Who was this man? Who was this pitiful man, who bullied us every opportunity he had only to…?
She spoke.
My thought scattered like so many fragments of broken glass.
“Take him, Teej.” Her voice was silken, rich - sultry. “Bend him over right where he’s standing and make him yours.”
I gaged, pulling back from the door, covering my mouth with my hand, hoping I wouldn’t have to corral a flood of puke.
“You want me to bareback him?” His voice was deep, musical but so low on the scale, it seemed like it could carry for miles.
I heard Roxanna breathe heavily, in and out, in and out, for nearly a quarter of a minute. “Skin to skin, baby, that’s the only way to fly.”
Teej rumbled with laughter. “How ‘bout you, lil’man, you ready for the black snake to borrow?”
I guess a part of me still felt this was all a sick joke. I guess I had lived a sheltered life up to that point, because I really didn’t expect to hear what I hear next. I‘d been waiting for the “big” denial, the “are-you-fucking-serious?” sort of response. The yelling and the outrage were soon to follow, right? Wasn’t my father a class-A asshole?
It never came.
“Don’t just stand there and talk about it, man. Do it!”
I was about to run from my bedroom when a tremendous shriek rang out. It was so loud. It froze me in my tracks, my hands clamped over my ears. Then the potted plant atop a wooden stand, the one on the far side of the fireplace toppled to the ground and crashed against the hardwood floors of the living room with a thunderous thud.
“Lenny! Someone’s here!” I heard Roxanna exclaim, but that was all.
I bolted for my room and for some semblance of rationality.
Never in a million, million years would I have suspected my father was bi-sexual. Never would I have guessed he was more than willing to take another man’s penis up his ass. Never!
I tried to move silently, but I know I wasn’t. I couldn’t, not with the perverse thoughts I had coursing through my head. I felt my hip hit the side of the kitchen counter as I passed it on my way to the back porch. I hit my shoulder against the jamb marking the beginning of the stairs leading to the second floor. I cringed at the amount of noise my feet made against the stairs as I climbed, clawed, cried my way away from the debauchery in the Master Suite. I had to get away. I had to put distance between me and them. I had to make sure my father didn’t suspect I’d seen.
But how was that going to be possible genius? She had yelled. She’d been watching alongside me. She’d been as disgusted as I’d been and she wailed with loathing.
Oh my god, it had been so loud! He’s going to think it was me! He’s going to blame me.
I hurtled myself right, then left down the hall. I came to my room, panting like a dog. I swiftly closed the door and locked it. If he came in, I wanted it to be on my terms. I searched for the wooden baseball bat I always kept underneath where I slept and stuffed it under my pillow. I wasn’t going to take any chances. Not after what I’d seen. No way! His secret was out. The true Leonard Favor had been revealed.
Because of it, he would be furious with me, though it wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t the one taking up the behind. That was him.
But, it wouldn’t matter. It would be my fault in his eyes. I’d been the one to unearth what he and Roxanna had been doing all along. He would say I was the one to blame for his unorthodox sexual appetites. He would say if I’d minded my own business, none of this would’ve happened. It didn’t matter he’d been the one who forgot I hadn’t gone to Corona with the rest of the family. It was my problem he’d brought his twisted friends over to the house, not his. He was never the cause. He was never the issue. He was the perfect man living in an imperfect world with an imperfect wife and imperfect children. We were the ones with the problems. It was his job to point them out to us as many times as he deemed necessary until we learned just how much better he was than the rest of us.
He’s an asshole, you know this.
Yeah, but he’s going to take this out on me!
So.
What do you mean, “so?”
Aren’t you bigger than him?
But, he’s my father.
And you’re his son. When has that fact ever stopped him in the past?
