Jack Grows Up - by Sentient 1212
Four boys stood over him - Jack thought of them as the bullies - and jeered and smirked at him. He tried to stand, but they'd knocked the wind out of him. Kicked it out of him, really. Jack looked hopefully towards his school, willing an adult to come out, but the principal hadn't assigned any monitors to watch the kids after lunch, it would instill responsibility in them, he'd said, so Jack was on his own. The bullies decided they'd gotten all the fun out of Jack they could for one day, so with one more vicious kick they went off in search of fresh victims. Jack lay still on the ground, the pain in his stomach growing. It seemed like his stomach and ribs hurt all of the time now, getting worse with each new attack. His light blonde hair was full of dirt, and his clothes were filthy. He knew his teacher would yell at him when he got back inside, but he didn't care. At least the bullies wouldn't go after him inside the junior high.
Jack was their favorite target, because he was small, and didn't fight back. He wished, day after day, that he had the courage to fight them, just once, but he was scared. It was bad enough that they ganged up on him when he didn't resist. He didn't know what they'd do if he fought back.
Marion Bauer Hawkins had left his father when Jack was just three, after he hit Jack for crying too much. She'd tolerated his abuse for years, but hitting Jack was the final straw. She would do whatever it took to protect her baby. Now he lived with his mother and step-father in a bungalow, which the builders had overlooked when they'd built the sub-division around it.
They'd lived on their own for a few years, until Jack was six, when Marion met Bill Hawkins, who'd seemed like a wonderful man, serious and hardworking. She knew he drank a lot, but when he proposed she saw a beautiful life ahead for herself and Jack. But then he'd started drinking more, and soon lost his job. That was followed by a whole series of firings, for drunkenness and lateness, and now he didn't even bother looking for work. He was content to let Marion support him. As long as she made enough money for booze, he didn't care what she had to do.
In order to support them, Marion worked two jobs, one as a seamstress, and the other as a waitress in a diner. She had to leave the house before seven each morning, and she didn't return until after nine at night, only an hour before Jack had to go to bed. He missed the hour before bedtime, when she'd sat next to his bed and listened as he'd talked non-stop, telling her about everything that happened in his busy days, and she'd taken pleasure in his excitement and enthusiasm at what he was discovering about life. That was before she'd had to take a second job. Now she was so tired when she got home from work that she practically fell into bed, but not before giving him a hug and a kiss good night. It seemed he never saw her anymore.
Bill had never laid a finger on Jack, but he screamed at him, and at Marion, all the time. Jack heard his step-father berate his mother every night when he stumbled in from the bar, calling her names and demanding that she fix him something to eat. Marion always complied, but Jack wished she wouldn't. He wished she would tell Bill no, just once. Maybe then he'd stop. As the thought crossed his mind Jack realized it was just a stupid kid's wish. Bill wouldn't stop.
The night before Jack had heard what sounded like a slap, and then his mother crying out in pain. Jack opened his bedroom door slowly, and peered out. He heard his step-father shouting in the other bedroom. His mother was crying. As Jack quietly tiptoed into the hall, the floor squeaked, and the shouting stopped. Bill opened the bedroom door and Jack ran back to his room. "What are you doing out of bed?" he demanded. "Get back in there if you don't want a beating. And stay there!" Bill had never actually threatened Jack before, and he was afraid. But Jack was even more afraid of what Bill might do to his mother if he disobeyed. He didn't care about what happened to him. He couldn't put his mother in danger.
That day at school Jack was preoccupied. Even his encounter with the bullies didn't provoke the same sense of outrage. Jack was sure Bill had hit his mother the night before, and Jack was desperate to protect her. He just didn't know how. His teachers noticed how withdrawn Jack had become over the course of the school year, but none knew the cause, and none seemed inclined to try to find out.
His mother called him every day after school, just before starting her shift at the diner. She always asked how school had been, and he told her about his day, leaving out any mention of the almost-daily beatings. He didn't want her to worry, which he knew she would. She always remind him to eat the snack she'd left for him, but he couldn't, his stomach hurt so much. Although money was tight he always threw the snack away, so she wouldn't see that he had left it uneaten. He was so thin, and she couldn't understand why he didn't seem to be growing as fast as she'd thought he would. His father was tall, after all. But Jack couldn't seem to put on any weight.
