KING(2)

“Oh yeah, and why is that?” I asked.

“Cause he wanted me to do his f*cking math worksheet, and I’ll tell you something. I’m no one’s f*cking bitch. So I told him to f*ck off.” His voice was muffled since he was still trying to stop the blood dripping from his nose by pinching his nostrils together.

“All you said to him was ‘f*ck no’ and he started beating on you?” I asked, although I didn’t find it hard to believe, aside from the bullshit with my mom and John it was mostly little things that had been making my fist ache for something to connect with.

The kid smirked.

“Well, there was that… and then there was how I told him how I thought it was cool that his dad didn’t mind that his son was the spitting image of his mama’s boss at the Price Mart.” He brushed the dirt off the scrapes on his elbows, then dusted the palm of his hands off on his wrinkled khakis. “Name’s Samuel Clearwater. What’s yours?”

I stopped and turned to him. He extended his hand to me and I uncrossed my arms and shook it. For a gangly kid who was the same age as I was, he dressed and spoke like a foul-mouthed grandfather, someone too old to give a shit about filtering his words. And what eleven year old shook hands?

Samuel Clearwater, that’s who.

“Brantley King,” I answered.

“You got a lot of friends, Brantley King?” Samuel’s unruly sandy blonde hair fell forward into his eyes, and he brushed it away with dirt caked fingernails.

“Nope.” None of the kids in school were like me. I’d felt alone since my very first day in Kindergarten. While everyone else was learning the words to Old McDonald, I was worried about how long I was going to have to wait until after dark to go home. Too early and whatever guy my mom let move in that month would be ready to brawl.

Being on my own was natural to me. As time went on, it became something I liked. Although I was the biggest kid in school, I’d always managed to move around like a ghost.

Until I started getting in trouble.

Then WE started getting into trouble together. Preppy and I. Two pees in a juvenile delinquent pod.

“Me neither. Way more trouble than their f*cking worth,” Samuel said, almost convincingly. He re-tucked his too-large plaid shirt into his kaki pants, righting his suspenders that fell off his shoulders every few seconds. He straightened his yellow polka-dotted bow-tie.

“What’s up with the bruises?” I asked, pointing to his ribs.

“You saw those, huh?” Sadness crossed over his face, but he fought back whatever he was thinking about and pursed his lips. “Stepdaddy from hell with issues, ever since my mom’s died. Actually, he’s got only two issues. Beer and me. Beer he likes though. Me? Not so much.”

I could relate. Although I didn’t have one stepdad, more like a constant parade of men. They all had different names, different faces, but essentially they were all the same.

“Well, kid, I don’t think Tyler is going to bug you again.” I started walking again, heading back to my spot on the side of the building where I could be alone. In the corner of my eye I saw Tyler hobbling up the steps into the school, clutching his jaw.

*.

“That’s it?” Samuel followed close behind me, knocking into my heels.

“What else is there?” I ducked under the branch of a low hanging tree. Samuel was easily a foot shorter than me and scooted under it without any problems. When we got far enough away from the other kids I lit the half-cigarette I’d been saving in my back pocket with the last match from the book I’d been hiding in my shoe.

“Can I try?” Samuel asked, startling me. I hadn’t realized he was still there.

I passed him the cigarette, and he inhaled deeply. He then spent the next five minutes choking. I put the cigarette out on the sole of my sneaker while his face turned a weird shade of purple before going back to pale smeared with freckles and blood. “That’s really f*cking good, but I’m a menthol man myself.”

A burst of laughter escaped me, and I bent over, hugging myself at the waist. Samuel ignored my outburst and continued talking. “Where do you live?”

“Here and there.” Nowhere was the truth. I wasn’t ever going back home again. School would now become just a place to go during the day so I could sneak into the locker room before class to shower and for the free breakfast program. Everything I owned was in my backpack.

And it was light.

“I’m over in Sunny Isles Park. It’s a f*cking shithole. When I grow up, I’m going to have one of those big places on the water on the other side of the causeway with the long legs that look like they’re from Star Wars.”