Chapter 2
Ryan stood under the shower water in a daze. Normally he loved his private bathroom, and privately he loved trying new Kiehl shower products. Today his body was in the shower, but his mind was stuck on the scenes between Chester and his dad, and Ryan and Trey and their dad. "Useless . . . little shit" punctuated his internal movie in an angry rap song staccato. He tried to block the old memories, stop a wave of nausea, and concentrate on practical ways to help Chester. But what should he do?
Newport was simpler in the beginning, everything black or white. Pod people were hated; friends were rich and happy. Stay a while and the world grays. An asshole water polo player becomes a good friend, a beautiful girlfriend reveals a needy and self-destructive side, your adopted family takes the word of a crazed teenager over your own. He wasn't complaining. Newport had given him more than he deserved.
It was mid February; he had been with the Cohens for close to six months. Like an alien in a new world, he had adapted. He could tie a tie, fake a waltz, and eat Moroccan food expertly with his hands. He could play 'normal teenager', and enjoyed it when Kirsten bugged him about eating properly or Sandy came to watch him play soccer. He was more relaxed now but could never be like them. Their ease came with never worrying about when someone might blow up. Ryan wanted, no – needed, to protect his cherished new world; he had to make sure Chester was okay.
He wanted to rush in and attack Mr. Moore the way he fought the jocks to protect Seth and knocked down Holly's father to defend Sandy and Marissa's father. He had faced Donny and Oliver with their guns. All of it he'd do again without hesitation.
But this was different. If he fucked up, it wasn't Ryan who would pay but a kid, Chester. He wondered if Chester unconsciously crept around his house with his guard up like Ryan and Trey had. Ryan associated Mr. Moore's acts with being broke or high. Often with the ass kickings or drinking binges came a litany of complaints about how the world was against them, keeping them down, not appreciating their true worth. But Chester's family was probably never hungry a day in their lives. Was Ryan over- reacting? The Moores were one of Newport's elite. Maybe the slap was rare, caught on a bad day?
Ryan rested his palms against the shower wall, closed his eyes, and leaned his head under the water. No, the fear in Chester's eyes was all too recognizable. Chester may never end up with broken bones and bleeding in a hospital but one slap meant there were likely times before. Mr. Moore's words alone were hateful and had to be stopped. He had a bad feeling about Mr. Moore. Should he turn to Sandy? Ryan was torn. Sandy meant well but Ryan knew that he was too idealistic, too quick to turn to Child Services.
They wouldn't believe a juvie like Ryan, a slap wouldn't leave a scar to prove what Ryan saw. Besides Ryan's scars never helped him in the past. His bruised face, broken ribs, and cuts forced him to miss school so he could heal without suspicions being raised. By the time he returned to school he was the one in trouble for truancy. Ryan sighed; he realized Child Services was fighting an impossible battle. Nobody could make his parents stop drinking if they didn't want to, nobody could make his dad or his mom's boyfriends stop abusing them. The best Child Services could offer was to take him away from them. Wasn't a slap or two, an occasional slurred rage, worth time with his dad and mom? Even with the perspective of time and distance, Ryan couldn't answer that question – glad he didn't have to decide between the Atwoods and the Cohens. The Atwood stories weren't all bad; there were long days at the beach, afternoons spent peering into the hood of cars together. But in the heat of his dad's anger, he had fervently wished his dad away. In the end it was jail and not Child Services that took their father way. And his mom had chosen to leave.
Ryan knew the tricks of hiding a part of yourself where they couldn't reach, of floating above an ugly scene over your trapped body. He'd rather take the beating than watch his brother being hurt. If you didn't look into the eyes, Trey's eyes, it wasn't as bad for either for them, didn't make it as real. His brother and dad were in prison, his mother didn't want to be found. The Atwood family he remembered, the good and the bad, was over. Quiet tears ran down Ryan's face hidden in the shower water. He gently pounded a fist against the shower wall. He fought the feelings, straightening up and breathing slowly, trying to relax. This is about Chester. Ryan's past was not relevant - he wouldn't let it contaminate his new home.
The water had turned cold and it snapped him out of his reverie. The Cohens' dinner time was not firm, but he hated to hold them up. He got out of the stall and wrapped a towel around his waist. The bathroom was private but he never knew who would be in the pool house when he got out of the shower. Nobody was there today. Ryan went over to the closet, put on his standard of jeans and a white tee. Then he searched his old hooded jacket for cigarettes.
