Chapter 4
Ryan automatically and quickly assessed Mr. Moore. He was close to a head taller and 70 pounds heavier than Ryan although most of the excess weight was fat. He didn't seem to be "on" anything – his eyes were clear and he didn't reek of alcohol. But Mr. Moore was poised for a conflict; he stood tall and tensed with his shoulders back, his face pinched and dark. He was an arrogant man who was used to getting his own way, and he was staring hard at Ryan.
Ryan took a small step back from Mr. Moore and Chester. He kept his arms down and opened his hands, palms out in a show of non-violence.
Without taking his eyes off of Ryan, Mr. Moore said sternly but evenly, "Chester get inside."
Chester had been immobilized, his eyes wide, taking in the scene, but came to attention at his father's voice. Clutching his left side, he stood up and drew in a sharp breath. In a strained voice he asked, "May I be excused from dinner?"
"Go."
Chester cautiously stepped around his father and walked toward the door. He stopped and looked over his shoulder as the two men began to talk about him.
"Don't come near my son again."
"I didn't hurt your son." Ryan paused and with a hooded look he added bitterly, "You did. He needs to see a doctor."
"Chester is my kid; I'll raise him as I see fit. We don't have weak men in our family; we have a place in society where people looks up to us. But what would you know about that? Don't think I don't know you're a delinquent that that liberal pinko Cohen took pity on."
Ryan couldn't say anything, struggling to keep his temper. He tensed up and he couldn't hide the revulsion on his face. He hated Mr. Moore and all he represented – weak, ugly men who got their jollies hurting and humiliating children. It was a hate that burned hot in his gut and pulled on every nerve. It was all Ryan could do to keep it in check as he successfully fought to keep his arms to his sides and his hands unfisted. He remembered his promise to stay in control and the logical part of him understood and believed that Chester would be better helped without a fight. Chester was already seriously hurt. The balance was tipped; this was clearly a case where Sandy should step in.
Ryan's only uncertainty was Chester, who stood watching them carefully. Ryan could only hope Chester understood why he was backing off. That it wasn't a betrayal – only a tactical retreat. Ryan meant every word of what he had said earlier.
"Take it easy. I'm leaving now." Ryan walked around Mr. Moore, giving him a wide berth. But his voice dripped with disgust as he added under his breath, "Just know Chester's a stronger person than you'll ever be." Afraid to anger Mr. Moore, Ryan passed by Chester wordless, but he tried to give a barely perceptible, reassuring nod. He paused just before the door as he heard Mr. Moore begin to berate Chester.
Mr. Moore's eyes had carefully followed Ryan's movements until Ryan went by Chester. Chester was staring at Ryan with an intense, hopeful expression. The look infuriated Mr. Moore, who shouted, "Damn it, Chester. Didn't I tell you to get inside?" He went up to Chester and poked a finger into the boy's chest and yelled, "What did you tell him? You think you can hide behind this kid like some pansy?"
Mr. Moore's face was flushed with anger. Looking over at Ryan, he whispered threateningly, "I'll show you. Chester, who's boss?"
"Dad, I just wanted to see how you treat Chino trash. I'm sorry ..."
Ryan felt a familiar and awful sensation, of a situation spiraling out of his control. He interrupted Chester and pleaded, "Hey, let's all calm down. He didn't tell me anything – we're just talking about sailing. I'm leaving now." Ryan took an exaggerated sideways step toward the door, but his eyes frantically went back and forth from Mr. Moore to Chester. Ryan himself was anything but calm; he could feel the adrenaline pumping his heart ever faster. He was filled with dread – no matter how hard he tried things never went well.
"Chester! Answer me!" Mr. Moore's voice rose threateningly.
Chester looked down at his shoes. Quietly, he said, "The father gives the orders. The mother is his humble helper."
Chester began to cry silently making Mr. Moore even angrier. He grabbed Chester by the shoulders and shook him. "And what are you Chester? How about a useless, stupid shit?"
Before all the words were out of Mr. Moore's mouth, Ryan jumped between the two and shoved Mr. Moore away from Chester.
The attack caught Mr. Moore off guard and he stumbled back against a chair.
Ryan whispered in a cold rage, "Don't you ever touch him again! Don't you ever call him a little shit!"
Mr. Moore seemed gleeful eliciting such a reaction from Ryan. He smiled as he regained his balance, grabbed Ryan by his collar and put all his weight behind a punch to Ryan's face.
Ryan blocked some of its force with his left forearm but Mr. Moore's fist connected with his jaw and turned his head violently. Happily he punched Ryan again and again, this time in the ribs, this time to the chest.
