These Gentle Wounds

by Helene Dunbar

  The room is silent. My head is silent. Not in a good way. I just feel empty and confused. Mr. Brooks was there from the beginning. He’s the only one who ever treated me like I wasn’t some nutcase.

  “Gordie?”

  I know I need to tell him to have a nice time, that I’ll see him when he gets back. That’s what normal people would do, right? But my heart is pounding and I’m stuck here watching the birds crack the little seeds with their sharp beaks.

  His shadow fills the window as he comes up behind me. “I have email, you know. You can always write me. Or even call, if you need to.”

  I lean my forehead against the cool glass. A couple of the birds fly away and then come back to finish eating. I’m jealous of how birds get over being frightened so quickly. I want to get over it too; it’s just that everything feels like it’s changing at once. And sure, some of it is good, but I don’t know why bad stuff needs to happen at the same time.

  “Gordie.”

  I turn, but my eyes are stuck on the ground. I don’t want him to know how upset I am. Even though I’m sure he already does.

  “Sounds fun,” I say as I grab my backpack and head toward the door. “I have to go. I have to … ” I don’t know what I have to do except not make an ass out of myself in front of Mr. Brooks, which is all well and good until I walk right into the air hockey table.

  “Crap,” I say, kicking it, which just makes my foot hurt.

  “You’re going to give that table a complex if you keep beating it up,” he says.

  I feel like a total idiot. “Sorry,” I mumble again. I let my bag slip down my shoulder and lean against the table.

  Mr. Brook leans next to me. “You’re going to be okay. This is all good, right? I mean, finding out you have a brother, and Sarah Miller?”

  “It’s just … I don’t know … confusing.”

  “All of it or just the part about Sarah?”

  I snap the band against my wrist a couple of times. Something about seeing Sarah and having Mr. Brooks say he’s leaving makes it hard to talk about Jordan again. “All of it, I guess. But Sarah … yeah. That too.”

  “It isn’t you, you know. Relationships are always confusing. Girls are confusing.” He laughs. “Take it slowly and you’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

  “Like I have any choice.” I think I just say it in my head, but then I realize I’ve said it out loud.

  “From the look on her face, she obviously likes you. What are you afraid of?” Mr. Brooks’ question flies around the room like one of the birds at the feeder. I could make him a list of a hundred things that scare me, but I know he’s asking for something more specific.

  I shrug and snap the band on my wrist again a few times. This whole conversation is making me edgy and I know there’s still enough time before the first bell that I’m not going to be able to escape it. “You’re leaving.”

  “You have other people you can talk to, Gordie. You have Kevin and Jim, and now Sarah.”

  “It’s different though. I can’t talk to Jim like this, and Kevin … that’s just different. Sarah … that’s really different.”

  “You can always talk to someone else,” he says softly. He knows how I feel about the whole idea of talking to someone who is just paid to listen, someone who doesn’t get me at all.

  “That didn’t work out so well last time.”

  “You aren’t ten anymore. I think you’d find it a completely different experience at fifteen.”

  I really want to just lose it and tell him he can’t go, that I’m not sure how to do this growing-up thing. That everything with Kevin is changing and I don’t know how long Sarah is going to stick around; she always seems to be talking about leaving. And Mr. Brooks has always been there for me to count on, and now that I think about it, I’m terrified of being left alone by all of them.

  I would have said all of that when I was ten.

  I know better than to say it now, but I think maybe I was better off when I was just a stupid kid.

  I drag my sleeve across my eyes to make sure that I’m not crying like I really want to.

  “Just think about it, okay?” he asks.

  My bag feels a lot heavier when I pick it up to leave.

  Mr. Brooks leans over and clasps my shoulder. “You’re going to be fine.”

  I wish “fine” didn’t seem to mean “alone,” the way that everyone says it.

  Twenty-Seven

  “Watch where you’re going, freak.”

