he was done with that
bucket he moved to another and kept stuffing away like a ferret stealing
it’s owner’s jewelry. “What are you waiting for?”
He had given me an identical duffle bag. It was empty but I felt it
weighing me down just thinking of the merchandise it would soon hold. I
eyed my bag once, then the boxes on the shelves in front of me. This was
ridiculous. Why was I even doing this? I was pretty sure Malcolm only
wanted me by his side so he had someone to blame when we’re in court and
the judge is deciding who is guilty. He would probably kill me
afterwards anyway, even if I did help him. What, I watch a lot of
movies, okay?
“Sorry, Malcolm. I can’t do it.” I dropped the duffle bag and made a
straight beeline for the front doors of the warehouse. I heard Malcolm
shout out something behind me. I actually managed to make it right
outside the door when something tugged my arm and I swung backwards.
There was struggle and then an impact as Malcolm swung a punch directly
at my face. My nose felt broken and liquid trickled from it all the way
down my neck and all over my shirt. My whole face was numb but I still
tried to break free.
“You little pussy!” He managed to kick me on the ground and I fell in
some mud from the rain, my knees buckling even as I tried to regain my
strength. His foot took another blow to my ribcage and I almost vomited
up my insides. He still only kept kicking and kicking until my eyes shut
heavily and everything went black.
• • •
I had no idea what became of Malcolm or Kayan after that. I woke up
right when dawn was about to crack and managed to have time to leave
before I was seen by anyone.
I made it a habit of getting into trouble and fist fights with the other
students so my thoughts were that it would come as no shock that my face
was bruised up and bloody when I showed up back at Rafael’s place or in
class. Those were my thoughts, and they ended up being right. Sure,
Rafael seemed genuinely concerned about what had happened to me but I
just shrugged him off with a quick explanation that some kids from
school ticked me off and then I grabbed an apple and sped out the door,
leaving no time for any more questions.
The truth was I felt like utter crap, and not just because of the
gigantic bruise on my abdomen, but because I was now a criminal. I had
taken part in a robbery, and even though I hadn’t stolen anything and
had actually attempted to flee the scene, I had done absolutely nothing
to prevent it from happening. That made me a wanted felon. Still, I had
to continue on with my day as if nothing had happened and that, I found,
was surprisingly easy. I just imagined I dreamed up the entire night.
Hardly anyone asked about my injuries, and the day was going by pretty
fast and rather smoothly, until history class came around right before
lunchtime. The classroom was large, rather fancy and high class, as it
should be in an all boys’ Christian prep school. I always felt out of
place, even though everyone dressed in the same navy blue uniform and
carried the same books. There were ancient Greek replica statues in
corners and golden helms and plaques on the walls; every history-lover’s
sanctuary.
“Where’d you get those bruises from this time, Morrison?” Alex Miller
whispered in my ear from the desk behind me. He was known as the school
jock, a ginger-haired rotten big-head who Mr. Gabe happened to be
abnormally bias toward. If I so much as borrowed a pencil from Alex
Miller it would land me an after school detention. He picked at my
nerves almost every day. I don’t know what it was that he enjoyed about
nagging and tormenting me so much. Perhaps it just made him feel better
about his pitiful excuse for a life.
I cringed, but tried to keep my cool. If I lost it I would end up
disrupting the whole class and as it stood Mr. Gabe hadn’t noticed a
thing. The lights were out and the projector at the head of the
classroom was on. Mr. Gabe just kept on teaching us about Aristotle and
his metaphysics theories.
“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”
I gripped my pencil on the edge of my desk so tight I could almost break
it in two.
“It was your father again, wasn’t it?”
By now I was aware of the fact that probably everyone in the school knew
my father was psycho. I don’t know how, since I never breathed a word
about him to anyone, but it was one of those things that just get around
because everyone knows everything about everyone in schools. Still, I
kept my lips shut tight. I even bit my lip so hard I thought I tasted
blood. Anger boiled inside me like a volcano about to erupt at any
second, if Alex Miller went any further…
And he did.