Ryan's instincts took over. He ducked under the next punch and wrapped his arms around Mr. Moore's, pinning his arms to his sides, stopping the blows. Then pushing himself away, outside of Mr. Moore's reach, he said in an anguished voice, "No, no, no. Let's not do this. I'm going home. I can't do this ..."
Ryan's apparent surrender seemed to make Mr. Moore giddy. He sang bitingly, "I'll smack that useless little shit anytime I want!"
The words triggered Ryan into delivering a frenzy of blows to Mr. Moore's middle. Ryan's attack was not considered; his hits were a furious and mindless motion, like those of a strong child in a tantrum. But they succeeded in silencing Mr. Moore. The man grunted as the air was knocked out of him and he fell to the ground.
Chester's breathing was labored and he was openly crying now. He begged, "Stop, stop, please, stop!"
But Ryan couldn't hear or see him. There was a louder roar in Ryan's head that demanded he strike back and destroy every black memory of helplessness. For every one of his dad's slaps, for each of his mom's drunken harangues, and for all the nameless boyfriends' punches and kicks, here was an opportunity to make amends. Now he could erase the aching stomachs brought on by the dread of his father coming home from another bar, now he had a place to put the anger that festered after the beatings. It wasn't just for him, it was for Trey and Chester, and unknown Chesters he couldn't think to help.
Ryan could feel his knuckles make satisfying contact with the flesh of a hard cheekbone and with the soft gut under a dress shirt. He heard the moans and grunts of his many-faced enemy. But he was not conscience of where he was, not aware of whom he was facing, ... not able to see Chester as he threw himself between them to protect his father.
Ryan struck Chester with a glancing blow to his temple. Chester fell to the ground at his father's feet.
Ryan froze, blinking at the unacceptable scene before him, unable to believe he had hit Chester. Panting, he shook his head in slow jerking motions as if to make it go away. As he took a step back from the horror, he also reached out a shaky hand toward Chester but couldn't bring himself to touch him, afraid to do more harm.
Mr. Moore, winded by the blows, stood up to a crouch, breathing hard. He seemed just as shocked as Ryan as they stood staring down at Chester. Chester laid on the concrete, curled up in the fetal position, silent.
Ryan automatically and quickly assessed Mr. Moore. He was close to a head taller and 70 pounds heavier than Ryan although most of the excess weight was fat. He didn't seem to be "on" anything – his eyes were clear and he didn't reek of alcohol. But Mr. Moore was poised for a conflict; he stood tall and tensed with his shoulders back, his face pinched and dark. He was an arrogant man who was used to getting his own way, and he was staring hard at Ryan.
Ryan took a small step back from Mr. Moore and Chester. He kept his arms down and opened his hands, palms out in a show of non-violence.
Without taking his eyes off of Ryan, Mr. Moore said sternly but evenly, "Chester get inside."
Chester had been immobilized, his eyes wide, taking in the scene, but came to attention at his father's voice. Clutching his left side, he stood up and drew in a sharp breath. In a strained voice he asked, "May I be excused from dinner?"
"Go."
Chester cautiously stepped around his father and walked toward the door. He stopped and looked over his shoulder as the two men began to talk about him.
"Don't come near my son again."
"I didn't hurt your son." Ryan paused and with a hooded look he added bitterly, "You did. He needs to see a doctor."
"Chester is my kid; I'll raise him as I see fit. We don't have weak men in our family; we have a place in society where people looks up to us. But what would you know about that? Don't think I don't know you're a delinquent that that liberal pinko Cohen took pity on."
Ryan couldn't say anything, struggling to keep his temper. He tensed up and he couldn't hide the revulsion on his face. He hated Mr. Moore and all he represented – weak, ugly men who got their jollies hurting and humiliating children. It was a hate that burned hot in his gut and pulled on every nerve. It was all Ryan could do to keep it in check as he successfully fought to keep his arms to his sides and his hands unfisted. He remembered his promise to stay in control and the logical part of him understood and believed that Chester would be better helped without a fight. Chester was already seriously hurt. The balance was tipped; this was clearly a case where Sandy should step in.
Ryan's only uncertainty was Chester, who stood watching them carefully. Ryan could only hope Chester understood why he was backing off. That it wasn't a betrayal – only a tactical retreat. Ryan meant every word of what he had said earlier.