Jack let himself into the house quietly, because he never knew what state Bill would be in when he got home. He was usually belligerent, so Jack had quickly learned to avoid him as much as possible. His step-father wouldn't let Jack have any friends over, because their loud voices made his hangover-induced headaches hurt even more, and other boys didn't invite him to come to their houses. Jack didn't really have friends, because the bigger boys just bullied him, and the smaller ones were afraid they'd become targets of the bullies if they were friends with Jack. They didn't know why Jack was the main target. They just knew that he was, and that was all that mattered.
The only thing Bill permitted Jack to do was to stop off at the library on his way home from school, just so Jack would be out of the house more. Jack was glad, both for the escape from home, and because he loved to read. He didn't like Shakespeare, of course, so he only read that because he had to, for school. He was learning to love the classics, and adventures were his favorites. He loved Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer, and imagined himself a knight at King Arthur's court. He'd just finished Moby Dick, and was looking forward to more like it. But the librarian had recommended something different that day, and Jack always liked the books she suggested.
As Bill entered the room, he saw Jack putting his books on the table. The top one caught his eye. "Whas this? he slurred. "To Kill A Mockingbird. Isn't tha about nggers?"
Jack felt his face and scalp redden with anger. As surprised as he was that Bill had ever read a book, much less heard of this one, he was outraged by what he had said. "That's terrible! You can't say something like that. That's a horrible thing to say. It's about growing up in the South. There are white people in it, as well as black. So what? They're all people. The librarian said it's a great book."
"Nah," Bill continued. "It's about nggers, and I won't have it in this house."
"You're a bigot!" Jack blurted out. He'd never stood up to Bill before.
"After all I've done for you, you talk back to me? It's time I taught you respect. You have to respect me, I'm your father."
"You've never done anything for me, or for Mom. And you're not my father," Jack heard himself say, surprised at his sudden burst of courage. The awful sound from the night before, and his mother's crying, were still on his mind. "All you do is drink, while Mom works. It's not right."
This caught Bill off-guard. Jack had never shown any backbone before. He wouldn't stand for this, Bill told himself. He had to show this little bstard who was boss.
Bill started to unbuckle his belt, and Jack knew he was in trouble. He tried to run out of the room, but Bill caught him around the waist and spun him around. Bill swung the belt, and opened a cut near Jack's eye. Jack felt the blood start pouring down his cheek. "You little bstard! You're going to learn how to talk to an adult, with respect," Bill yelled, and he brought the belt down again. The buckle bit into Jack's scalp, and he felt his head become warm and wet.
The phone rang, and they both froze. "Tell your mother about this, and I'll kill you," Bill said unnecessarily, for Jack had no intention of telling her. There was nothing she could do about it. Jack had heard Bill hit his mother, and he hated himself for not going to her rescue. He'd vowed that would never happen again. If he told her and she came home, he knew that Bill would take it out on her. He couldn't risk her getting hurt if he brought her into his fight with Bill. So he was on his own.
He got to it after the second ring. "Hi, Mom," he said before she could say hello. He knew it was her. No one else ever called. "Hi, Son," she said. "Are you all right?" She'd heard something in his voice.
"I'm fine, Mom. I've got a lot of homework, and I'm in the middle of it." He hoped he sounded okay. He didn't want her to worry.
"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked again. He didn't sound like himself. "I can come home if you need me," she added. They both knew that wasn't true. Her boss would never let her have the time off, and she couldn't afford to lose her job. For all the long hours she worked the tips were good, and they needed the money. Because she was his best worker, her boss would never let her leave early.
"Don't work too hard, Jack. Take a break. Why don't you go out and play with the other kids?" She asked him this almost every day, and Jack gave her the same response each time. "I will, Mom. I just want to get a head start on my homework. I've got a lot of assignments." Jack felt bad about lying to his mother, but he knew that he wouldn't go outside. None of the other kids wanted anything to do with him.
After she reminded him to eat his snack he said good-bye and hung up the phone, afraid to turn around. He hoped that Bill had calmed down.
He was wrong. Bill still stood there, the belt firmly in his hand, as angry as before. "Well, whining to your mother about your homework, Jack? With all she has to contend with? You should treat your mother better," he said, and swung the belt. This time the buckle caught Jack on his shoulder, and Jack grabbed for the belt. As he did so he jumped at Bill and tried to push him over. Bill stumbled back and fell on the floor, while Jack got a hold of the belt.
Jack pulled himself up to his full height, and looked down at his step-father. "This is for what you've done to my mother," he yelled, in a voice surprisingly deep for a boy his age, and full of rage. "This is for hitting her." He swung the belt, and the buckle caught Bill smack on his nose. Blood started gushing.