Ryan walked to the back of the pool house and lit up. He took long pulls, occasionally expelling the smoke through his nose. It was stale, but the nicotine from just one cigarette had an effect; his body was not used to smoking anymore. He sat on the lawn and stared at the gentle ocean swell, hoping to calm himself. Unsuccessful, he tapped his fingers against his jeans impatiently and flicked imaginary ashes off his cigarette. All this thinking without doing was driving him crazy.
Seth came around the pool house, drinking from a half empty bottle of Gatorade. He offered Ryan a fresh bottle. "Hey, Ryan."
Ryan looked up, placed the Gatorade by him on the ground, and nodded in thanks.
Seth sat next to him. "Your black hole of sound on our ride home tonight is matched only by your bellowing nod. This is about Oliver - me not having your back, isn't it? I know I really, really, blew it."
With a slightly puzzled expression on his face Ryan said, "We had this conversation already. I said we're okay - we're okay."
"No, clearly we're not. The more you say we're okay so easily, the more I realize you forgive too easily and it's not right. I need to earn your trust. Please, let me do something to prove my worthiness. Maybe I should make a sacrificial offering, an act of contrition, ... do you a huge favor?"
"No, dude. We're cool." Ryan put out his cigarette.
"Please don't make me beg. Do you want me to have to repeat my performance with the water polo team before they peed into my shoes? It's not pretty."
"So you want me to ask a favor of you even if I don't need one?" Seth nodded his head vigorously. "You aren't going to shut up until you get your way, are you?"
Seth shook his head with equal vigor. "No, Ryan. No, I'm not. I need to grab the pebble from the kung fu master's palm, kill the Jabberwocky, 'Ollie' Mount Doom, whatever it takes to prove my worthiness of your friendship."
Ryan sighed, "Okay. Where are your parents?"
"Some charity thing. It's just Kavelier and Clay tonight, two brothers ... Okay? Okay about the proof? You have something in mind already? Because you've seen that my kung fu skills are rusty, my CD burner just can't do Journey for some reason, lifting heavy things – not my thing, and ..."
Ryan interrupted Seth's list, "Follow me." They walked a short way down past the infinity pool toward the cliff. "Hang your bottle from that tree." He pointed 15 yards away to a lone deciduous tree down the hill side. Gnarled from the coastal wind, it had somehow survived weather and landslides, standing tall but on the edge of a steep drop. "Make it high in the air, clear of greenery if you can."
"Yeah, cool, a rite of passage, a quest. A physical challenge, but one I can handle ... I think," he said peering at the drop.
Seth turned and headed toward the garage, returning a few minutes later with old boat line. "I considered a half hitch, but a slip knot is better for tightening around the neck of the bottle while still providing plenty of strength." He demonstrated with the bottle. Then he made random commando style gestures at a bewildered Ryan and headed down the hill, cursing at the loose soil and brambles that snagged him.
At the base of the tree, he attempted to toss the bottle over a high branch a few times but lower branches interfered with his toss. He scrambled onto a nearby jutting rock above the tree, and threw the bottle over a high limb. The branch bowed slightly but the rope and bottle remained secured. Getting back to the base of the tree, he tied the other end of the line to a lower branch.
Sweating, Seth scrambled back up the cliff. His arms were scratched up, his jeans were soiled, and he had Gatorade spilt over his shirt front. He broke into a wide grin, "Camp Tocanhoe trained."
Ryan smiled back and picked up a piece of stone mulch about the size of a golf ball, and threw it at the hanging bottle. Both boys fell into a rhythm, taking turns trying to smash the bottle. The best either could do was hit the bottle, making it swing. They worked in a companionable silence; the only sound being the rocks hitting the cliffs below and infrequently the successful clink of rock against the glass bottle.
One of Seth's attempts was wildly off mark, landing well short of the tree. Ryan laughed, "Damn that sucks, Seth."
"Calibration purposes." Seth smiled but didn't laugh aloud. "So it's good? We're good?"
"It's not as good as a right hook to an open jaw, but it will do," Ryan replied.
"Any jaw you have in mind? Like not mine?"