It wasn’t the first time I’d ever entertained thoughts of that nature. He had made me furious before, and I had notions of standing up to him in the past, especially physically. Yet, this was much more than fanciful musings of an angry child. This was real. This was about to happen. My father would come for me. I knew this, and it left me trembling with fear and anticipation simultaneously. Maybe a part of me wanted this. Maybe, after all this time… maybe, I wanted something physical. Maybe I wanted to let go.
I heard the front door slam, scrapes and clacks down the walk, and voices in the front yard. They were leaving, Roxanna and Teej. They were laughing and carrying-on like kids. They must’ve thought it hilarious, I’d caught them in the middle of their sick, bi-sexual, Dominatrix role-play. Fucking tools!
Then came the inevitable stomping through the house, and I knew he was coming.
I jumped on the bed, ripping the covers off it, then back onto myself in two fervent motions. Pretend you’re asleep! Pretend you’re asleep!
Less than half a minute later, he was pounding in the door. “Open up, you nosey little fuck! Open up!”
“What do you want?” I asked, feigning innocence.
There was a demented chuckle through the door. “You know goddamned well what I want. Now open this door before I break it down!”
Yeah right, you don’t have the strength to do that, you shriveled pencil-dick!
“I’m sleeping, dude. What’s wrong with you?”
The door shuddered in its’ frame as he assaulted the door with hands and feet. “Open this door now!” It was a shriek, high-pitched, almost effeminate, which immediately put a horrible picture in my mind.
I was out of my bed with a sweep of my arm and a push. Anything to get the thought of his butt getting slammed by a guy named Teej out of my head.
Ah god, Myra, I could really use some thoughts of you and me right now…
“Alright, alright!” I yelled back. “Come down before you scratch my door all to hell!” There was no way he was even going to crack the darned thing. He’d only scratch the paint off like the nerd he was.
I threw open the door widely, hoping to catch him off balance.
It didn’t work, he had already taken a few steps back as if he was about to rush the door.
He stopped, straightened. “What the fuck did you see?”
“See? What’re you talking about? I was asleep.” I was going to keep up the rouse for as long as I possibly could. “Well…,” I continued, purposefully drifting off.
He leaned toward me, his face a mask of fury.
“…I heard some people on the deck. Did you have friends over?”
He didn’t reply, but remained as he was, frozen, slightly stooped over. His look was flat, devoid of emotion. His dark eyes were pools of nothingness, boring into me, searching, trying to intimidate me with their lack of humanity. He wore only a pair of blue jeans. He was shirtless, barefoot.
I knew he was naked underneath. I didn’t want to think about that. I couldn’t! I couldn’t! Now, I knew what he did when his pants were off, when his ass was bare. Stop it! Stop it, NOW!
A minute passed.
I continued to stare back.
Another passed. His brow knitted, so slow it was like watching ice melt.
I didn’t move.
He licked his lips.
I didn’t want to think about his lips.
“If you say anything about this, Jerry, I’m going to beat you to death. Do you fucking hear me?” His face was warped with a snarl.
I felt my own frustration rise. It wasn’t my fault!
“I will beat the living shit out of you…,” he trailed off, trying to dan
gle the threat.
“You can try…” Yeah, bitch, two can play at that game.
I think if there was ever a time when he and I were ever going to go toe-to-toe with our fists, it would’ve been right then. But then, the rationale of a bully kicked-in as he began to weight the outcome of a confrontation between the two of us. I saw his eyes dart about my form. I saw him realize how much bigger I was than him, how much younger, how much more toned were my muscles.
I was an athlete. I had been ever since I decided to join the Jessie Owens Track Club when I was seven years old. The moment I got into competitive sports I was hooked. I played basketball, baseball, and flag-football. I did it all.
Lately, though, as the shortcomings of my genetic pool began to manifest and it became apparent I wasn’t going to grow beyond my five-foot-nine, my participation in the more main-stream sports began to diminish and I began to focus on one in which I was the most talented. That was Track and Field. Since my sophomore year I’d been running year-round, working out and lifting weights, gaining strength. I looked different than I had eighteen months prior. At first, I had shrunk as my muscles condensed. Then, I’d begun to fill out, my chest expanded, my wings broadened, my waist narrow and my legs turned into stone. I’d developed hyper-active reflexes, precise hand-eye coordination and endurance like I never had since. I was a horse.
