Chapter Four
"Terrence."
The tone of Mom's voice suggested venom dripping slowly down a death adder's fangs. Terrence flinched hard and turned around, dropping his backpack. He had been on his way out the door to go to school - it was now his fourth week, and the Music class was deep into rehearsing their piece for the concert. Terrence was anxious to tackle vibratos again.
Mom was looking particularly furious. "Stop right there," she told him, and he didn't dare budge. "Do you remember our conversation two weeks ago?" she asked him.
Ordinarily Terrence might have trouble recalling a conversation that had taken place weeks before, but this one he had no trouble with. "Yes," he said hesitantly.
"Look at this," said Mom, holding up one of Mac's shirts. "What do you see here?"
Terrence looked. He was pretty sure he knew what the small brown spots were, but he was so petrified he couldn't bring himself to say it.
"It's blood," Mom finished for him. "My God, Terrence. I'm at the end of my rope. That's it - today I want you home right after your last class, I will be calling, and you had better be here to answer. I'm going to be late for work. Don't you touch your little brother when he gets home from playing." And with that Mom reached around the corner to toss the shirt back into the hamper in the closet; then she seized her attache case and purse from the kitchen table and marched out of the apartment without another word.
Terrence stood, mortified, staring after her. Mac goes and bloodies himself up goofing off with Bloo and he gets punished for it? Terrence barely reflected on how unfair this was before turning his attention to the fact that he would now have to drop Music. He tried to think rationally - now he'd have more time for his homework - but gave it up in anguish. Dammit, he liked Music! He liked working with other kids on a project without actually having to talk to any of them. He liked Chess. And he liked taking an inanimate, wooden object and little black dots and lines on a piece of paper and turning them into music. He liked it. It was hard, like regular schoolwork, but at the same time, when he did it, he felt like he was actually accomplishing something. That had never happened before.
And now, because of Mac, he couldn't do it anymore. He tried to be angry, but he just couldn't muster it. Finally he trudged to school. His regular classes seemed to move a lot faster than they usually did, when he was looking forward to finishing them. But today he had to tell Chess that he couldn't stay for class.
And as he had predicted, Chess looked disappointed. "Well, we'll see you tomorrow then," the teacher said, as the other students filed in and started taking their places. And then he saw the look on the boy's face. "Won't we?" he prompted.
Terrence looked at his shoes. "I dunno if I can come anymore," he said miserably. "I have...to do something else in the afternoons."
Chess stepped out of the classroom and drew Terrence aside. "Terrence," he said slowly, "is everything all right?"
Terrence raised and lowered one shoulder.
Chess stood quietly for a moment. "The class is waiting for me," he said at length. "Can you come see me tomorrow?"
Terrence sighed, still not looking up. "Maybe for a minute."
"Good. I'll see you then, okay?"
"Yeah. Okay." And Terrence started for home.
He was passing near the park when he heard something very familiar:
"No! Stop it! Stop it!"
Terrence stopped, cocking his head. Why did that sound just like Mac? It was that same desperate tone he used whenever he was trying to cajole his older brother into not beating him up.
"Leave me alone! Let me go!"
Before he knew what he was doing Terrence was running towards the voice, off of the sidewalk and down a grassy slope to a lightly wooded area on the outskirts of Van Dyke Park. A cluster of bodies could be seen under some trees, and now Terrence could make out the sound of adolescent male laughter. In a moment he was near enough to recognize all of the boys; he'd gone to school with them at Ferndale Middle School and would go to high school with them next year (barring failing summer school, anyways). These were the boys that he bummed around with when they had nothing better to do, chucking junk off of the overpass and waiting to jump little kids outside the convenience store for their candy and sodas. The six of them were commonly known as "The Dirty Half-Dozen" around town, not that they cared. Occasionally one or two of the boys had joined him in terrorizing Mac - always taking the role of herding the kid in Terrence's direction for him so he wouldn't have to run as far. None of them had ever been permitted to actually touch Mac, however; that had always been strictly Terrence's domain.