Ryan looked at Seth considering his words. "We were good before you hung the target. I had my quota of climbing heights today. Thanks. Something else is on my mind – something ..." he said trailing off. "I saw Chester get slapped by his old man near the field today."
"Oh my God, Jesus, and Moses. Chester Moore? You can't open a can of whoop ass on Mr. Moore. You can't," Seth said panicking. He took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes at Ryan. "He can hurt you, Ryan. Really, he's got money, he's got power, he can mess with your probation. He is one of Mom's major backers for her development. Wait! This can be my real challenge, let Clay be the muscle this time."
Exasperated, Ryan interrupted. "Seth!" he said, then added in a normal tone, "Tell me about Chester."
"He's becoming a Pod - heavily recruited anyways. He's a bit of a bully with other kids during land classes but they're all little shits to each other. He listens to me when it's just us taking Summer Breeze out. He's a good kid."
"So is he 'accident' prone?" Ryan asked, trying to sound nonchalant without succeeding.
"No, no way. I'd report that. He had a broken arm last year, but that was from a bike accident. I mean, I'd see it, wouldn't I? You'd probably be better at spotting that sort of thing." He paused. "Not that I meant anything by that. That that's good or bad or that you may or may not be better at spotting ..."
"It did bring back memories of my dad whaling on me."
There was a long silence, and Ryan sent a sideways glance at Seth. "I have no idea what to say but thanks for trusting me enough to share," Seth said softly.
Ryan paused. "I know what you mean. I never know what to say when you talk about the polo team - peeing into your shoes ... What is there to say, right? Sucked but it's over."
"Talking about it takes away their power: 'Verdant light must be shed over dark, evil things.' The Green Lantern, introduced in All American Comics #16." Seth spoke quietly, "But it's never over totally, is it? It's always going to be a part of me. And your history, a part of you." He cocked his head to the side and put on a wry smile. "Scary thought, but the polo team has helped to hone my scathing wit, polish my charm."
Ryan looked at Seth, studying his face for clues on how seriously to take him. Then he dropped his gaze and spoke to the ground. "As a kid I thought I deserved my mother's rants, her boyfriends' ... shit. You see - I wished so badly for Dad to stop. Then Dad got locked up. Just desserts for my wish, don't you think?"
Seth's face was ashen. "That is some messed up kid-think, Ryan."
"Yeah, it's not right messing with kids." Ryan looked into the distance before continuing. "But we're not talking about me. It's over. I mean me, Trey, Dad, Mom, Fresno, Chino, it's over. But someone's gotta help Chester."
"We should talk to my Dad. He's dealt with this stuff at work. They can send him to treatment, parenting classes, I don't know..."
"You can't trust Child Services. They'll find some way to screw it up and it will be my fault for bringing it to their attention. I know, man. I've seen it happen too many times in Chino. They'll take the guy who makes one mistake and his children disappear, the weekly brawler gets a weekend anger management class."
"This is Newport, Ryan. Money makes people careful to get it right. Dad will make sure of it."
"It will be out of his hands once Child Services is involved."
"Okay, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We only know of a slap. Let's keep an eye on The Chester. We'll put an RSPC on him – that's the Ryan- Seth Protective Cloak. Besides, I survived a few locker stuffings – not that that makes it okay. I'm just saying let's slow down and not act too hasty. Chester's living in a McMansion getting three gourmet squares a day, how bad can it be? Kids are tough. And now that we have the Cloak over him ..."
Seth stopped mid babble, realizing Ryan wasn't with him. Changing tacks he said, "You're right. I trust you. I've got your back this time. We'll figure it out. And you, are you okay? I can't believe your dad, A.J, ..."
"First, don't ever call them little shits. This is not about some jocks jacking off. This is not about how more money makes you love your kids more. This is especially not about me and my past," Ryan said tightly.
"Come on, Ryan. I'm worried about Chester, too. But do you think it's a little bit about you?"
Ryan turned and hurled his bottle against the back of the pool house. It shattered leaving a wet stain on the wall and broken glass below. But his voice held no emotion when he said, "No."
Seth froze, scared, staring at Ryan. Then lightly Seth said, "Good. Excellent. Got it. But perhaps you doth protest too much?"
"Seth, I only know my gut feeling - Chester needs help. Am I - are we going to be enough for him?"