“I bet he fucked you up the ass, too, didn’t he? He loves doing that to
you. He loves hearing you scream—”
But I hadn’t let him finish his sentence. I snapped the pencil in half
and twisted around in my seat, moving so fast I don’t even remember
breathing. One half of the pencil remained in my hand and I thrust it
into Alex Miller’s upper arm without thinking. He let out a loud and
raspy cry that pierced through my ears and I’m sure everyone else’s ears
in the classroom too. We struggled for a bit and immediately the lights
flicked on as Mr. Gabe hauled me away from Alex and practically threw me
across the room by my waist, which hurt like hell by the way, because of
the nine inch bruise right in that spot. The rest of the students were
stunned in their seats, some stood up and backed away, far away, from
me.
“Are you crazy? What are you doing?” Mr. Gabe’s words shot at me like
electric shocks. I just stood there, frozen in place. I saw Alex behind
Mr. Gabe cupping a bleeding arm as students rushed over to him.
“Don’t touch the wound! Someone take him to the nurse!” Mr. Gabe
directed to the other boys. The commotion in the room was too much for
me to take in so I remained idle. I couldn’t believe what I had just
done but all I knew was that it made me feel good.
Mr. Gabe gripped my wrist and dragged me over to the headmaster’s
office. “You are in serious trouble now, Morrison. I mean, what on earth
were you thinking?!” He spoke to me as if I were some wild boar he was
trying hard to tame.
“You know this means an immediate expulsion, don’t you?”
“Whatever.”
“What did Mr. Miller ever do to you?”
There were about a million encounters I had with Alex that I thought
qualified as a valid reason to stab him with a pencil, but I wasn’t
about to trouble myself by explaining them all to Mr. Gabe, so I merely
laughed ruthlessly which he didn’t like.
By the time we reached the headmaster’s office I had a sore wrist and
grim expression on my face.
I had seen this expression on Mr. Mortman’s face about a hundred times.
Every time I came in the room his face twisted into this disappointed
sour grimace, as if contemplating what I could have possibly done this
time. His hair and beard were grey and black like a stormy afternoon sky
and he always wore grey suits that made him seem even duller than he
was. He was about forty-five years old but looked like he was sixty. Mr.
Gabe pushed me into the huge brown leather seat in front of the
headmaster’s desk and explained the whole story. Mr. Mortman rose
immediately once he heard the words “stab” and “pencil” and made one or
two phone calls in the other room.
When he immerged, he flattened out his suit and cupped his hands behind
him and just stood, peering at me like he always did when he was trying
to unravel the mysteries of me and get inside my head.
“Mr. Miller will be okay. As for you, Shuro, I have no choice but to
expel you at once from St. Benedict’s. I will not stand for violence in
my classes. Mr. Gabe, you can return to your students. I would like to
talk to Shuro alone.”
I knew this was not going to be good when Mr. Gabe nodded and left us
alone in his huge office together.
“I want you to explain to me what happened.” Mr. Mortman was always
straight to the point. No dilly-dallying. He was sitting at his desk in
front of me now with his hands folded in front of him. There was a cup
of coffee that seemed untouched to the side of a few papers.
I shrugged. I was in no mood to explain to Mr. Mortman what Alex had
whispered in my ear. I was barely able to recall it myself without
cringing again. “He was kicking my chair and I got fed up.”
Mr. Mortman didn’t seem convinced. He stroked a hand over his beard.
“So… you stabbed a pencil in his arm?”
When I didn’t say anything he continued. “Could you not have simply told
him to stop like a civilized young man?”
I still didn’t want to speak to him about any of this, so I just rested
my head on the tips of my fingers and avoided eye-contact.