  I’ve almost walked into Cody, and now he’s standing in front of me, his usual smug expression plastered onto his face. This is the last thing I’m up for.

  “Sorry.” I move to step around him.

  “You sure are,” he says.

  Normally, I’d walk away and figure I got off light. But there’s a powder keg of pissed-off inside me and Cody’s just lit it. I let my backpack drop to the floor and try to imagine what Kevin would do.

  “You’re graduating in a few months, right?” I ask. “I mean, you aren’t going to be held back again or anything?”

  His smirk narrows into a straight line. “Why, honey? You gonna miss me?”

  I try to remember everything Kevin ever tried to teach me about fighting. Action is better than reaction. Throw a punch with your body, not just with your arm. Keep your thumb out of your fist or you’ll break it.

  I wish I’d actually tried it out and not kept it as just a bunch of words. I take a deep breath and tighten my fists. Maybe I am nuts, but, at the moment, I don’t really care.

  “Yeah, we’re all going to miss you keeping the penalty box warm and leaving us short-handed,” I say. “In fact, why don’t you stick around because really, we’d love to miss the playoffs again and I’m not sure we can do that without you.”

  He’s such a moron that I can see him trying to figure out my insult.

  “You know what I don’t get?” He takes a step forward and I fight every urge I have to back up.

  “What?” I ask, although I could write a book about everything Cody didn’t get.

  “Why haven’t you just gotten over it? I mean, your mom was probably nuts too, right? So at least you didn’t have to deal with her. I think she did you a favor.”

  I don’t even take a breath before I move to punch him. But like a blur, Cody is jerked away and Kevin has him pushed up against the lockers.

  “You have a death wish, Bowman?” Kevin asks, his face about an inch from Cody’s.

  Cody looks at me and then at Kevin. “Hey man, your whacked-out brother started it.”

  Kevin pulls Cody’s shirt up so that it rests, wrapped around his fist, just under Cody’s neck. “Yeah. Sure he did, you piece of … ”

  “Mr. Allen, do we have a problem here?” Mr. Brooks appears out of nowhere and stares down at Kevin.

  My brother takes a step back and lets go of Cody, but I can see the anger still pouring off of him, and I still feel it churning inside me. “No,” he says. “Everything is just fine.”

  I stare at Mr. Brooks, hoping he can feel how badly I need Kevin not to get hauled off to the principal’s office.

  But when Cody straightens himself out and stalks off, everyone takes a breath at the same time.

  “Watch yourself, Kevin,” Mr. Brooks warns, and then gives me a little nod before he leaves.

  Kevin leans against the locker and looks at me like he’s never seen me before. “Did you really start that?”

  I swallow hard to try to contain my anger. Try to focus on what I need to do. “I’m going to go see him. Jordan. I found his address.”

  “I know you want to.” Kevin pauses and takes a deep breath. “Sarah and I were just talking, Ice, and maybe this isn’t the best way to handle things.”

  “What do you mean?” I’m not sure what’s freaking me out more—that they’ve been talking
, or that they agree on something.

  His mouth tightens. “What are you going to do? Ride in there like the cavalry and kidnap him?”

  The urge to slug something returns. But I see Sarah coming down the hall and work on letting my fist relax.

  “No.” I draw a sharp intake of breath and let my words flow out as I release it. “No. I need to talk to him. I need to make sure … I just need to see him. Then I’m going to let DeSilva know what my father is doing to him.”

  Sarah comes over and puts her hand on my arm. “Can’t you just tell Jim now?” she asks. “Or a teacher or someone?”

  I want to tell her I will, because that’s what she wants to hear. I want to do whatever she wants me to. But if I’m right, I can’t leave Jordan there one more day than I have to. And there’s no way I’m telling anyone that. Not her, not Kevin. And if they wouldn’t understand, then there’s no chance of Jim or Mr. Brooks getting it.

  No one is going to get why I have to do this.

  I can’t do nothing. Not again.

