Fandom: One Chicago & SVU

Title: Minutes

Chapter 2: The River

P O V: Benedict Brett

"Am I in trouble, mama? I know you told me never to hit anyone, but I had to, mama."

"Why, baby, why did you hit that other boy in your class?"

"Because Mama," I remember saying those words as I looked away from her eyes, directing my gaze to the pebbles beneath my feet, kicking at them with a force I didn't know I possessed. Those pebbles took flight, landing a few feet away in the blue waters of the lake inside Playacres Park. I watched, fascinated as the water rippled the once calm surface disturbed by the sudden penetration of a foreign object. How could I make her understand my logic? Mama had raised me never to act in anger or use violence to solve my issues.

I went against our Lord; I raised my fists against another kid's face, and in doing so, I broke God's fifth commandment honor thy mother. I didn't listen to her then, and I dealt with the consequences back then. It was my mama's piercing baby blue eyes filled with shame, exhaustion, confusion, disappointment. She was on her knees, her hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes, her fingers guiding my head to face hers since I kept turning away, not wanting to see that look in her eyes. "I asked you a question, Benny; please answer me; because it is not an answer. Isn't that what you always say when I say those words to you when you want to go with your friends or buy a new game?"

I remember cracking a smile despite being scared because she was right every time I asked for something, and she didn't want to let me do it or have the money for whatever I requested; she said no, and I always asked why not mama, and she replied because I said so, darling."

"I hit him because he called my brother a bad name, and he was making fun of him. Tabby is my brother. He can't defend himself, so it's my job to defend him, to honor him; it's what you and daddy always told me to do."

Mama was speechless. I remember her eyes went wide, suddenly misty; I can recall the feeling of warmth as her arms pulled me close to hug her. "I'm so sorry, sweetie. I did not know your brother was being bullied; how long has Tabby been bullied, and why didn't either of you tell your father or me?" How did I miss the signs?"

Why do mothers always blame themselves when we kids screw up? Don't they understand we have minds allowing us to think by ourselves? We can weigh the choices of our decisions logically and know the consequences.

When I saw Derek bullying my brother, I knew punching him could get me in serious trouble again; the principal had warned me multiple times one more severe incident with any kid would cause me to be expelled from school. I was only eight years old then, but I knew what expelled meant because I was already removed from the only other elementary school in Fairmount, Indiana; staring at my mother in those moments after I had been officially expelled from the second school. I felt her shame and her self blame weigh down on my shoulders; I saw how hard my mama worked every day to provide for us. She nearly worked herself to death, at least; that's what my grandparents always mumbled when they didn't think any of us were listening. Mama worked two jobs/ plus worked on the family farm, all to make enough money to keep my twin brother and me fed, clothed, washed, a roof over our heads, and afford medical treatment and equipment for my brother.

Fowlerton, In is a tiny town population a little over two hundred, so everyone knew each other's business, and everyone judged my mama for having kids so young, they never said she could handle it and predicted we would be screw-ups; mama always tried to shield us from the gossip, but I saw it in her eyes that day, and knew she was afraid of the truth. That everyone would know what happened within hours, and my actions would bring shame to our entire family it didn't matter why I hit him, all that mattered was that I raised my fist dishonored the Lord, and my mama and sent another kid to the hospital.

My actions meant mama had to rearrange all our lives no school in Indiana would take me because I had an anger management problem, so Mama, Tabby, and I were forced to move to Chicago. Parents are often the silent victims who suffer when we screw up as kids.

I'm no longer eight years old.

Now I am seventeen years old, and my screw-ups are mine to own, and I screwed up royally tonight my dumb-ass got into a car with a friend, I trusted this friend, a friend who I have known for half my life. We've been through thick and thin, rain and rainbows. My friend has flaws, don't we all? If we don't, are we really living, and if we aren't living, then what is the point of this at all?

Flaws and all my friend is beautiful to me. I wish I said those words more often; all teenagers need to hear those words every day. Even if we moan and roll our eyes and mutter, don't be sappy, or I'm not ten, the truth is that inside we are all hurting, questioning, and exploring, and we all lack self-confidence in our teenage existence.

Young people willing to push super hard to make something happen are among the most potent forces in the world.

Ignore those who tell you which way to go without first understanding where you are.

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are

Everything will be okay in the end, and if it's not okay, it's not the end.

The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.

Do not sit still; start moving now. In the beginning, you may not go in the direction you want, but as long as you are moving, you are creating alternatives and possibilities.

We are strong, fierce, brave, bold, and creative we are fearless and afraid. We are complex and unique, but we are not invincible. We can break, but we will never be broken; we are good enough to be anything, and anyone we can ever dream we can be, and if we can't dream it, we will mold it, so other kids in future generations can dream of being it.

Maybe if someone had told my friend those words, they would have made a better choice than to drink and drive and text at 100 mph. I can't blame my friend for my predicament totally; however, I got into the car knowing my friend was drunk. I thought I could stop my friend from driving, and now I am lying on a muddy embankment, my mom's voice from earlier ringing inside my head.

"Be smart, be safe, and if you need a ride, call us."

I even had dialed my mom a few times to pick me up. I knew I had a few too many tonight. I didn't because she's on shift, and I didn't want her to miss payments. I never thought my partying would drag me down, even though I'd already had a drinking-and-driving scare two years ago.

I should have made that damn call tonight.

I'm growing colder by the seconds I can't move my body or scream. How can I not move my body? I am an athlete quarterback for my school. Number one high school MVP in the entire state of Illinois; I have scouts after me from colleges in every state for football, baseball, basketball, and I could go to any of them. I am that damn good.

But I chose the Army for my plans after school.

I've been an officer in The Junior Reserve Officers' Training Corps, commonly referred to as JROTC, for my entire high school career; last January, I made the most elevated rank Cadet Second Lieutenant C/2Lt. I have plans for my life, goals and I have worked hard to maintain those goals; I'm not the eight-year-old punk that punched Derek.

I have to be better because tonight my girlfriend Sophia told me she is pregnant; she is beautiful, intelligent, ambitious, sexy, fierce, and passionate she has so many dreams for her future, and now every one of them is on hold because she's seventeen, and pregnant.

I spent all evening trying to figure out how to tell my mama; she'll be so damn mad at me she'll blame herself, of course, like she didn't spend every waking moment since I was thirteen trying to prepare me for my manhood warning me about the risks of being sexually active and getting a girl pregnant, or catching an STI or STD. She became pregnant at seventeen, the same age I am now, and she's prayed every day I would beat the statistics that babies born to teen parents would become teen parents themselves.

My mama's a paramedic, a healer, a giver, an angel of grace and compassion. She fixes people who are sick or broken she took a vow to protect and heal she's a born healer she's been kissing and wrapping my wounds ever since I was born but mama can't fix me now, but she'll try she'll blame herself, but it's not her fault, oh, Lord why did I make this stupid choice?

Knowing if it went wrong it would be my mama, my beautiful sweet mama who would pay the price. It's her heart that will be crushed. How do you pick up the pieces of a broken heart when you lose a child?

There are no words because it's unnatural you aren't a widow or an orphan. You are obliterated. Mama doesn't deserve this type of pain; life has hurt her so badly too many damn times. Tonight was the first time in a long time I saw her truly happy. A smile on her radiant face rosy checks; I got lost staring into her baby blue eyes so perfect I remember thanking Jesus for giving her to me as her son because she had pushed me to become the man I was becoming. A man I was proud to be; I was thanking him for bringing Matt Casey into her life; he's the reason she was smiling so bright he was helping her heal. Can you recover from losing a child, though? Matt's never been a father, a real shame since he's fantastic with kids and wants to be a dad with every part of his soul.

"I came here to find my father. I found out he lives here..his name is Matthew Casey." Romeo's words burn inside my aching brain. Am I hallucinating, or did he tell me that Matt Casey the man who has been my mom's rock, is his dad? Matt has a son he never knew about, a son who may die before he ever gets to meet him, know him or watch him grow, teach him all the things a father is supposed to teach their sons.

This can't be how our story ends. We've only started writing our songs; the lyrics are still being written; I refuse to be a classic country song. I'm going to go Taylor Swift for this melody and write an original tune. No more tears, no more fears. I'm going to live. I will bring Matt's son home to him. We all need a happy coda.

If I could turn back time and make a different choice, then there would be no reason to write this song.

If only I could turn back time to a few hours ago, when we were all so happy and carefree.