And now all five of these boys were in a tight knot surrounding Mac. Nolan had Mac's backpack and was dangling it like a carrot, trying to goad the eight-year-old into to jumping to get it, and Lucius was shoving Mac from behind every few seconds, daring him to make a run for it. Chris, Carey, and Don were just making sure Mac couldn't escape.
The boys stopped laughing abruptly when Terrence came skidding up to them, mouth agape. "What the hell is this?" he demanded.
"Hey Terrence," spoke up Carey. "Where ya been, man? Nobody's seen you around since school got out."
Terrence ignored the question. He nodded towards Mac. "What are you guys doing?"
"Aw come on, Vaughn," drawled Nolan, tossing Mac's backpack to himself casually. "We're just having a little fun. We'll save you some."
Terrence glanced at his brother. Mac looked terrified, and he had a grass stain on one cheek as well as all over the front of his shirt. He looked pleadingly at Terrence, whose wheels were turning.
"Have you guys been beating up my brother all summer?" he demanded suddenly in realization.
"Relax," scoffed Nolan, rubbing his nose. "He's still fresh, we just got to him today."
"Don't you numbnuts touch my brother!"
"Chill out, man," laughed Don. "Here, we'll share." And he shoved Mac roughly at Terrence, sending him crashing into the older boy's legs. Mac clung to Terrence's jeans and stared up at him, his eyes wet. He said nothing, but looked like he expected Terrence to hit him.
Slowly, anger began to wash over Terrence as he blinked down at his little brother. He looked up and around at the assembled boys. "Book," he said, in a low and dangerous voice, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards the street. "All of you. Now."
The boys had been hanging out with Terrence for almost two years, and they respected him. They respected him for his creativity in coming up with ways to amuse themselves at the expense of others. They respected him for his ruthlessness, and his verve. They also respected him for his ability to hold his own in a fight. And usually, when Terrence gave them an order, they obeyed. And that's what four of them prepared to do now, taking a step back.
But Nolan, his jaw set, stepped forward instead. He threw Mac's backpack to the ground. "What if we're not finished with him yet?" he challenged darkly.
Mac crept around behind Terrence, still grasping the fabric of his brother's jeans. "Terrence," he managed at last, waveringly. "Let's just go."
But Terrence's authority had been questioned and the thirteen-year-old was having none of it. He stood his ground and ignored Mac entirely, his hands forming fists at his sides. "I say you are finished with him," was his reply.
"I happen to disagree."
Lucius, Chris, Carey and Don hung back, interested.
Terrence and Nolan locked eyes like a pair of lions sizing each other up. At last Terrence, knowing how it was going to be, let his backpack slide down his arm and he shoved it into Mac's chest, pushing the smaller boy away as he did so. "Mac, go home," he said, not looking away from Nolan.
"Terrence..."
Now Terrence turned his head to glare down at Mac. "I said go, now," he warned. He paid for his lapse in vigilance as the other four boys rallied suddenly behind Nolan, smelling a fight coming on the way a wild animal senses a storm. When Terrence turned his attention back to Nolan he found all five boys staring him down, predatorily.
"I think you just volunteered to take the little faggot's place," said Nolan smugly.
"No!" shouted Mac, dropping the backpack and rushing forward. He didn't have a plan; all he knew was that somehow he had to stop this fight from occurring. But Don was too quick for him. The big fourteen-year-old punched Mac right in the face, sending the small boy rolling backwards like a croquet ball. Don's guffaw of pleasure was silenced when Terrence, completely engulfed in fury, bodyslammed him into a tree.
Mac got painfully to his feet, touching his mouth. He tasted blood. He looked on in horror as his brother disappeared under a tangle of bodies; arms and legs and fists flew, grunts of pain and exertion filled the air. Grasping at one wild hope, Mac turned and fled up the grassy slope back towards the street.
Although he put up a good fight, Terrence got his ass kicked, and good. He was punched in the lower back and kicked in the stomach. His glasses went flying as someone's fist connected with his nose and blood seemed to go everywhere. He managed to wrench himself out of his red flannel shirt and wriggle away when someone grabbed him but an instant later someone else had a handful of his hair and his face was being smashed into the dirt, making him choke on bloody mud. More kicks rained upon his legs and sides and he was kneed in the back by whoever was pushing him into the ground. The Earth seemed to shake as he waited to lose consciousness.
But suddenly the boys, screaming in fear, were off of him, and the Earth really did shake as something huge came bounding up, roaring like a bull. And then for a moment it was silent.
"Terrence? Terrence! " Mac was beside him, trying to pull him upright. "Terrence?" he said again, unable to form a complete sentence.
Terrence hunched over on his knees, lifting his torso from the ground. He swallowed convulsively, making him cough violently on blood and dirt. Mac clung to his arm as if he would fall apart otherwise. "Terrence." This time it came out as a sob. "Get up."
Unable to speak, Terrence swung his head back and forth to indicate that he wished to be left alone to die in peace; but then a sort of hard hand slipped under his chest and pulled him to his feet.
"Muchacho desafortunado," said a gruff but sympathetic voice that seemed to come from far above him. "I take you for help."
Terrence twisted to find the source of the hand and the voice and was alarmed by the towering purple shape with long grey spikes coming from its head that blotted out the sun above him, blurred by the dirt in his eyes and the lack of glasses. He cried out in terror and flung an arm over his face to protect it from further assault.
"No, Terrence, its just Eduardo." Mac was still clinging to his other arm. "It'll be okay. We'll take you back to Foster's. Okay?" he sought acknowledgement, or perhaps permission.
Terrence turned his wide eyes on Mac and said nothing. Mac took matters in his own hands. He gathered up both backpacks, the broken glasses, and the torn red flannel shirt and let Eduardo guide Terrence (who resisted being picked up) back to Foster's, a few blocks away. Terrence wound up wadding his ruined shirt to his nose to staunch the heavy bloodflow; passersby stared but the three hurried on and were not stopped by anyone.
"Christ on a cracker!" Frankie exclaimed, dropping an armful of pots when they lurched into the kitchen. "Terrence? Is that you? What on God's Green Earth happened? Come over here," she went on before anyone could answer her, taking hold of Terrence's arm and hauling him to the sink. She carefully pulled the hand holding the red shirt to his face away to have a look; she just as quickly let it go. "Holy schiznet," she declared. "Who did this?"
Bloo picked exactly the wrong time to wander into the kitchen for a snack. "Mac, what're you doing back here, I thought you went home," he began, and then he saw Terrence, looking a fright, standing over the sink dripping blood. Bloo blinked. He looked back at Mac, with a split lip and covered in grass stains, then back at Terrence. Back at Mac, then Terrence again. At last, as could be expected, he jumped to the wrong conclusion.
His eyes boggling, Bloo rushed to Mac's side. "Way to go, buddy!" he exclaimed, slapping Mac on the arm. "I knew you had it in you!"
Mac frowned at Bloo in annoyance; this wasn't a good time for his imaginary friend to be prattling on about something. "What are you talking about?" he tried not to snap. He focused on Frankie, who had procured some first-aid supplies from somewhere and was arranging them on the counter beside the sink.
"Aw, don't be modest," grinned Bloo, looking over at Terrence the way one might survey a great work of art. "I knew that one day, one day you were really gonna let that jerk have it. He couldn't push you around forever."
Angry, Mac opened his mouth to shout when Frankie clamped a hand on his shoulder, silencing him. "Hey Ed," she said evenly.
"Si, Frankie?"
"Why don't you and Bloo go try out that new video game we just got?"
"Video game?"
"Yeah, the one in the fifth-floor left-hand linen closet hidden on the top shelf under the green fingertip towels," she replied quickly.
"Cool!" said Bloo, seizing Eduardo by one hoof and turning to go. Eduardo cast a confused look over his shoulder and let himself be led away.
"Well there goes my last bribe item," remarked Frankie under her breath, returning to Terrence, who was trying to wash his face in the sink. "Here, let me see." He turned off the water and let her feel his nose. "Well you're lucky, it isn't broken," she mused. "But you're going to have some nasty bruising." The purple was already beginning to show. "You're still bleeding - here." She handed Terrence a clean towel and, pulling a chair over, guided him to sit. "Tip your head back just a bit and put a little pressure here." Terrence had had enough bloody noses to know how to tend to one but he let Frankie fuss over him anyways. "When it stops bleeding put some ice on it."
