“Cultural differences, Pat. We’re neighbors, don’t go making any more of it than it is.”
“Wow. Cultural differences indeed! Your insolence wouldn’t be tolerated even in the most barbaric of countries!”
“I—I’m sorry, Pat. I didn’t mean it like that. I...”
“Then how did you mean it?”
“It’s just... It’s our business. And I don’t want you involved in it, OK? We’ll get through it. Alice and I are working things out.”
“It is my business, friend. You live on my street. I am raising a family on this street. Your business is as much mine as the guy next door’s.”
“Well, I don’t see it that way.”
“Then don’t. But we are friends. I accept that you had a few wineglasses last night, Jack. I don’t believe in this abstinence forever nonsense myself. If a man can control his liquor, he’s not an alcoholic. But you’re drinking whiskey this morning!”
“It’s Christmas Day, isn’t it?” Even I could hear dad’s sarcasm. “Oh, Pat, what do you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything from you. I am merely pointing out that I believe you have a problem. And that I’m here to help you if you need it, in whatever way you wish.”
“I’m getting help.”
“Maybe you need better help.”
“OK, if I need better help, I’ll come to you.” The statement was blasé.
A beat of silence. Then, more seriously, “Fine.” Pause. “Look, Jack... There’s another reason I asked to talk to you privately. It’s about this business with what happened at that party.”
“I’m really grateful for what Johnny did. That Ryleigh boy got what was coming to him in my opinion.”
“I agree. But I need to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Are you pressing charges against that Ryleigh boy? For what he did to Catty.”
“That was the plan. Why?”
“Well, as you know, Johnny...went a little crazy on the boy. It’s grounds for assault, because he took it too far. If he’d hit him once or twice, he could have pleaded self-defense—on Catty’s behalf. But he didn’t.”
“I see.”
“Their family has offered us a deal. If...this boy Mark isn’t charged for the swing against...Catty. Well, they’ll drop the charges against Johnny.”
Silence. “It really depends on Cathy, doesn’t it? I’ll have to ask her what she thinks. Why didn’t you ask her directly?”
“Because you are her father. It would not have been right of me to do so. I don’t care how drunk you are, that’s still your role.” I felt the double-meaning in that.
“I appreciate it.” I heard a chair moving. “You’re a good man, Pat. I... If... Well, you know I haven’t always liked that Johnny has been dating my daughter. But if he’s anything like you, well, maybe he’s not so bad for her after all.”
Pat chuckled that rumbling Santa chuckle of his. “You can be a real cabrão sometimes, Jack! You know that?” He laughed even louder.
“Hey, I don’t speak Portageeze, but I know that’s worse than an asshole!”
“Much worse!”
-6-
In the late afternoon, Johnny and I went for a walk in the woods. The sun was going down early, and it had been cloudy as well today, so there was really low light when we got to Our Hill.
Daniela was too busy with her new iPod and five hundred other gifts to be interested in coming with us.
That was fine by me, because I wanted to be alone with him.
Sections of the creek were frozen, just on the sides. We threw down our thermal blanket and sat down. There were no words to be said.
I looked him deep in the eyes. “Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“You know what.”
“They’re pressing charges against me, can you believe it?”
“I won’t let them. I overheard your dad talking to mine and...” I told him. And I told him I would skip pressing charges if it got him off the hook. “I think what you gave him was justice enough.”
“I took it too far.”
“You did. And maybe we can work on that.” I pecked him on the lips, and he inhaled deeply as I kissed him. His hands tugged at my sweater, his bruised hand shaking.
“I hope you heal soon, Cat. Because every time I see this...” He touched the blueness under my eyes. “I... I... I just want to...do it again!”
“I know.” I tried to make my voice gentle. “I know. But it’s over. He didn’t hurt us.”
Johnny clenched his jaw.
“It’s over, sweetie. It’s OK now.” I pushed him back, my hands still on his cheek. I could feel him shivering, and I knew it wasn’t the cold. It was his anger.