He was seeing all of me now. He was gazing upon the “me” of today and not the little boy he still thought I was in his mind’s eye. As was the case with all bullies, the moment he realized the fight would be difficult, if not unfortunate, he backed down. His body became less rigid. He no longer appeared as though he was going to pounce.
Though it would’ve looked pathetic, him leaping after me, I was relieved. I really didn’t want to fight my father. I mean, I would if I had to, if it meant keeping my mom or one of my siblings safe, but over a disagreement between me and him…? Well, it didn’t seem worth it.
“You just keep your fucking mouth shut or I’ll hurt you, bad.” His jaw was still clenched. His words escaped his mouth as if the lower portion of face was in the throes of rigor-mortis.
I was about to reply, but he forestalled me.
“Remember, asshole, I don’t have to hurt you in order to hurt you.” The usual wicked gleam in his eye turned to something demented.
I figured he was talking about my mother, but as I scrutinized his visage a moment longer. I realized he was talking about Elijah. I felt a shiver of ice-cold dread race up and down my spine. He was going to hurt my baby brother? Over this, over his mangled sexuality, really?
He saw the fright in my orbs.
It was plain as day. I knew it. I could feel the heat of it on the skin of my face.
He smiled - a long, lethargic stretching of his face. There was no joy in it. There was no warmth or pride or sense of accomplishment. There was nothing, but the smile itself. It was as false as a studio back lot.
He chuckled to himself. “You remember, you fucking peeping-tom.”
He turned to walk down the hall, toward the stairs.
He got two feet and no more.
The air directly in front of his face seemed to thicken, to coalesce. I could see streamers of air come into existence out of nothing, thin filaments growing into thicker strands, only to thicken even more.
My father stopped dead, his head angled away from the fantastical mist.
A second passed.
Suddenly, the air itself screamed.
It was so piercing I had to cover my ears for a second time that night.
The effect on my dad was worse. All he could do was wail back, a horrific peel threatening to rip his vocal cords.
I stepped back, deeper into my room, shutting my eyes against the onslaught.
I heard my father hit the floor with a resounding thump! He’d been knocked out cold.
The scream stopped as quickly as it had begun.
I opened my eyes. There was nothing there. Whatever it was, it was gone now.
I could tell, from someplace where things of this nature have a shred of understanding within the human brain, this wasn’t Mrs. Gates. This wasn’t the protective or slightly annoying companion we’d come to know over the course of the past few months. Whatever this was, it was new. It was enraged.
And, it was strong.
~~~~~~~<<< ᴥ >>>~~~~~~~
Chapter Eleven: A Needed Respite
For nearly a week, the man I had once considered my father, woke us up in the middle of the night screaming in his sleep.
We were all staying upstairs – Valerie included. My mother had taken to slumbering with Elijah in his room, while my sister took over the guest bedroom. Things had deteriorated to the point where we didn’t want to be around my mother’s husband any more than we had to. Errant comments and off-hand greetings and good-byes were enough.
For me, even looking at him was almost too much to ask. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t get passed those images in my head. I couldn’t reconcile his choices over us. I could not see from his vantage no matter how hard I tried. There was nothing in my mind worth losing a wife and children – a family. What was he thinking?
So, he interrupted our dreams, each night, with his muffled shouts, seeping through the walls from the Master Suite downstairs. Most of the time, we heard only incoherent cries and jumbled yells, but once and a while something cognizant issued forth. They were strange utterings, horrified, in the throes of sheer terror.
“…please, no, no, no…!”
“…no, not again… it hurts… oh god, it hurts…!”