Then the young woman turned to Mac. "I'm sorry Mac," she said apologetically. "Are you okay? Let me see." She picked him up and set him on the counter next to the sink.
"I'm okay," he told her.
"Are you sure?" She examined him carefully. "Looks like you got a split lip there, pal."
Mac touched his lip. "Oh," he said. He hadn't realized.
Frankie cleaned his face up and applied some antiseptic gel to the lip. "Okay," Frankie said slowly. "Why don't you - "
"Miss Francis."
Frankie glared at the trumpet-intercom on the wall. "What?" she yelled. "I have a crisis here!"
"Everything is a crisis to you, Miss Francis," replied Mr. Herriman's slightly echoed voice. "There is a...an incident in progress in the Laundry Room you must attend to at once."
"What kind of incident?"
"It involves a surfboard, spray-on cheese, and Bendy."
"I'd better take this." Frankie peered at the two boys, who were sitting mutely. "I'll be right back, okay?" When they both nodded at her she turned and, grabbing a mop, marched out of the kitchen like she was going to war.
Silence reigned for about a full minute before Terrence turned and squinted over the towel at Mac, who was still sitting on the counter. "How long have does guys bed bessing with you?" he asked nasally.
Mac shrugged. "A couple of weeks," he generalized. It had actually been a bit longer.
"You shoulda told be."
"I tried!" Mac replied, suddenly emotional. "I tried lots of times. But you wouldn't talk to me! You wouldn't even look at me!"
Terrence was actually confused by this for a moment before he realized. "Is that what you were doig?" he blurted. "I thought - " He cut himself off.
"What?" Mac asked him curiously.
Terrence hesitated. "Bob thought it was be bessing you up," he replied slowly. "I thought...you were tryig to get be in trouble."
"Mom thought it was you." Mac stated rather than asked, not sounded terribly surprised.
"Yeah, I doe, irodic, idn't it." Terrence snuffled and shifted the towel on his face. "Well, dow I will get in trouble, because I didn't get hobe right after school." When Mac threw him a confused look he elaborated: "She found your bloody shirt dis mordig and tightened by restriction. You really should be bore careful about hiding fight evidence," Terrence couldn't help but point out. "I could give you sobe lessons."
"I'll tell Mom it wasn't you," Mac said quickly.
"Doesn't batter. I'll still get in trouble for fighting today."
Mac pondered. "Well, maybe she won't find out," he grasped at straws.
Terrence lowered the towel and gave his brother an exasperated look. The whole center of his face had turned a horrid boysenberry purple, and the bridge of his nose had begun to swell. Mac winced. "Oh...yeah," he said. "Um...at least you've stopped bleeding?" he tried to find a positive. When the only reply he received was the irritated narrowing of eyes, he sighed. "Well, I guess you'll have to knock off whatever you've really been doing after school, then," the eight-year-old concluded.
A sudden wave of despair rose up in Terrence's chest. "But I can't!" he exclaimed in desperation. His eyes watered involuntarily in response both to his anguish and a tingle that had suddenly surfaced in his swollen nose. Sneezing now would be painful and would probably start the bleeding again so he tried to ignore it.
"What have you been doing?" Mac asked a bit suspiciously.
Terrence hesitated. "I can't tell you," he replied lamely.
Mac heaved a sigh. "Terrence, Mom's not going to be very happy about all this, and I seriously doubt she's going to let you wander around for two hours every day when you're supposed to be grounded - "
"I'm dot wanderig aroud!" Terrence argued. "I told you, it's for school!"
"Well what is it?"
"It's - ah..." At that moment Terrence lost the fight and he started to sneeze; but before it could get out a bag of ice was dropped on his face, the pain effectively murdering the sneeze on the spot. Terrence yelped and grabbed the bag as Frankie, who had reentered the kitchen unnoticed, stepped away from him.
"Try not to sneeze," she advised him. "You might start bleeding again." She threw the remains of a splintered, shredded mop in the corner and wiped cheese out of her hair. "Okay boys," she said, hands on hips. "Tell me. Who did this?" She nodded towards Terrence's abused face. "Who hit you?" She turned to the smaller boy, prompting him for an answer. "Mac?"
"Yeah."
It was Terrence who had spoken. Frankie and Mac frowned at him, not knowing what he meant. "Yeah...what?" prodded Frankie.
"Yeah," repeated Terrence around the bag of ice, which he was gingerly holding to his nose. "It was Bac."
Frankie's jaw dropped, and Mac stared in surprise. "What do you mean 'it was Mac'?" Frankie demanded shrilly. "You don't mean that Mac did that to you?"
Terrence nodded. "Yeah," he said once again. "Like Bloo said. Bac did it."
As Frankie gaped at Terrence in unmitigated shock, Mac mouthed over her shoulder: "What are you doing?"
But Terrence only glanced at him. "We got into a fight," he lied spectacularly. "I was...you dow...I was, chasing hib." His nose was still swollen enough to hinder his speech. "And er...I uh...jumped hib, and...he hit be."
Frankie was floored. She was aware that Terrence picked on Mac, mostly from Bloo's recollections, and she didn't approve of it, no matter how much she tried to be polite to the older boy. He was Mac's brother after all, and he had been nice enough to take Mac's place at Foster's for a week a couple of months ago. But she just couldn't see Mac hitting somebody in the face, and especially with enough force to cause such an injury. She looked round at Mac, questioningly.
As soon as her back was turned Terrence started making "go on" motions at Mac. Mac didn't like lying, to anyone; but he just couldn't fathom why Terrence would want anyone to think that he had been owned by his eight-year-old brother. So, overwhelmed with curiosity, Mac found himself nodding at Frankie. "Um, yeah," he said slowly. "I...I didn't mean to hit him so hard but he was..." He glanced down at the grass stains on his shirt. "He was dragging me on the ground, and shoving me..."
Frankie looked sharply back round at Terrence, who had the presence of mind to look ashamed. Mac made helpless shrugging motions at him over Frankie's shoulder. Frankie looked back around, and Mac put on an innocent face.
Then Frankie turned back to Terrence. "Well!" she said loudly, crossing her arms. "I say good for Mac, then! It's about time he showed you he can stand up for himself! It serves you right, for picking on your own little brother! Oh yeah, I've heard about you," she went on, eyeballing Terrence, who scuffed his shoes on the floor uncomfortably. "Bloo's told us all kinds of stories - of course, Bloo's been known to exaggerate just a tad..." She touched her chin and rolled her eyes upward thoughtfully for a moment, then turned her attention back on the teen. "But still..."
Mac coughed softly. "Um, Frankie?" He cleared his throat.
Frankie glanced back and forth between the two boys for a moment, and had a realization. "You're right, Mac," she said at length. "I guess this really is between the two of you. I'll let you guys work it out. Listen, let me clean up a few things, and then I'll drive you both home, okay?" The boys nodded silently at her and she left again.
Mac slid down off of the counter and approached his brother. "Terrence?" he prodded. "Why did you tell Frankie that I hit you?"
Terrence rolled his eyes at him. "Look, don't think I enjoyed dat, dorkboy," he replied, shifting the ice bag carefully; he winced. "I had a braidstorb and I went with it."
Mac raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What was it?"
Terrence took a tentative breath through his nose; the swelling was just beginning to go down. "Well," began Terrence, "how do you think Mom would feel if she found out that she was punishing me for something I didn't do while at the same time not doing anything about the fact that her precious baby boy was getting his precious ass whupped every day?"
"Oh." Mac blinked. "Wow. You're right. Good thinking, Terrence."
"Yeah, shut up, I'm not finished." Terrence sniffed again. "If Mom thinks that you can beat me up she'll lay off of the both of us because she'll think I'll leave you alone."
Mac ached to ask if this meant that Terrence planned on really leaving him alone but he felt he shouldn't press his luck. So he nodded instead.