"I'll kill you, you little bstard!" Bill screamed. He tried to get up, but Jack swung the belt again. His aim was just as good, as he got Bill in the forehead, opening up a deep cut. But Bill still tried to stand, grabbing hold of a chair leg to help him regain his feet. Jack gave Bill's arm a vicious kick, and Bill sank back to the floor. Jack lowered the belt one more time, again getting Bill in the nose. Bill collapsed in a daze, blood everywhere.
Jack ran out of the house, to the small yard in the back. He bent over, panting, trying to catch his breath, but each time his bruised ribs and stomach muscles reminded him that Bill wasn't the only bully in his life. He gently touched the corner of his eye, and the top of his head. Both were sticky with blood. Jack looked around for a cloth, a rag he could use to try to stop the bleeding, when he saw his neighbor looking at him. She had come out to check the clothes she'd earlier hung on the line, and when she saw Jack covered in blood she took him into her house. She gave him cold wet cloths to put on his wounds, and called the police.
Jack didn't want the police involved. He knew Bill would just blame his mom, and nothing good would come of it. The adults at school all let him down. Why wouldn't the police?
Shortly two officers arrived. They were experienced, and after one look at Jack they knew this was child abuse. They recognized the mark of a belt buckle. They'd handled many domestic disturbance calls, and they were all trouble.
"Where are your parents, Son?" one of the officers asked. "Who did this?"
Jack was afraid to answer. He thought it would only bring his mother more trouble. But he had been taught to treat adults with respect, Bill's claims notwithstanding, so he had to answer the question. "My mom's at work. My step-father is in the house."
This sounded all too familiar to the police. Wasn't there any way to break this pattern of abuse?
The officer asked Jack the name of his step-father, and Jack told him. They hadn't heard the name Bill Watkins before, but they knew this would change. It sounded like he fit the pattern.
"You're going to need some stitches, Son. After we deal with him, we'll take you to the hospital," the other officer said.
"No, sir, no hospital. I'm fine," Jack said. He knew they couldn't afford a doctor.
"Jack, is it? Well, Jack, I've seen enough wounds to know that yours need stitches. You don't want scars, do you? You've got to let the docs check you out."
Jack was afraid that they'd see the bruising on his stomach and his ribs, and his mom would find out about the bullies. She couldn't know about them. She'd blame herself, and that would be awful. Jack knew she was doing everything she could for her son, and learning that he was tormented at school would only cause her more pain.
He tried to protest to the police again that he didn't want to go to the hospital, but they cut him off. "You're just a kid. Without a parent present, we have to take control. So we're taking you to the hospital."
The officers went next door, to Jack's house. Jack had left the front door open when he ran out, so the police walked in. They found Bill still on the floor, with blood running from his forehead and nose. They thought to themselves that the kid had done a good job of protecting himself. They had no doubt who had been the aggressor.
"Come on, on your feet," one of the cops said to Bill, who just looked at them blankly. "We'll get you cleaned up, and then we'll take you to booking."
Bill just stared at them, until he realized that he was bleeding. He started to whimper. "Big tough guy," one of the cops murmured, as they hoisted Bill to his feet. They cuffed his arms behind his back, and led him out to their car. While one of the officers sat with Bill in the back seat, the other went back to the neighbor's house to retrieve Jack. Jack tried to protest again that he was fine, he didn't need a doctor. The cop insisted that Jack had to come with them, so he helped Jack into the front seat, and they left for the hospital.
Jack needed fifteen stitches to close the wound in his scalp, and six for the cut around his eye. He didn't know that he would have far more wounds in the future. He only knew that it hurt like hell, but he wouldn't let himself cry. Men don't cry, he told himself.
After the doctor set Bill's broken nose and stitched up the cut on his forehead, the cops took both Jack and Bill to the station house. One of the officers said they had sent a car to pick up Jack's mother, and his heart sank. She'd be so worried! It was all his fault. If he hadn't provoked Bill with that stupid book none of this would have happened. He'd really let his mother down.
Jack sat in a small office at the police precinct with a Coke one of the officers had brought him, while they booked Bill. Jack stayed there until his mother ran in, frantic.
"Oh, Jack!" she cried, seeing the bandages on his face and head. "Oh my God! What did he do to you?"
"I'm all right, Mom, really," he said, trying to reassure her. "It looks worse than it is. They just used too many bandages, that's all."
This time Marion was not fooled. She made herself face the truth. She'd let herself believe that everything was okay, but part of her had always known that there was serious trouble. She could no longer avoid it. She'd let Jack get hurt. It was all her fault.
