Was it all my imagination? No, it couldn't be! I saw it with my own eyes! Maybe I'm wrong and Lisa doesn't feel it at all. No, that can't be right. I know she feels it too. She has to. What is it, then? Why her? Why me? Maybe I should just go. No, I can't do that. I can't leave. Why can't I leave? Because if I do, she'll just pull me back. What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I going insane? God, I want her. I hate her. I have to have her. She doesn't want me. That doesn't matter. This is out of control! I've got to get control. Get this under control. Get myself under control. Pull it together, Rippner. Hold it together.
I've been sitting here on this rock for what seems like hours, though I'm sure it hasn't been longer than an hour at the most. My thoughts whirl around in my head, fragmented and incomplete. The moonlight is reflected on the water as it washes in, then back out.
Eventually, I begin to feel calm again. The ocean has always been my haven, a place of peace for me. I grew up here, in Miami. I've always taken solace in the sounds of the ocean. The constant sighing of the waves as they wash in and retreat, the cry of the gulls in the distance. I ran here whenever I needed to get away, which was often when I was young.
I was born Theodore Jackson Brooks. My mother named me after her two grandfathers. I remember her laughing; telling me my name was bigger than I was. She called me Tee Jay most of the time, but when I was sick, I was her Teddy. My lips twist into a wry smile at the memory. I suppose most people would have trouble imagining me as a little boy at all, let alone imagining that I had a mother who called me something as endearing as 'Teddy'. Well, that was a very long time ago.
When I was six, my mother was in an accident. Nearly every bone in her body was broken and her recovery was slow and excruciatingly painful. She became addicted to pain medication. A year after the accident, she was still suffering from short term memory loss and she couldn't walk without the support of a cane or a walker. She was depressed and her abuse of pain medication grew worse, accompanied by alcohol. It was around this time that she met Tony.
Tony was a short, dark man with an even shorter fuse. Before three months were gone, he'd moved in with Mom and me. I hated him from the instant I met him and I'm fairly certain the feeling was mutual. He barely addressed me, other than to call me "kid" and order me to get him a beer or something. Thanks to Tony, my mother progressed from pain medication to harder, more dangerous drugs. My story is fairly typical, I suppose. Tony soon became abusive physically as well as verbally. Their fights were terrible and I remember being so scared and hating myself for being such a coward. If I were a real man, like I should be, I would save my mom from Tony, but I couldn't. Not that I didn't try.
I was nearly nine years old when I decided to make my stand. I remember it like it was yesterday. My mom and Tony were having another one of their fights. I was headed out the back door, on my way to the beach, where I usually went when their fighting got too bad, when I heard something that made me stop, dead in my tracks. Tony had just hit my mother and I heard her hit the floor with a cry. That, in itself, wasn't unusual. What I heard next, though, chilled me all the way through to the bone.
"You know, I could kill you right now, you little bitch and no one could stop me, you know that?" Tony's voice drifted to me through the kitchen door. It wasn't necessarily the words themselves that got me; it was the contemplative tone he used. Almost conversationally, as if it were an idea he was turning over in his head. My mother was weeping on the floor, babbling incoherently. I turned and walked softly back to the kitchen, careful not to make any noise. I peered around the corner cautiously and saw Tony standing over my mom, his hands on his hips, a thoughtful look on his face as he gazed down at her.
I've always been small for my age with a slight frame and pale skin. I had never been so scared in my life. I stood there watching him with that, calm, contemplative look on his face and I knew I had to do something. Everything in me screamed at me to run, to just turn and run and never look back, but just then, my mother looked up and saw me standing there in the doorway. Her beautiful blue eyes locked on mine and she whispered, "Teddy…"
Tony whirled around to see me standing there. My hands were shaking so hard I knew he would see them, so I clenched them into fists and tried to make myself look as big and menacing as possible. I glared at him, daring him to touch me and, to my credit, he actually took a step backward before he recovered himself. Up until that day, Tony had never so much as touched me. Mainly because I stayed out of his way as much as possible, I'm sure, but today I saw the promise in his black eyes.
"You wanna say somethin' to me, kid? You got somethin' you wanna say?" He advanced toward me and I wanted to run. My heart was beating wildly and I was the most terrified I'd ever been in my life.
"Yeah, I got something to say to you. Leave my mother alone, you fucking prick or I'll kill you." My voice came out steady and I was surprised.
Tony grinned, then, as if that were exactly what he'd been hoping for. "You're gonna kill me, huh? You better do it now, kid, or you're never gonna do it." He stopped and reached into a drawer, pulling out a large knife. He tossed it to me and it clattered to the floor at my feet. I looked down at it, suddenly unsure. It laid there, its dull metal glinting in contrast to the cheap linoleum. I glanced up at Tony, who stood there watching me, his arms folded across his chest. "Well, you gonna pick it up you little coward? Now's your chance, kid. What are you waiting for?"
I bent down and picked up the knife. The plastic handle was cool against my sweaty palm and I wondered if I could even keep hold of it. I looked back at Tony and he remained in the same position, arms folded, regarding me with contempt. My gaze shifted to my mother as she lay on the floor sobbing. Blood was running from her nose and one corner of her mouth and her right eye was already beginning to swell and turn black. I clenched my jaw and shifted the knife so that I had a good grip on it, then I went for Tony.
Everything happened fast after that. I fought like I was possessed, but he was bigger and stronger and I never really had a chance. He wrested the knife from my grasp and I never managed to put so much as a nick on him that day. Once the knife was out of my hands, he proceeded to beat me to within an inch of my life. I ended up with four broken ribs, a broken wrist, both eyes blackened, a broken nose and a dislocated jaw. But that's not the worst of it. When he had beaten me to the point that I was too weak to fight back at all, he went back and got the knife. I will never forget what he said to me then. He looked down at me as I lay there, bleeding and broken. "Now, I'm going to teach you to never make a threat you can't follow through on."
It was a lesson I learned well. Things changed from that day on in my house. The weeks dragged on and I spent less and less time at home, avoiding Tony as much as I could. Outwardly, I was impassive and quiet. Tony was smugly convinced that I'd learned my lesson and I didn't give any signs that I hadn't. Inwardly, however, my rage against him seethed and grew.
Eventually, I made good on my threat to kill him. I was seventeen and I came home one afternoon to find Tony asleep in his ratty recliner, the TV chattering uselessly in front of him. I walked past him and down the hall, glancing into the bedroom. My mother was sprawled across the bed in a drug and booze induced stupor, her cadaverous frame barely covered by her tattered housedress. I stood there, gazing at her for a long moment. Her hair had become thin and wispy; most of it was turning a dull gray now. Her face was lined and far too old. I closed my eyes and saw her as she used to be, before the accident and the drugs. Before Tony. I saw her long, thick black hair, her flawless, almost translucent skin, her clear blue eyes surrounded by thick, long lashes. I bid that image of her goodbye forever. I think that's the moment I became the person I am right now.
I went back to the living room, only stopping in my room for a second to retrieve the knife I'd been keeping. Saving for a special occasion, if you will. I stood over him, knife in hand for a long moment. Then I leaned down and whispered," Wake up, you bastard. I want you to see what's coming now."
His eyes opened and he glared at me in confusion. Then he saw the knife and I saw a flicker of fear in his eyes before he pushed himself up out of the chair. I stepped back, allowing him to get up. "You back for more, coward? I guess I didn't teach you that lesson well enough the first time."
"Oh, I learned that lesson, you prick. I learned it better than you think." I lunged at him, then.
I killed Tony that day. My mother was so out of it, she never woke up, not even when he began screaming. I left home, afterward and never looked back. I had learned my lesson very well, after all.