  And the idea that maybe it isn’t my father who’s the crazy one is starting to take over my head. And if that’s true, then maybe I’m imagining it all.

  I need to be sure. I need to be sure of everything.

  Kevin must be able to tell that a bunch of stuff is rattling through my head because he says, “I don’t like this. I don’t want you to get hurt, Ice. This kid is nothing to you. He isn’t your problem.”

  Without thinking, I do something I’ve never, ever done before. Just like he did with Cody, I grab the front of Kevin’s shirt, push him into the wall, and get right up into his face. “How. Can. You. Say. That? You, of all people?

  Sarah gasps and Kevin’s eyes cloud over. I tense up, bracing for the punch. I’d almost welcome it. But then Kevin spins away, slamming his hand into the locker hard enough to draw the attention of half the kids in the hall.

  When he turns back to me, his eyes are sharp as daggers. “Fuck, Ice. You trying to grow up to be like your dad?”

  I don’t say it’s more likely that I’m turning into him. I’m too busy feeling each of his words as they slice through my skin, each syllable sharper than any blade.

  I want a fight, but this hurts worse than any blow ever could.

  Maybe my father is crazy. But what does that make me, aside from the kid who inherited it?

  “Wait. Gordie, wait.”

  Sarah’s voice chases me as I storm out of school and across the parking lot. At first I think I’m imagining it, but then she’s right there, matching me step for step.

  “Stop. Please,” she pleads as first bell goes off.

  What else can I do? I stop like I’ve walked into a brick wall.

  She reaches out to touch my shoulder. I can’t help it when I jerk away from her.

  “Are you angry with me?” she asks. She’s upset, and I hate that I’m the cause of it.

  “No,” I say, but I don’t think she believes me. My hand is clenched again and I can’t open it. The muscles don’t loosen when I try to massage it so I let it fall, limp and useless, to my side.

  “Gordie, I’m worried about you.”

  A part of me wants to put my arms around her and lay my head on her shoulder. But I can’t get Jordan’s eyes out of my head and I won’t let anything, not even Sarah worrying about me, keep me from doing the right thing this time.

  “Go back to school, Sarah. I don’t want you to get in trouble,” I say. I force myself to walk away.

  She runs up again and grabs my sleeve. “I want to help you.”

  I look into brown eyes that seem like they can see right through me, like Kevin’s can. “I know,” I whisper.

  She takes the backpack from my shoulder and puts it down on the ground. Her arms circle around me. I’m surrounded by lilacs and warmth as she breathes into my ear, “Then let me.”

  I give myself a few seconds to enjoy being so close to her before I pull away. It takes me a minute to get my hand into my pocket, but when I do, I tug the crumpled letter out.

  She takes it from me and stares at it for a long time. “Is this his address?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Won’t he be in school now?”

  It’s like I’m standing on the wall at Jim’s. Do I go over, or do I stay put? Do I tell Sarah the truth, or do I keep my unspoken promise to Kevin never to talk about what my father used to do to him? I need to give her an explanation but I can’t do that without … without …

  “I don’t think so,” I say crossing a line I never thought I’d cross. “When things were really bad, and he thought it would show, my father made Mom keep Kevin home from school. There’s only so many bruises you can hide from the teachers.” The expression on her face changes as the meaning behind my words sinks in and I silently pray that Kevin isn’t going to hate me for telling her this.

  But I’m pretty sure he will.

  “You’re just going to talk to him, right?”

  For some reason the question sounds different coming from her than from my brother.

  I nod.

  “I could come with you,” she says, glancing back at the school.

  My heart races. I want her to come with me so badly. But she already skipped first period yesterday because of me, and I really don’t want her to get into trouble.

  Also, what if my father is there? What if Jordan is fine and it’s all in my head? What if I’m nuts and she decides she doesn’t want anything to do with me?

  I take her hand and squeeze it.

  “I’ll be okay,” I say.