Ryan stood under the shower water in a daze. Normally he loved his private bathroom, and privately he loved trying new Kiehl shower products. Today his body was in the shower, but his mind was stuck on the scenes between Chester and his dad, and Ryan and Trey and their dad. "Useless . . . little shit" punctuated his internal movie in an angry rap song staccato. He tried to block the old memories, stop a wave of nausea, and concentrate on practical ways to help Chester. But what should he do?
Newport was simpler in the beginning, everything black or white. Pod people were hated; friends were rich and happy. Stay a while and the world grays. An asshole water polo player becomes a good friend, a beautiful girlfriend reveals a needy and self-destructive side, your adopted family takes the word of a crazed teenager over your own. He wasn't complaining. Newport had given him more than he deserved.
It was mid February; he had been with the Cohens for close to six months. Like an alien in a new world, he had adapted. He could tie a tie, fake a waltz, and eat Moroccan food expertly with his hands. He could play 'normal teenager', and enjoyed it when Kirsten bugged him about eating properly or Sandy came to watch him play soccer. He was more relaxed now but could never be like them. Their ease came with never worrying about when someone might blow up. Ryan wanted, no – needed, to protect his cherished new world; he had to make sure Chester was okay.
He wanted to rush in and attack Mr. Moore the way he fought the jocks to protect Seth and knocked down Holly's father to defend Sandy and Marissa's father. He had faced Donny and Oliver with their guns. All of it he'd do again without hesitation.
But this was different. If he fucked up, it wasn't Ryan who would pay but a kid, Chester. He wondered if Chester unconsciously crept around his house with his guard up like Ryan and Trey had. Ryan associated Mr. Moore's acts with being broke or high. Often with the ass kickings or drinking binges came a litany of complaints about how the world was against them, keeping them down, not appreciating their true worth. But Chester's family was probably never hungry a day in their lives. Was Ryan over- reacting? The Moores were one of Newport's elite. Maybe the slap was rare, caught on a bad day?
Ryan rested his palms against the shower wall, closed his eyes, and leaned his head under the water. No, the fear in Chester's eyes was all too recognizable. Chester may never end up with broken bones and bleeding in a hospital but one slap meant there were likely times before. Mr. Moore's words alone were hateful and had to be stopped. He had a bad feeling about Mr. Moore. Should he turn to Sandy? Ryan was torn. Sandy meant well but Ryan knew that he was too idealistic, too quick to turn to Child Services.
They wouldn't believe a juvie like Ryan, a slap wouldn't leave a scar to prove what Ryan saw. Besides Ryan's scars never helped him in the past. His bruised face, broken ribs, and cuts forced him to miss school so he could heal without suspicions being raised. By the time he returned to school he was the one in trouble for truancy. Ryan sighed; he realized Child Services was fighting an impossible battle. Nobody could make his parents stop drinking if they didn't want to, nobody could make his dad or his mom's boyfriends stop abusing them. The best Child Services could offer was to take him away from them. Wasn't a slap or two, an occasional slurred rage, worth time with his dad and mom? Even with the perspective of time and distance, Ryan couldn't answer that question – glad he didn't have to decide between the Atwoods and the Cohens. The Atwood stories weren't all bad; there were long days at the beach, afternoons spent peering into the hood of cars together. But in the heat of his dad's anger, he had fervently wished his dad away. In the end it was jail and not Child Services that took their father way. And his mom had chosen to leave.
Ryan knew the tricks of hiding a part of yourself where they couldn't reach, of floating above an ugly scene over your trapped body. He'd rather take the beating than watch his brother being hurt. If you didn't look into the eyes, Trey's eyes, it wasn't as bad for either for them, didn't make it as real. His brother and dad were in prison, his mother didn't want to be found. The Atwood family he remembered, the good and the bad, was over. Quiet tears ran down Ryan's face hidden in the shower water. He gently pounded a fist against the shower wall. He fought the feelings, straightening up and breathing slowly, trying to relax. This is about Chester. Ryan's past was not relevant - he wouldn't let it contaminate his new home.
The water had turned cold and it snapped him out of his reverie. The Cohens' dinner time was not firm, but he hated to hold them up. He got out of the stall and wrapped a towel around his waist. The bathroom was private but he never knew who would be in the pool house when he got out of the shower. Nobody was there today. Ryan went over to the closet, put on his standard of jeans and a white tee. Then he searched his old hooded jacket for cigarettes.