"Take it easy. I'm leaving now." Ryan walked around Mr. Moore, giving him a wide berth. But his voice dripped with disgust as he added under his breath, "Just know Chester's a stronger person than you'll ever be." Afraid to anger Mr. Moore, Ryan passed by Chester wordless, but he tried to give a barely perceptible, reassuring nod. He paused just before the door as he heard Mr. Moore begin to berate Chester.
Mr. Moore's eyes had carefully followed Ryan's movements until Ryan went by Chester. Chester was staring at Ryan with an intense, hopeful expression. The look infuriated Mr. Moore, who shouted, "Damn it, Chester. Didn't I tell you to get inside?" He went up to Chester and poked a finger into the boy's chest and yelled, "What did you tell him? You think you can hide behind this kid like some pansy?"
Mr. Moore's face was flushed with anger. Looking over at Ryan, he whispered threateningly, "I'll show you. Chester, who's boss?"
"Dad, I just wanted to see how you treat Chino trash. I'm sorry ..."
Ryan felt a familiar and awful sensation, of a situation spiraling out of his control. He interrupted Chester and pleaded, "Hey, let's all calm down. He didn't tell me anything – we're just talking about sailing. I'm leaving now." Ryan took an exaggerated sideways step toward the door, but his eyes frantically went back and forth from Mr. Moore to Chester. Ryan himself was anything but calm; he could feel the adrenaline pumping his heart ever faster. He was filled with dread – no matter how hard he tried things never went well.
"Chester! Answer me!" Mr. Moore's voice rose threateningly.
Chester looked down at his shoes. Quietly, he said, "The father gives the orders. The mother is his humble helper."
Chester began to cry silently making Mr. Moore even angrier. He grabbed Chester by the shoulders and shook him. "And what are you Chester? How about a useless, stupid shit?"
Before all the words were out of Mr. Moore's mouth, Ryan jumped between the two and shoved Mr. Moore away from Chester.
The attack caught Mr. Moore off guard and he stumbled back against a chair.
Ryan whispered in a cold rage, "Don't you ever touch him again! Don't you ever call him a little shit!"
Mr. Moore seemed gleeful eliciting such a reaction from Ryan. He smiled as he regained his balance, grabbed Ryan by his collar and put all his weight behind a punch to Ryan's face.
Ryan blocked some of its force with his left forearm but Mr. Moore's fist connected with his jaw and turned his head violently. Happily he punched Ryan again and again, this time in the ribs, this time to the chest.
Ryan's instincts took over. He ducked under the next punch and wrapped his arms around Mr. Moore's, pinning his arms to his sides, stopping the blows. Then pushing himself away, outside of Mr. Moore's reach, he said in an anguished voice, "No, no, no. Let's not do this. I'm going home. I can't do this ..."
Ryan's apparent surrender seemed to make Mr. Moore giddy. He sang bitingly, "I'll smack that useless little shit anytime I want!"
The words triggered Ryan into delivering a frenzy of blows to Mr. Moore's middle. Ryan's attack was not considered; his hits were a furious and mindless motion, like those of a strong child in a tantrum. But they succeeded in silencing Mr. Moore. The man grunted as the air was knocked out of him and he fell to the ground.
Chester's breathing was labored and he was openly crying now. He begged, "Stop, stop, please, stop!"
But Ryan couldn't hear or see him. There was a louder roar in Ryan's head that demanded he strike back and destroy every black memory of helplessness. For every one of his dad's slaps, for each of his mom's drunken harangues, and for all the nameless boyfriends' punches and kicks, here was an opportunity to make amends. Now he could erase the aching stomachs brought on by the dread of his father coming home from another bar, now he had a place to put the anger that festered after the beatings. It wasn't just for him, it was for Trey and Chester, and unknown Chesters he couldn't think to help.
Ryan could feel his knuckles make satisfying contact with the flesh of a hard cheekbone and with the soft gut under a dress shirt. He heard the moans and grunts of his many-faced enemy. But he was not conscience of where he was, not aware of whom he was facing, ... not able to see Chester as he threw himself between them to protect his father.
Ryan struck Chester with a glancing blow to his temple. Chester fell to the ground at his father's feet.
Ryan froze, blinking at the unacceptable scene before him, unable to believe he had hit Chester. Panting, he shook his head in slow jerking motions as if to make it go away. As he took a step back from the horror, he also reached out a shaky hand toward Chester but couldn't bring himself to touch him, afraid to do more harm.
Mr. Moore, winded by the blows, stood up to a crouch, breathing hard. He seemed just as shocked as Ryan as they stood staring down at Chester. Chester laid on the concrete, curled up in the fetal position, silent.