Chapter 1- Blitzkrieg Bop

  Chapter 1- Blitzkrieg Bop.

                        Hello, again.  It's me.  (Duh.)  I decided to get writing again before my brain turns to mush when I get back in school.  This story is dedicated to Joey Ramone, of the Ramones who died last week of lymphoma.  I think at this point, I'll name each chapter after a Ramones song.  (Can you tell I'm a fan, or what?)  As I promised at the end of 'Worry', I'm nicer to Dave.  Sort of.  Keep reading.  Also, I didn't put Dominic in this story, but I might put his character in a later story, that isn't a sequel to 'Worry'.  (I just get so emotionally attached to these characters. :-) Read on!

                        "Hello!"  Dave said as he entered his early shift.  "Well, Dave, I see you're in early."  Kerry said as she entered to begin her shift as well.  "Yeah.  I decided to go to bed early, and so I broke some really pretty girls hearts."  Dave said.  "Dateless again?"  Jing-mei said, coming into the lounge for a cup of coffee.  "Nothing like tar to get your day started, eh?"  Dave asked her.  "Yeah."  She said, drinking the stuff that had been left from graveyard.  "Oh, Dave.  There's a 16 year old patient in exam 5 waiting for you."  Jing-Mei said.  "Oh, man!  Why can't I ever have a more exciting case?"  Dave whined.  "Well, there is an old guy with hemorrhoids if you want…"  "I'll take the kid!"  Dave spat out quickly running to avoid the case.  He walked into exam 5 and saw a teenage kid sitting on the bed.  He looked like he had been to hell and back, with a black eye, bloody nose and a cut lip.  That was just the visible wounds.  Other than that he was a punk rocker.  He had the face of an angel, actually.  Even though he had a pink mohawk, and was wearing makeup and a Sex Pistols shirt, he was still a cherubic boy.  "Ummmm… Joseph?"  Dave asked.  The kid looked up with a red puffy eye.  "Yeah, that's my birth name.  But everyone calls me Thrasher."  The kid said.  "Do you want me to call you that?"  Dave asked.  "If you want.  I also like to be called Joey, after my idol."  He said.  Dave sat down and examined the boy's eye.  "I'm Dave.  Who's your idol?"  Dave asked.  "Joey Ramone."  He replied.  Dave smiled.  "You like the Ramones?  Me too."  Dave said grinning.  The kid smiled a little.  "Cool.  You seem more like a yuppie fan than a punk fan to me."  Dave looked up.  Why does everyone say that?  He thought to himself.  "Ha.  Ha.  Ha!"  Dave said.  "Well, you can't be that much of a yuppie if you like the Ramones."  Joey said.  "Okay, I need to see your lip, so shut up."  Dave smiled reassuringly. 

                        As Dave finished examining Joey's lip, Dave looked at the kid.  "Wanna tell me what happened?"  Dave asked.  The kid looked down.  The look was all too familiar to Dave.  He shut the door and he put an arm around the boy's shoulder.  "It's okay.  You can trust me."  Dave said.  The kid took a breath.  "It was… It was an accident."  Joey said.  "I accidentally knocked over dad's beer.  It was an accident."  Joey said, ashamed that he had done such a thing.  Dave's eyes darkened and he grew angry.  Joey was softly crying to himself, and that calmed Dave down for the time being.  "It's not your fault, Joey.  Your father is an asshole, and doesn't deserve to have you."  Dave said, thinking back to a time in his past.

                        It's a warm summer's evening in the suburbs of Brooklyn around 1975, and we see a bunch of kids, ranging in age from 10 to 15 funning around playing cops and robbers as it's getting dark outside.  Gradually, there are kids that are dropping out of the game to go home, sometimes a parent accompanying them.  Eventually it gets to be very late, and two children are left; one tall teen and his littler brother.  The two are seen sneaking to the back porch.  The taller boy decides to climb up the post on the back porch and into the window.  The little boy waits until his big bro gives a sign to follow.  He too climbs up and into the window.  The older kid steps ever so slowly to the shared room, and slowly opens the door.  It's pitch black inside, so neither can see inside.  The little boy sheds his bellbottoms and muscle shirt and throws on some boxers and climbs into his bed.  The teen does the same, and as he climbs into his bed, a strong arm grabs his leg and yanks him off the bed.  The lights are flipped on and we see a tall Italian man, in his 30's in coveralls.  The teen wrinkles his nose a little, the smell of factory and tobacco poisoning his breath.  "You little bastards!  Why can't you behave like the Carlin kids?"  He barked at the brothers.  "Now, I guess I just have to punish you two until you decide to behave better."  He said, grabbing the teenager first, and dragging him into the bathroom.  The little boy stayed still in fear, but he knew his father would be back to punish him too.  "Scottie."  The boy repeated to himself.  Silent groans were heard from the bathroom, because Scott Armato knew that the pain would only be worse if the neighbors called about it.  Next thing he knew, he was in the tub, which was covered in his brother's blood, and clumps of his body hair.  Young Dave closed his eyes in a solemn prayer to God.  A prayer that was never answered as the thrashing began. 

                        Later the two boys had cleaned themselves off, threw their soiled clothes away and were back in their bed.  They had cleaned their wounds and they lay down in silence.  "I'm sorry I got us in trouble, Davey."  Scott said, his doe-brown eyes beaten shut.  "It isn't your fault, Scottie.  He's just a mean man."  Dave said.  "We have to tell someone."  He continued.  "Are you nuts?  Dad'll kill us then.  He'll twist it so they think we're the liars!  Then the beating won't stop until we're dead with Matt!"  Scott said.  "BOYS!"  Yelled their disgruntled father.  The two boys hit their pillows and went to sleep, for fear of being mauled again.

                        Dave, unbeknownst to himself, was crying.  Joey was also crying, but for a different reason.  He looked up.  "What's wrong?  Why the hell are you crying?"  Joey asked, fixing his mohawk.  "Joey, let me tell you about my father."  Dave began, preparing to share the pain he had experienced so long ago.