I pressed my tongue into his mouth and felt his warmth. We kissed like that for several minutes before I straddled him. I had a lot of clothes on, boots, thick socks. When I pressed down against him below, when I felt his desire, none of it mattered.
The world disappeared.
The wind disappeared.
And then there was only us, that concentration of sweet pleasure below as I ground and eased myself over him.
He put his hands on my thighs and rubbed them. I undid my ponytail and let my hair fall on his face, black mixed with dark gold.
“Mmmm,” he said.
“Eu amo-te,” I told him, pressing down hard.
He bit his bottom lip. His eyes fluttered. His left hand tightened against my thigh. His right, still bruised, tightened only slightly.
I moved down with my head and joined my tongue to his while I pressed and rubbed and felt him push up against me.
My legs squeezed. Our breaths echoed back at us.
I started to moan, a wailing moan of need.
I kept my voice low, but as it built up, as his hands eased up my sides and caressed my cheeks; as my legs became tauter and my screams built up to boiling point, the moan became a constant murmur.
I bit my lip to try hold it in.
I ground violently. A stone pressed against my left knee. Johnny pushed me back and forth with his hands and tugged and pulled—
“Oh, God,” he said, his eyes open, his mouth open, his pelvis suddenly raised up against me.
“Oh, yes,” I echoed.
And then we were in the clouds.
CHAPTER TEN
~ Relapse ~
-1-
But what goes up, must come down...
When I opened the door to my house, I heard the yelling.
They were in their bedroom.
“... drunk again ... always the same ... how embarrassing ... damn it.”
“... I love you ... this is bullshit! ... WOMAN, ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND!”
I decided to go to my room and hum with my fingers in my ears. Maybe it would stop in a minute or two, maybe ten.
Johnny’s name came up a few times. Then mine. The word “drunk” came up more than any other. I was pretty sure I heard the word “drugs” once or twice.
I don’t wanna know. I just—don’t—want—to know!
A door slammed!
“GET OUT! GET OUT, YOU TWO-TIMING DRUNK!”
They were screaming right into the hallway now. They obviously didn’t know I was here.
“ME!? I’M THE TWO-TIMER? HOW MANY TIMES DID YOU BRING YOUR FUCKIN CABANA BOY HERE WHILE I WAS SOBERING UP IN THE CITY?”
“Sobering up? You call this sobering up?” I tightened my arms around my stomach, and I rocked harder back and forth, humming. I was suddenly cold, so I pulled the bedspread around my shoulders. “You’re worse off than you were before. We had our experimentation days, Jack. But now...now... You can’t start that shit again in your goddamn forties!”
“I HAVE IT—UNDER—CONTROL!”
Slap!
Silence.
I rocked. I hummed.
More silence.
“You—goddamn—bastard! GET OUT!”
And then he lost it. He lost
it...completely.
“AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGH!” Thump, thump, thump, thump!
My mother shrieked—a shrill, piercing scream mixed with the sound of tears.
By the time I bolted out my bedroom door, all I saw was a monster in a torn dress shirt, dragging a woman down the stairs by her hair.
I howled. “STOP IT! STOP IT, GODDAMNIT! BOTH OF YOU JUST STOP IT!” I was crying, tears streaming. “LET HER GO, DADDY! LET HER GO!”
I ran to my room and texted Johnny. Between rheumy vision and shaking hands, I managed to get out only one word.
HELP
A war raged downstairs. By the time I had typed in those four letters, furniture had splintered, glass had smashed, and the sound of slap-slap-slap had left my stomach feeling like water.
I bolted out of my room and to the stairs! I raced with all my might, arms pumping, legs storming like a blizzard one after the other, eyes blurry, chest thumping—
And then my foot caught behind my ankle.
I saw the stairs from an ungainly angle, hovered over them for just an instant; and for an instant I actually believed I would be fine, or that maybe I could even fly.
It’s not so bad, not so bad, I’ll land softly.
And then the steps taught me otherwise.
-2-
My cheek hit the corner of one.
I rolled and tumbled and crashed down the flight. My neck popped, and for a delirious second I thought I had snapped it.
I tumbled, over and over. The world spun around me like a washing machine. I saw blood in a splotch. For a moment I thought we were at the party at Jess’s place, and that the blood was Mark’s. But then I tumbled again. I heard the crack of my pinky finger snapping, and also felt it.
My eyes filled with water.
Food came up to my throat.
Pain hammered me, starting at my hand, focusing at my elbow, and then throbbing everywhere else.
The sounds from the living room never stopped, adding chorus to my rock n roll song of agony:
Slap! Slap! Slap!
“STOP IT, YOU MONSTER! STOP IT!”
All the while I tumbled: thump, thump, thump.
And then all was relatively still.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
“Oh, God, Cathy! Cathy!” Slap! Glass crashed. “Jack, it’s Cathy!” Slap. “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, ARE YOU MAD! YOUR DAUGHTER (grunt) FELL DOWN THE STAIRS!”
CRASH!
It took me a moment to realize the world had stopped tumbling, but now it was waving, rolling as if I were on a boat. I felt that food at my throat again...
Where am I? Where—
And then, out of nowhere, another voice, just outside the front door. “Cat?”
Johnny.
Johnny, help me, help me, Johnny.
The words wouldn’t come out.
“Cat?”
Johnny, I’m—I think I fell—I think...
“CAT, OPEN THE DOOR!”
My eyes closed.
Pain, such terrible pain on my finger.
My finger?
I looked at it, and the twisted angle of it brought the pain rushing up to me all at once. The rush of agony flowered like a bloom inside me and brought tears and vomit out all at the same time.
My throat burned.
My hand throbbed.
BANG BANG BANG! “OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!”
And then, “Jack, it’s me—Pat. Jack, open up, buddy!”
“I’M NOT YOUR FUGGIN BUDDY, DAMNIT!” Dad was slurring.
Oh, God, someone help me. Someone.
I faded...
...then I snapped to again.
I turned to look into the living room.
That’s when I saw her. And that same color. That awful, terrible color I’ve been seeing so much of lately.
Mom was in a red dress.
And her face was also red.
And so was the wall.
I held my food down this time.
The man in the living room—Is it my father? No, it can’t be. It can’t be my dad—came strutting toward me.
All I saw were his boots; his big, brown, heavy boots. One step, then another, as if one more step would bring it against my head.
Distances were funny.
The world was still woozy.
Johnny?
Dad.
Mom?
Oh, God, I feel awful. I feel so ill...
My father: “Go home, little boy!” He sounded like a man gone mad. “Daddy will take care of this.” Daddy will tague gare-of-iszh.
The room swayed. Dad had a broken glass in his hand, stumbling toward me.
The floor tilted.
My mom faded in and out of sight behind him. Red dress, stockings torn, legs sprawled, cowed.
It all moved so slow. So damn slow...
“Daddy will tague-gare-of-this.”
BANG BANG BANG. “Open up, Jack! Let’s talk this through.”
Pat. Pat. Pat and Johnny.
Pitter-Pat, Pitter-Patter Pat.
“Daddy will tague-gare-of-this.”
And then dad reached the door.
And he opened it.
-3-
“Oh, if it isn’t da fuggin gazanova who wantsh to shtick ’is fuckin cock inside my daughter’s virgin pussy! You are a virzhin, are you not, baby? Or ’as zhat boat already sailed?”
The scene was something from nightmares.
At any moment I expected dad to be pounced on, for him to go sprawling and for more blood to be spilled; more violence! I just wanted it to stop. No more screaming, no more shouting.
And yet Johnny was now at the door.
My dad was twice Johnny’s size in width. But I knew what Johnny was capable of.
