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Chapter Six: Fracture
Time has flown by and now it's early September. The air is crisp and holds a bitter chill, and we're using the space heater more. The leaves are changing color, falling down, and it's starting to stay cloudy more than it is sunny.
Today, a Sunday, sees me going to the store for some food and hygiene products. I don't have an actual driver's license, just a permit, but dad has allowed me to drive short distances. He says it's practice for when I'm street-legal. I haven't failed yet, and I don't ever plan to.
I pull into the parking lot, pressing the button on the side in and jerk the gearshift forward, putting it in Park. I get out, loudly shutting the door in the process. