Click. Seamus unlocks the outside door and slams it. There’s a pause while he takes off his shoes. He walks in and chucks his coat on a chair.
“Where’s Mom?” He’s squinting while he scans the living room. His cheeks are red and his socks are soaked, and by the smell of them, he hasn’t changed them in a while. He must have walked from somewhere.
“In the kitchen. You missed supper with everyone,” I answer, turning my attention back to the game. I can feel the muscles in Mandy’s little body get all tight. I put my hand on her back. “Mom made you a plate. It’s in the fridge.” I want to get rid of him.
“Great. I’m starved.” He slurs his words.
What a jerk. Why’d he bother showing up at all? If we’re lucky, he’ll just eat and go to his room.
Seamus walks carefully into the kitchen, trying to seem not drunk. Mandy holds her nose and pretends she’s going to die from foot stench. I look at Ryan. We do a sort of mind meld, like we’re agreeing to join forces. He nods.
I hear dishes and the microwave, and for a while I think it’s going to be okay. Sometimes when Seamus is drunk, he just gets quiet. Doesn’t open his big mouth. Now, if only Kate can stay out of his way and keep hers shut. They have this pattern that neither of them can resist. Like bugs flying into a zapper.
Seamus settles in at the table to stuff his face. The back door grinds in its track. Mom and Kate go outside for a smoke. Ryan takes the newspaper to the bathroom. Mandy and I continue to play till we finish the level, and of course she beats me. She’s excited, and for a minute I forget that Seamus is there. I get caught up with Mandy. She’s such a gorgeous kid. I high-five her.
Then I feel Seamus looking over my shoulder.
“What the hell is that?” He points at the Wii and belches. Mandy laughs. Seamus doesn’t.
“It’s a Wii. Grammy got it for me. And I beat Declan at Mario! I’m Daisy.” She has trouble containing her excitement, pointing at the screen. She just looks at Seamus, waiting for him to reply. He doesn’t even react. She glances at me and turns back to Mario, who’s bouncing up and down on the TV screen and prompting, “Let’s go! Let’s go!”
“She never got us no Wii.”
“I paid for it.” It’s only a half lie. I hope Mandy doesn’t catch on.
“It’s really fun, Uncle Seamus. You wanna try?”
“A baby game? Wii is for babies. PlayStation’s way better.” He picks up the clicker and switches the TV to sports, as if Mandy’s not even there. He’s smirking.
Mandy looks down, shoulders slumped, like he’s knocked the air right out of her. My body starts to vibrate. I make fists, dig my fingernails into my palms. The pain calms me down.
“Aw, Seamus is just afraid you’ll beat him, Mandy. Don’t worry. I had fun playing with you, even if you did beat the pants off me!” I cover up my privates like I’ve got no clothes on, and she laughs.
“You’re pathetic,” Seamus drawls without taking his eyes off the TV.
I ignore him.
“Did you hear what I said to you, man? I said you’re pathetic.” He’s raising his voice. What’s his problem?
“I heard you, Seamus. Thanks for your opinion.” I start to get up from the floor and take Mandy’s hand to lead her to the kitchen. “Mandy and I are going to the kitchen to have some more of Grammy’s chocolate cake.”
“Fuckin’ loser asshole who does tutoring. Ha! Mom told me that’s what you were doing when I saw you the other day. Fuckin’ loser. You’re so stupid, prob’ly won’t even help. Fuckin’ gay asshole!”
The memory of firecrackers popping outside Leah’s house launches me the rest of the way to my feet. I’ve dropped Mandy’s hand, and I’m standing right in front of him. He smells like alcohol, B.O. and putrid socks.
“Declan’s not stupid!” Mandy’s little voice pipes up behind me.
“Shut up, runt!” He lunges around me toward her. She jumps back and screams. Seamus laughs and stumbles in front of the sofa.
“Go to the kitchen, Mandy. See what Kate and Grammy are doing.” But she doesn’t go. She’s stiff, like a statue. I don’t take my eyes off Seamus.
“Why don’t you just go and leave us alone?” I say through clenched teeth. “Watch TV in your room. Let Mandy play her new game in here.” I position myself between him and Mandy.
“No. I wanna watch in the living room.” Before settling back down on the sofa, he reaches around to grab the clicker and looks right in my face. “Who’s gonna stop me? You?”
Something snaps, and I lose track of my body. I watch my right fist catch him, completely off guard, on the left side of his face. He tumbles back onto the sofa, and his hand flies up to his cheekbone. It takes him a moment to realize what’s happened. He struggles to his feet and lunges at me. Behind me I can hear Mandy shrieking and Ryan coming out of the bathroom, but I’m not thinking about anything except doing as much damage to my brother as I can. I block him and swing back, hard.
It’s like there’s a power surge to my arms. I swing again and again, into his chest, his face, his stomach. He’s making no sound. He doesn’t have time. He can’t even catch his breath. My body just does what it has to do. I’m deadly strong. Punishing. Unstoppable. I’m Donatello. I’m Batman. I feel a scream building up inside of me. Or is it laughter? I could soar.
Seamus gets free and lunges at me again, tries to get both hands around my neck. I see the room, Mom, Ryan spin around me, and a comical thought pops into my brain—that they’re watching us dance. I get my balance and push him off me with all my weight.
Seamus goes flying backward into the table by the door. The lamp topples and falls, and the bulb bursts. Keys and cigarette lighters and travel mugs and loose change fly everywhere. He comes back at me, flailing, but I’m waiting for him, and he’s still slow and unsteady. His face smashes right into my fist, and there’s an explosion of blood on my hand and on his face. This time he falls down, holding his nose.
Then I’m on top of him. I push him onto his back. Over and over I punch him in the face, I don’t know how many times, until I hear my mom screaming, “Declan! Stop! You’ll kill him! Please stop!” I feel Ryan grabbing the back of my shirt, trying to pull me off.
I stop, my breath rasping out of me, my shoulders heaving. Seamus is whimpering and trying to cover his face with his hands. I take my knee off him and grab a big handful of his shirt in my fist.
“Get up,” I growl, low and slow, twisting his shirt in my bloody hand as I yank him up. Hair is stuck to the sweat on my face. My heart sounds like thunder. “Get up! Get up, you fucking asshole! Get your coat and get out. Get the fuck out of this house or I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Now! You piece of shit! Go!” I push him backward toward the front door, releasing his shirt from my grip.
Seamus stumbles again into the table with the tipped-over lamp. He turns around and pauses, leaning on the table to get steady, then moves carefully to the door, his back to the living room. I hear Mandy crying. She’s with Kate in the kitchen.
“You’re taking too long!” I grab the back of his shirt with my right hand and open the door to the mudroom with the other. He doesn’t fight back because his hand is stuck in his pants pocket. We stumble over boots and shoes while I unbolt the front door. With all my strength I shove him out, and my brother is suspended in midair. Time stops.
He crash-lands in a pile of snow.
I spin around, grab his soaked shoes and his jacket and fling them out the door. They land beside him as he struggles in socks and bare hands to get out of the snowdrift and stand up.
I don’t wait to see how it ends. I shut the door and bolt it. When I turn to face my family, the room is deadly silent.
“Where will he go?” Mom’s voice is tiny, almost a whisper.
Eleven
Where the hell is my wallet? I can’t find it anywhere, and I’m going to miss my bus. I figured it landed on the floor last night wh
en everything flew off the table, but it’s not there. Mom must have cleaned up. The broken lamp is back where it belongs, its shade balancing on what’s left of it, and the keys and cigarette lighters and loose change are all in their usual places. No wallet. I grab the coins from the change dish and stuff them into my pocket.
Our driveway’s about the length of a football field. A few centimeters of fresh snow have covered Seamus’s tracks from last night, like he was never here. Running for the bus is tricky. It’s so icy underneath the snow, I break into a full glide a couple of times, surfer style, to stop myself from wiping out. I get there just as it’s pulling up to my stop. No time for a smoke. I put the unlit cigarette I’ve been holding into my pocket.
Like I do every morning, I walk all the way to the back, but I keep my hood up. There’s an ugly cut on my left cheek from my grandfather’s ring. Seamus wears it on his right hand.
My fingers are puffy and swollen, and my knuckles are bruised. I bet Seamus left with a broken nose, the way the blood spurted out. It doesn’t seem real. Like it’s my imagination or a dream.
It felt good to hit him. Shouldn’t I feel bad about that? Because I don’t. Where did he go? And what’s going on in his head? I hate to think about how pissed he is at me now.
I waited till Mom left this morning before I got up, so I wouldn’t have to see her. What am I supposed to say to her? He may have had it coming, but she still loves him. She’s stressed out enough already. I’m sure I just made everything way worse, and that’s not what I’m supposed to do. She counts on me.
I pull my hood around my face, lean my head against the window and close my eyes. I make a fist with my sore hand and squeeze until I can’t stand the pain anymore. When I let go, my whole body cools, like I’m floating in water.
As the bus gets closer to school, the kids around me get louder. To tune them out, I focus on the acceleration and deceleration of the bus’s engine, and the shifting of its gears in between long stretches of road. Brakes. Door. Low gear, accelerate, shift, accelerate, shift. Whirrr…
I’m jolted awake as the driver throws the bus into Park in the school parking lot. The diesel engine settles into a grumbling idle. As usual, kids from fifteen different buses are all trying to get through the front entrance of the school at the same time. Chirpy girl voices grate on my nerves. What’s everyone so excited for?
Another one of Mr. Peters’s stupid rules: no hoods or hats in the building. I slip off my hood and keep my head down to hide my face. I track what’s in front of me out of the corner of one eye. So far, no sign of Mitch or Dave.
I sense I’m about to bump into someone and raise my head enough to see Miss Fraser in her purple sweater, smiling at me. She zeroes in on my face, and her smile droops. She switches to emergency mode. “Come to my office?”
I don’t want to talk in the hallway, so I tag along with my head down. The warning bell rings and the hall starts to empty as she unlocks the door. She motions for me to sit.
“Miss, that was the bell.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll give you an admit slip. This is more important. What happened?”
What’s with her and admit slips? I tell her about the fight.
“Oh dear. I guess it was just a matter of time.”
“What do you mean?”
She hesitates, like she’s choosing her words carefully. “Last time we spoke, you were pretty fed up with your brother. The scary one, you called him.” Again, she takes a second to think before she speaks. “A total dick, I think you called him.”
My eyes open wide. “Yeah.” I can’t believe she said dick.
She’s sitting in her chair, turning a little pink plastic dinosaur over and over in her hand while I stand beside the desk. She stops when she sees me looking at it. She seems different this morning. Nervous, like there’s something on her mind. My boots are leaving dirty puddles of melted snow on the tile floor.
The second bell startles me.
“Relax, Declan. Why don’t you sit down? It’s the morning after your first fistfight with your big brother. There’s lots to talk about. It’s not an ordinary day.”
“Frankly, Miss, nothing in my life is ordinary lately.
Trouble with Seamus is the most normal thing about it.”
“Seamus started to act out when your parents… separated?”
Separated? That makes it sound so gentle, like pulling apart pieces of frozen bread. It was more like a war. I look down and rub my sore hand. “I guess.”
“So?”
“So, I don’t know. So, he went into his room nice when my dad left, like big-brother nice, and came out three weeks later mean.”
She raises her eyebrows.
I decide to step back from my puddles and sit after all. Why not? I’m not that crazy about going to class anyway. I explain how Seamus stopped going to school, and how Mom had to take food to him on a tray or he’d have starved. “My sister finally kicked his ass, dragged him out. She told Seamus to stop sulking, because he had to be the man of the house now. That it was up to him because Dad was…gone.”
The word gone hangs there when I finish speaking. I bend my neck from side to side and then back, so that I’m looking up at the ceiling tiles. On two of them there’s a big coffee-colored water stain with jaggedy, brown edges. Heaviness is spreading inside me like that stain, like cement is filling up my arms and legs. I take a couple of deep breaths and let the last one out slowly through my lips. For a while, nobody talks.
“Was there something…specific…that upset Seamus?”
This seems like a stupid question. Wouldn’t most kids be upset if their father pulled a vanishing act? It makes me wonder if she already knew what was going on with my family back then.
My leg starts to bounce. We just sit, and it’s real quiet. Pressure builds up behind my eyes. My face flushes, and I get this big lump in my throat. For once, I wish she’d say something. Did she run out of stupid questions?
Maybe I could change the subject. I’d like to change the subject, but my brain has shut down. I don’t want to talk at all—I’m afraid words will come out and cause trouble. I look for anything else interesting to read on the walls, but there’s only the gay-sex poster, and I don’t feel like looking at it right now. Two pigeons peck at the concrete ledge outside the window. One glides away, the other follows.
Miss Fraser uncrosses her legs and crosses them the other way. I notice her glance at a Kleenex box sitting on her desk with that little pink dinosaur and a bunch of other stuff: piles of papers, a mug that says Mommy, one of those squishy stress things filled with sand that you can squeeze, a chain of colored paper clips all jumbled together. Nothing like Mr. Peters’s desk.
She finally speaks. “Do you want to talk about how you’re feeling right now?”
Do I look like I want to talk about my feelings? I shake my head and fake a smile, but it’s not working. It feels like gravity is pulling the corners of my mouth down. I lean forward with my elbows on my knees and stare at the floor. Swallow hard. Man, I need a smoke.
Finally I calm down enough to make eye contact. She’s leaning toward me with her elbow on the armrest. “Okay?” She has that concerned eyebrows-up look.
“Phewww.” I blow out air for a long time. I just want to get out of here. “Yeah. I’m an idiot, Miss. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be talking about this. I never do.”
“Like we said before. Things aren’t ordinary.”
She doesn’t know the half of it. When I think back to that time, it’s like a war. And we were collateral damage, like civilians in that war in Afghanistan, only in my house. Maybe I do need to talk about it. About how your whole world can turn upside down in a single day. One bad day, like in Killing Joke. How things are not always what they seem…
“The funny part is, I never knew there was anything wrong. Nobody did. Not even Mom, I don’t think. We were just going along, being a f
amily…”
“…and?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Twelve
Ripping down the stairs from the guidance office, I run right into Mr. Peters. I’m sure I’m going to get into trouble for running, or being in the hall during class time, or something. I wave my admit slip to show him I was with Miss Fraser. His eyebrows move about halfway up his forehead when he sees my face.
“What happened to you? Did you get attacked by a tree on the highway?”
Funny.
I tell him it’s a long story and I’ve just been through it all with Miss Fraser and I shouldn’t miss any more of my class. I’m hoping he’ll be impressed by my improved attitude and just let me go. He opens his mouth like he’s going to protest, then closes it. Pauses. “Okay, Declan, but no running. Get rid of that jacket, and straight to class.”
“Yes sir!” I can’t believe it. No social-worker comments about my hard life or anything.
Dave’s already sitting in English. When I walk in, his eyes pop out of his head. Where were you? he mouths.
I put my admit slip on the teacher’s desk. She has a page of a book up on the Smart Board, and she’s making red circles around examples of how the author uses sentence structure to create mood. Seriously. How am I supposed to concentrate on that? I grab the book she’s talking about from the shelf at the back of the class and sit in my usual spot beside Dave. I flip to the page the teacher’s on and pretend I’m fascinated, to keep her off my back but also to put Dave off my trail.
The bell rings, and Dave drags me to his locker. Mitch is waiting there, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.
When he sees me, he grabs the cigarette from between his lips. “What the fuck?!” They’re both staring at my messed-up face.
“Okay, let’s have it. Where’d you get the cool tatts?” Dave asks.
“Tatts?”
“Your face, stupid. Looks like you got in a fight.”
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