“…I know who you are! I know! I know! I know!”
And one night, the second to last he was there.
“LEAVE ME ALOOOONE!!!”
Then, silence. Thirty minutes later, we heard him leave. Whether he left for work early or just had to get out of the house, we never knew. The only certainty we knew was the sun had yet to poke its’ brilliant head over the horizon. Leonard Favor was finding his stay at 1052 Lincoln Drive unbearable.
I didn’t get the chance to ask him about his dreams, but whatever they were, they scared him shitless.
On the sixth day after that revealing night, Lenny - the man I would no longer call dad after what I’d seen - left for an extended trip to Canada. It was a much needed break, a joyous separation between us and the idiot who’d conceived me, my sister and brother. We were all happy at the prospect he wouldn’t be living in the house with us until June. The idea I wouldn’t have to see him, or hear about Roxanna (or the Rump Ranger, Teej) until right before my high school graduation was beautiful!
Four months of Lenny-less bliss!
I was more than looking forward to it.
Everything, during this time, seemed to flourish whenever I think back on it.
My relationship with my girlfriend deepened. Pretty much as my mother said it would if we took the time to get to know one another without the clouds of irrational temptation raining down on us. We weren’t completely guiltless, though. By the time the both of us were gearing up for walking amongst our friends to get our diplomas, we’d been having sex on a regular basis. It was our approach to the act that was different. We weren’t crazy with our wants and needs. We made sure we’d covered all the bases, approached it analytically than overly passionate and otherwise ignorant. Myra got on the pill. We indulged in a lot of foreplay as we got to know each other’s bodies. We learned our weak spots, what turned us on the most, searched for the ever-elusive female orgasm and much, much more before we finally felt we were ready. After that, it was merely a matter of finding the right time, a time where we wouldn’t be interrupted or rushed. We wanted to make certain when we lost our virginity it would be a slow, endearing event and not some random fumbling in the dark. We wanted the “lights” on!
As I think about on it, I’m glad we did it the way we ended up doing it. I’m glad we weren’t plagued with an early pregnancy. Though Myra and I have had our rough patches, if we hadn’t laid th
e foundation for a lasting relationship way back then, some of the things we’ve had to endure since would’ve made it impossible to salvage our marriage. It has made for a successful existence with the girl of my dreams.
Valerie, believe it or not, actually found a boy she liked during this time as well. His name was Jose Lopez, a nice kid from down the street. He was her age, somewhat smallish, though not terribly so. He had long, wavy hair, the color of deciduous leaves in the fall, as if his hair couldn’t decide what color to be in the play of the sunlight. In artificial light, it was somewhere between chamoisee and chestnut. In the sun, it was so many colors put together it was hard to tell which one it truly was.
He had delicate features for a boy, which made him approachable. That’s probably why Val liked him so much. He had a wide mouth with thin lips, high-set cheekbones, but they weren’t angular like my sister’s. They were smoothed as if rounded in his mother’s stomach prior to his birth. He was muscled, in a wiry sort of manner, much smaller than me, but he was two years younger and he wasn’t a big sports kind of guy. Though I hadn’t heard him play up to that point, Valerie said he was a musician. That was explanation enough for me, so I let the subject tumble into the rear recesses of my mind.
She’d told me, after a few weeks of talking on the phone and exchanging letters, she was thinking of dating him in a more serious, exclusive sort of way. Valerie had asked me if I liked him.
I was a little taken aback, because my independent, rambunctious little sister had never cared for my opinion, especially in the area she’d just inquired. I could tell in her eyes, this was heartfelt. The boy must’ve meant something special to her indeed, if she was going to go out on a limb like this. I told her, following the necessary pause of thought, I did like him. I even told her I thought they made a good match, which wasn’t a lie. They did look good together.
Then, I went so far as to tell her precisely what she’d told me months ago: “Just don’t get caught up in the mix.”
The Birth of Bane Page 12