“This boy can be seriously injured because of what you’ve done. He can
get an infection which could spread and god knows what other horrible
things could become of that. A pencil is, as you know, not sterile and
can do some real damage to him. What if you had stabbed the pencil in a
more vital area, such as his forearm or even his neck?” He paused. “I
want to know. Did he provoke you in any way?”
At least Mr. Mortman wasn’t bias toward anyone. At least not that I knew
of.
I just shook my head. I was uncomfortable and my palms were sweaty and I
was already in a horrible mood. This was only making it worse. I just
wanted to run away, but I knew that was stupid and that I was caged here
no matter how hard I wanted to think otherwise. A few minutes passed and
I looked out the window behind Mr. Mortman and saw a red ambulance van
pull up across the lot with haste. Two men dressed in white ran inside
the front doors with a stretcher and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.
There was a pencil sticking out of his arm, it’s not like Alex was
burned to death by some spontaneous fire in science class.
“Alright, fine. If you’d rather keep your lips shut about this whole
thing, that’s perfectly fine with me. Either way you’re expelled for
three months.”
Oh, perfect. That meant me, alone at Rafael’s place for the remainder of
John’s trip with absolutely nothing to do but stare at my ankles and
count down the hours until I could leave.
“I have already called your father. He’s on his way to pick you up and
take you home.”
My whole body tensed and a wave of heat rushed over my entire body as he
said that. My fingers gripped the armrest of the chair so tightly they
could have made tears right through the leather. My eyes widened and I
could barely move. I was stunned, in the seat, as if I had just been hit
by an enormous bolt of lightning.
“What?” I had to make sure I had heard him correctly and that I wasn’t
in some crazy fucked up nightmare. Before he had time to repeat his
statement, however, there was a knock at the door to the office. My
stomach jolted and Mr. Mortman rose, with a welcoming “come in.”
“Wait—” I stood now too, but I didn’t have time to say much else to Mr.
Mortman.
The man that emerged from behind the creaky door was the man I despised
the most in the world, the man who’s every word sounded like a venomous
snake’s hiss, the man who seemed to make time stop dead in its tracks.
Alex Miller seemed like my best friend compared to this man. I was
standing before my father, my feet glued to the carpet, my arm clutching
the seat I was just sitting on. I could have given anything to rewind
time to just a few minutes earlier when I was having my little chitchat
with Mr. Mortman. That seemed like a fiesta compared to what I was faced
with now.
“So, I see my boy has been naughty again?” Ron spoke at last. His words
somehow managed to make their way over to me and wrap themselves around
my lungs, squeezing them, making it hard to breathe. I tried to speak
but I couldn’t say anything. I was taken over by a dark fear that was
too powerful even for me to overcome.
“Yes, in fact I have just expelled him for three months for stabbing his
fellow student in the arm with a pencil.”
I cringed and couldn’t believe what Mr. Mortman was telling him. Didn’t
word get around to him too about how my father was?
“Well, then. I’ll see to it that he learns his lesson.” Ron gave the
most menacing, the most inhumane smirk I had ever seen him give and I
wondered how Mr. Mortman could be so goddamn oblivious. I could
practically see the fire gleaming in Ron’s eyes.
Ron reached forward and gripped my arm with more force than ever and
began dragging me away. No, I thought. No, this is all wrong.
“Come, my son.”
“Please, wait—” I tried to reach out to Mr. Mortman with my desperate
pleas because I figured I had nothing to lose. I had a horrible feeling
in the pit of my stomach that told me if I left with Ron I would never
be coming back, even after three months. Ron always acted this way but
somehow this time was different. I was more terrified than usual. I
sensed something utterly horrible coming and I wanted to fight it. I
tried so hard to fight it…
“Please! Listen to me!” I practically shouted at Mr. Mortman now but it
was as if I was in a horrible nightmare and my voice somehow couldn’t
reach him. I was being yanked away by what seemed, at the moment, like
the god of the underworld himself hysterically dragging me to my death.
I had no way out. No escape. |
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