"And lastly." Terrence lifted the ice bag from his face and felt at his nose carefully before putting the bag back. "Maybe this way Mom won't hire a babysitter."
Mac couldn't hold his tongue for this one. "A what?" he demanded loudly.
"Mom threatened to hire a babysitter." They both shuddered. "I think I'd pretend anyone could kick my butt to avoid that," Terrence admitted. Then he looked at his brother. "Hey Mac," he said thoughtfully, "how come you didn't tell Mom that you were getting beat up by those guys?"
Mac hesitated. "Well, don't laugh, but..." He paused again. "I didn't want to get you in trouble. I figured she'd think you were doing it no matter who I told her it was. Looks like I was right."
"Why the hell wouldn't you want me to get in trouble?"
At that Mac scowled. "Because I'm getting a little tired of us hating each other," he blurted without thinking.
Terrence lowered the ice bag. "You think I hate you?" he asked incredulously.
"Um...well...Not - " babbled Mac.
"Geez, Mac," grunted Terrence, replacing the bag carefully. "And you're supposed to be the smart one."
"That isn't what I meant. I know we don't really hate each other. It's just...you're a jerk." He decided to go for honesty.
Terrence did the same. "And you're annoying," he shrugged indifferently. Suddenly he changed the subject, looking around. "Hey," he said, "where'd my glasses go?"
Mac sighed. "You mean these?" He picked the broken glasses off of the table and held them out.
Terrence didn't have to take them to see that they were twisted at an angle and missing a lens. "Oh, jeez!" he sputtered, again removing the ice bag from his face. "It took 'em a week to make those, I can't wait a week for another pair! What am I gonna do about school?"
"Co? Co co co co, cocococo."
Both boys looked over at Coco, who strolled into the kitchen just then. "Hi Coco," Mac greeted the bird automatically. Terrence just eyed her carefully; he'd never spoken to her before, just seen her around, and had concluded that she was very weird.
"Coco?"
She was talking to Terrence. "Yeah he'll be okay," Mac answered for him, knowing that Terrence didn't understand her.
Coco looked at the broken glasses, still in Mac's hand. "Co co coco?" she asked him.
"Oh, yeah, well..." Mac glanced at Terrence, who still had no clue what the bird was on about. "I guess I broke 'em," the eight-year-old said, remembering the ruse.
"Co, coco co co."
"Yeah, I guess it was kinda careless of me," Mac agreed.
Coco sat and laid a lime green egg. "Cococo co co coco," she told Terrence. Terrence just stared at both her and the egg, deeply confused.
"It's for you," Mac said. "There's a prize in it." When Terrence didn't budge Mac picked up the egg, which rattled, and put it on his brother's lap.
Terrence slowly put the ice bag on the counter behind him and opened the egg as if he expected a cloud of vaporized acid to come steaming out. Instead a pair of glasses identical to his own, only intact, tumbled onto his lap. Terrence blinked at them.
"Cool!" exclaimed Mac. "Thanks Coco!"
Dropping the halves of the plastic egg, Terrence picked up the glasses and unfolded them. After throwing a mystified glance at Mac, who nodded back at him, he put them on halfway (not wishing to place them on his injury).
"Hey!" he exclaimed. "You got the prescription right!" He looked at Coco through the lenses. "How'd you do that?"
"Cococococo, co coco, co co co, cococococo co. Co."
"Oh," Terrence replied, to be polite. "Well...thanks a lot!"
Coco smiled. "Cococo co co," she said, and, after stopping at the fridge for a soda (which she held in her beak), she left.
"How the hell did she do that?" Terrence hissed to Mac as soon as the bird was gone.
"Nobody knows." Now it was Mac's turn to change the subject. "Terrence, thanks for rescuing me back there," he blurted, wanting to get it out before he lost the nerve.
Terrence looked sideways at his brother for a moment; then he hooked his free arm around Mac's neck and pulled him close (but not too close, as his t-shirt was still caked with blood and dirt). "Yeah you kinda saved my ass too," he replied. "But next time, you fight and I'll run away. After all, you're bully of the family now," he added with a smirk. "I'm so proud of you."
Mac rolled his eyes.