"I'm so sorry, Jack. I'm so sorry. I should never have left you with him. I should have left him long ago. I know he's no good, but I didn't know what to do. I let you down, Son. I'm so sorry," she repeated, in tears.
"It's not your fault, Mom. It's Bill's. It's not your fault." He couldn't stand it when she blamed herself. She was a great mother. She had always taken care of him. Now it was his turn to care for her.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Hawkins?" one of the officers said. "We'd like to take you and your son to a shelter. Mr. Hawkins will be out of jail in just a few days. The judges don't lock them up as long as they should. The only safe place for you and your son is a shelter. They'll move you to a safe house in a couple of days, and Hawkins will never know where you've gone. He won't ever be able to hurt you, or your son, again. Believe me, ma'am, I've seen a lot of these. This is the only safe thing for you to do."
Marion sighed, with resignation. She knew what the officer said was true, but everything was happening so fast. "Officer, everything we own is at that house. I don't have the money to replace things."
The officer was used to this. He had helped far too many women and their kids get away from abusive husbands and boyfriends. "My partner and I are about to go off duty now, ma'am, but we'll drop you at your place so you can pack up your things. Hawkins is in custody, so you'll be safe."
"Thank you," murmured Marion, who didn't know what else to say. She simply felt overwhelmed.
"If you're ready, we'll take you now." The officer held the back door of the patrol car open for Marion and Jack.
As they drove up to the bungalow, Jack hoped it was the last time he'd ever have to see this place. There was nothing here but bad memories. The worst was what he'd heard last night, when Bill had slapped his mother. He'd never forgive himself for not helping her. But at least he'd stood up to Bill today. "Better late than never," as his mother sometimes said. Bill would be out of their lives. He'd never be able to hurt his mother again.
It didn't take Jack and Marion long to pack. There wasn't much. They didn't have real luggage, so they used whatever they could find. Laundry baskets and trash pails, even garbage bags were quickly filled with clothes, and Jack managed to find a box to put the pots and dishes in. Wherever they were going, they'd need what little they had.
They didn't hear the front door open. They didn't know that after the police who'd helped them had gone off duty, Bill had managed to convince the officers who worked the next shift that he'd been arrested by mistake. He'd shown them his wounds and told them that he was the victim, that his step-son was the one who'd attacked him without any reason. That it was all a big mistake. They'd believed him. The cops had even agreed to give him a lift home.
All of a sudden Bill grabbed Marion from behind, and turned her to face him. Then he gave her a vicious smack across her face. Jack cried out in outrage, and started to pummel his step-father. Bill just swung out his arm, and caught Jack right on the chin. Jack went staggering back.
Bill returned his attention to Marion, and put his hands around her neck. If she hadn't raised such a little bstard, there wouldn't be any trouble now. He couldn't let Marion leave. Without her he wouldn't have liquor money. He needed her, and everything that was happening was her fault. He had to teach her to control her son, the little bstard.
Jack was pounding on Bill's shoulders, trying to dislodge his hands, but it wasn't working. Bill was much bigger than Jack. Jack tried to move around him, to punch him in the stomach, but Bill brought his knee up and caught Jack in the groin. Jack cried out, in both pain and frustration. Bill kicked Jack again, and sent him sprawling. He returned his attention to Marion, and hit her again.
Jack noticed Bill's carpenter's tool chest on the floor. When Jack was little Bill thought it was funny to see Jack try to use the tools. Marion was horrified to see Jack playing with a hacksaw, and had made Bill put the box away. Once Jack got older she left it by the door, in the hope that one day Bill would try to find a job. Now Jack crawled to the box and opened it. He found a hammer.
That night, at the police station, Marion and Jack gave statements to the officers who'd answered the 911 call. They were both in shock. The police reassured them that it was only self-defense, so there'd be no charges. Then they'd driven them back to the bungalow, where Jack and his mother avoided the blood-stained living room, and clung to each other for the rest of the night.
Teri understood that Jack had to take care of his mother, but he'd never told her the reason why. He never talked about his childhood, although he and his mother were very close. Even when money was tight Jack had helped his mother with the rent every month, and Teri had never complained. She knew that Marion had been a good mother to Jack, and had enabled him to become the sensitive but strong man he was. She never suspected the truth.
Jack still had occasional nightmares about Bill. He'd lived through other horrors, survived other beatings, but he'd never quite gotten over his past. He supposed he never would.