Ryan walked to the back of the pool house and lit up. He took long pulls, occasionally expelling the smoke through his nose. It was stale, but the nicotine from just one cigarette had an effect; his body was not used to smoking anymore. He sat on the lawn and stared at the gentle ocean swell, hoping to calm himself. Unsuccessful, he tapped his fingers against his jeans impatiently and flicked imaginary ashes off his cigarette. All this thinking without doing was driving him crazy.
Seth came around the pool house, drinking from a half empty bottle of Gatorade. He offered Ryan a fresh bottle. "Hey, Ryan."
Ryan looked up, placed the Gatorade by him on the ground, and nodded in thanks.
Seth sat next to him. "Your black hole of sound on our ride home tonight is matched only by your bellowing nod. This is about Oliver - me not having your back, isn't it? I know I really, really, blew it."
With a slightly puzzled expression on his face Ryan said, "We had this conversation already. I said we're okay - we're okay."
"No, clearly we're not. The more you say we're okay so easily, the more I realize you forgive too easily and it's not right. I need to earn your trust. Please, let me do something to prove my worthiness. Maybe I should make a sacrificial offering, an act of contrition, ... do you a huge favor?"
"No, dude. We're cool." Ryan put out his cigarette.
"Please don't make me beg. Do you want me to have to repeat my performance with the water polo team before they peed into my shoes? It's not pretty."
"So you want me to ask a favor of you even if I don't need one?" Seth nodded his head vigorously. "You aren't going to shut up until you get your way, are you?"
Seth shook his head with equal vigor. "No, Ryan. No, I'm not. I need to grab the pebble from the kung fu master's palm, kill the Jabberwocky, 'Ollie' Mount Doom, whatever it takes to prove my worthiness of your friendship."
Ryan sighed, "Okay. Where are your parents?"
"Some charity thing. It's just Kavelier and Clay tonight, two brothers ... Okay? Okay about the proof? You have something in mind already? Because you've seen that my kung fu skills are rusty, my CD burner just can't do Journey for some reason, lifting heavy things – not my thing, and ..."
Ryan interrupted Seth's list, "Follow me." They walked a short way down past the infinity pool toward the cliff. "Hang your bottle from that tree." He pointed 15 yards away to a lone deciduous tree down the hill side. Gnarled from the coastal wind, it had somehow survived weather and landslides, standing tall but on the edge of a steep drop. "Make it high in the air, clear of greenery if you can."
"Yeah, cool, a rite of passage, a quest. A physical challenge, but one I can handle ... I think," he said peering at the drop.
Seth turned and headed toward the garage, returning a few minutes later with old boat line. "I considered a half hitch, but a slip knot is better for tightening around the neck of the bottle while still providing plenty of strength." He demonstrated with the bottle. Then he made random commando style gestures at a bewildered Ryan and headed down the hill, cursing at the loose soil and brambles that snagged him.
At the base of the tree, he attempted to toss the bottle over a high branch a few times but lower branches interfered with his toss. He scrambled onto a nearby jutting rock above the tree, and threw the bottle over a high limb. The branch bowed slightly but the rope and bottle remained secured. Getting back to the base of the tree, he tied the other end of the line to a lower branch.
Sweating, Seth scrambled back up the cliff. His arms were scratched up, his jeans were soiled, and he had Gatorade spilt over his shirt front. He broke into a wide grin, "Camp Tocanhoe trained."
Ryan smiled back and picked up a piece of stone mulch about the size of a golf ball, and threw it at the hanging bottle. Both boys fell into a rhythm, taking turns trying to smash the bottle. The best either could do was hit the bottle, making it swing. They worked in a companionable silence; the only sound being the rocks hitting the cliffs below and infrequently the successful clink of rock against the glass bottle.
One of Seth's attempts was wildly off mark, landing well short of the tree. Ryan laughed, "Damn that sucks, Seth."
"Calibration purposes." Seth smiled but didn't laugh aloud. "So it's good? We're good?"
"It's not as good as a right hook to an open jaw, but it will do," Ryan replied.
"Any jaw you have in mind? Like not mine?"