This couldn’t go that route. It couldn’t. Not with my father.
Mark Ryleigh and Nicole Ferman were one thing, but this was something else entirely!
Johnny, keep cool, baby. For the love of God, keep—fucking—cool!
Johnny stepped inside in slow motion. He put a hand on my father’s chest to hold him at bay, moved further into the foyer and took a survey of me, my mom.
Pat walked in behind him, large and looming, also taking in the scene.
“She fell, Johnny,” my mom said. “He didn’t hit her. He didn’t hit her!” Even mom was afraid of Johnny’s potential reaction.
“Why if-id-isn’t da fuggin hero of da fuggin day! Come to save da fuggin damsels in fuggin distress!” My dad lifted the shattered whiskey glass to his lips to take a sip! Pat grabbed it from his hand and threw it out on the porch where it plinked and klinked and then rolled to a stop.
“Come, Jack,” Pat said. “Let’s take a walk before you cut yourself.”
“A...walk?” Dad stepped back. He stumbled, and then he started to fall. He was going to land on me!
Both Pat and Johnny grabbed him!
“Let’s take a walk, Jack,” Pat repeated.
“I’m not takin a fuggin walk! I’m not!” He stumbled back again!
And then he crumpled onto his knees. “So, tough guy. Whatjoogonna do!” he mumbled.
“Cat? Here, take my hand. Can you move?” Johnny extended his hand around my father.
“You juz wait-a-minute there, fella! Who the fuck do you think you are comin in here and... Hey, I’m talkin to you!”
“Cat, the hand, take it. You’ll sleep at our place tonight.”
“WHO THE FUCK!” My dad pushed Johnny weakly.
Johnny put his finger up to warn my father. Pat looked at his son ferociously, put his own finger up. “Não! Nada disso!” No, none of that! “There’s been enough violence here. Go to Catty, call an ambulance for her or, if she’s not too bad, help her to the car and take her to an emergency room! Same for Alice. Alice, you OK?”
Mom wept, didn’t answer.
“Alice!” Pat repeated. “You fine?”
Through tears, she said, “Just a little bruised, Pat.” Then she said something I didn’t quite catch.
Johnny
took a wide berth around my father. Dad kept taunting him, on his knees, shirt untucked.
He looked pathetic, and a deep, rending pity ran through me for him. I stumbled onto my feet, forgetting that I’d broken my little finger and screaming in agony when I mistakenly used it to lift myself.
This was my family, the only family I had. The whole scene was something from a Jerry Springer show. And I lost a little bit of my dignity that night.
My dad, on the other hand, had lost all of his.
Johnny took me to the emergency room.
I don’t know who cleaned up the puke.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
~ Safe ~
-1-
Pat drove dad to his apartment in the city and spent the night there with him, Christmas Night.
I went over to the Abreus after mom and I visited the hospital and got our wounds tended to. I had a mild concussion, and they splinted my finger. Mom had a ton of bruises, a small cut on the back of her head whose profuse bleeding had made it seem worse than it was.
Iliana would stay with mom at our place. Mom was too embarrassed to show her wounds to little Daniela.
This was serious now. There was no more doubting it in my mind—I was officially in an “abusive family.” It made me feel like trailer trash to hear the words in my mind. It made me want to sink into a black hole and never come out.
Most of all, however, it brought home the reality that I needed to be there for my mom. And that I needed to stop thinking it was OK for my dad to drink casually, because he obviously couldn’t control it. He only got violent when he was drunk.
Daniela went to her XBox and put on some dancing game I’d never heard of. She asked if I wanted to play and Johnny got upset with her abruptly, telling her I had things on my mind.
“No, it’s cool, I’ll play with you.”
She explained the game and I got up and danced in front of the screen. “What happened to your finger?” she asked me.
“Uhm.” I looked at it. “I fell down the stairs.”
She stared at me blankly for a second, not believing. And then a smile tugged at her lips. “You did not!”
Johnny Page 9