  She nods, but I’m pretty sure neither of us thinks that’s true.

  Twenty-Eight

  I look out the bus window, at tree after tree after tree. The houses get really big and then really small again as we drive through various neighborhoods and then they end up in the middle, just like Jordan’s.

  Cody’s words ring in my ears. Over it? Do other people get over shit like what my mom did? Sometimes I wish I’d lost a leg or something. Everyone can understand that. They never get it when what’s been broken is inside your head.

  I close my eyes and focus on the hum of the engine beneath me, trying to let the rhythm calm me, and the next time I look up, the bus is stopped and the driver is impatiently calling out the street name. I pull on my cuff and realize I’ve been chewing on my damned shirt sleeve again. I’m glad Sarah wasn’t here to see.

  I think of turning around and going back, but all it takes is a glance at Jordan’s house to know I have no choice.

  Everything is dark and quiet. There are no cars in the driveway. I poke my head around the back, but there’s no one there, only a grizzly looking dog who growls when he sees me.

  I go back around and ring the doorbell. I don’t know what to expect. Jordan’s mother, maybe?

  Something shuffles inside and I start to panic. Then the door swings slowly open, like it’s been blown open by the wind.

  If he looked sad last time, Jordan looks absolutely terrified now. But as he realizes it’s me, the fear seeps out of his face and he rushes to throw his arms around my waist.

  I put my hand on his shoulder and try to keep my voice from shaking so that I don’t freak him out. Or myself. “Is your mom here?” I ask.

  What I want to know, really, is that my father isn’t, but I know from my own experience that the longer I can avoid bringing him up, the better off we’ll all be.

  “I’m not supposed to open the door,” Jordan says.

  “That’s pretty good advice,” I say, but he lets me in anyhow.

  I look around. It’s one of those houses where the couch is covered in plastic, where everything looks unused and dead. There isn’t a single light switched on or anything to even suggest there’s a kid living here. I don’t see a toy or a book or a stray article of clothing.

 
“Are you alone?”

  Jordan looks down and, for a minute, I’m pretty sure he isn’t going to answer me.

  “Puff is here,” he says. I don’t know how to respond, so I just go for facts.

  “And your mom?”

  “I think she’s gone again,” he says in a dry voice.

  I sit down on the floor next to him. “Again?” I ask.

  He nods.

  “You mean she left you here alone? When?”

  He shrugs. “After the other day, I guess.”

  I hope he doesn’t mean the other day when I was here. “Three days?” I say, trying to keep the stress out of my voice. “You’ve been here alone for three days?” Even when my mom was at her worst, she wouldn’t have left us alone like that.

  “I have cookies,” he says, as if that somehow makes up for it.

  I try to keep my hand from shaking as I reach up and push Jordan’s sleeve back. The bruises I saw on Saturday are still there.

  I know that the plan that’s been hiding in the back of my head—the one I haven’t told anyone about—is the only option. And I know that what I’m planning to do is going to piss Kevin off. I know my father will want to kill me. I don’t even know what Jim or Sarah would think, but I don’t see any other way out.

  “Are these from your dad?”

  I can feel the tension running through his little body, down his arm and into mine. I remember hearing my father tell Kevin that if Kevin ever told anyone how he’d beaten the crap out of him for “saying the wrong thing” or “having a bad attitude” or breaking one of a million other rules we didn’t even know existed, he would kill him. And then, when Kevin got pissed off about that, my father would threaten to hurt me or Kayla or Mom.

  So Kevin never told Jim and he didn’t tell anyone else. Even now.

  “You don’t have to say anything. Just nod, okay? I won’t tell.”

  There’s a huge pause as I wait and bite at the inside of my cheek. The pain sort of distracts me from the pictures in my head of Kevin lying silent in his room while I tried to get him to play with me, to race cars or read, to do anything but lie on his bed, his tear-stained face directed at the ceiling as he cradled a new set of bruises.