Ryan looked at Seth considering his words. "We were good before you hung the target. I had my quota of climbing heights today. Thanks. Something else is on my mind – something ..." he said trailing off. "I saw Chester get slapped by his old man near the field today."
"Oh my God, Jesus, and Moses. Chester Moore? You can't open a can of whoop ass on Mr. Moore. You can't," Seth said panicking. He took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes at Ryan. "He can hurt you, Ryan. Really, he's got money, he's got power, he can mess with your probation. He is one of Mom's major backers for her development. Wait! This can be my real challenge, let Clay be the muscle this time."
Exasperated, Ryan interrupted. "Seth!" he said, then added in a normal tone, "Tell me about Chester."
"He's becoming a Pod - heavily recruited anyways. He's a bit of a bully with other kids during land classes but they're all little shits to each other. He listens to me when it's just us taking Summer Breeze out. He's a good kid."
"So is he 'accident' prone?" Ryan asked, trying to sound nonchalant without succeeding.
"No, no way. I'd report that. He had a broken arm last year, but that was from a bike accident. I mean, I'd see it, wouldn't I? You'd probably be better at spotting that sort of thing." He paused. "Not that I meant anything by that. That that's good or bad or that you may or may not be better at spotting ..."
"It did bring back memories of my dad whaling on me."
There was a long silence, and Ryan sent a sideways glance at Seth. "I have no idea what to say but thanks for trusting me enough to share," Seth said softly.
Ryan paused. "I know what you mean. I never know what to say when you talk about the polo team - peeing into your shoes ... What is there to say, right? Sucked but it's over."
"Talking about it takes away their power: 'Verdant light must be shed over dark, evil things.' The Green Lantern, introduced in All American Comics #16." Seth spoke quietly, "But it's never over totally, is it? It's always going to be a part of me. And your history, a part of you." He cocked his head to the side and put on a wry smile. "Scary thought, but the polo team has helped to hone my scathing wit, polish my charm."
Ryan looked at Seth, studying his face for clues on how seriously to take him. Then he dropped his gaze and spoke to the ground. "As a kid I thought I deserved my mother's rants, her boyfriends' ... shit. You see - I wished so badly for Dad to stop. Then Dad got locked up. Just desserts for my wish, don't you think?"
Seth's face was ashen. "That is some messed up kid-think, Ryan."
"Yeah, it's not right messing with kids." Ryan looked into the distance before continuing. "But we're not talking about me. It's over. I mean me, Trey, Dad, Mom, Fresno, Chino, it's over. But someone's gotta help Chester."
"We should talk to my Dad. He's dealt with this stuff at work. They can send him to treatment, parenting classes, I don't know..."
"You can't trust Child Services. They'll find some way to screw it up and it will be my fault for bringing it to their attention. I know, man. I've seen it happen too many times in Chino. They'll take the guy who makes one mistake and his children disappear, the weekly brawler gets a weekend anger management class."
"This is Newport, Ryan. Money makes people careful to get it right. Dad will make sure of it."
"It will be out of his hands once Child Services is involved."
"Okay, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We only know of a slap. Let's keep an eye on The Chester. We'll put an RSPC on him – that's the Ryan- Seth Protective Cloak. Besides, I survived a few locker stuffings – not that that makes it okay. I'm just saying let's slow down and not act too hasty. Chester's living in a McMansion getting three gourmet squares a day, how bad can it be? Kids are tough. And now that we have the Cloak over him ..."
Seth stopped mid babble, realizing Ryan wasn't with him. Changing tacks he said, "You're right. I trust you. I've got your back this time. We'll figure it out. And you, are you okay? I can't believe your dad, A.J, ..."
"First, don't ever call them little shits. This is not about some jocks jacking off. This is not about how more money makes you love your kids more. This is especially not about me and my past," Ryan said tightly.
"Come on, Ryan. I'm worried about Chester, too. But do you think it's a little bit about you?"
Ryan turned and hurled his bottle against the back of the pool house. It shattered leaving a wet stain on the wall and broken glass below. But his voice held no emotion when he said, "No."
Seth froze, scared, staring at Ryan. Then lightly Seth said, "Good. Excellent. Got it. But perhaps you doth protest too much?"
"Seth, I only know my gut feeling - Chester needs help. Am I - are we going to be enough for him?"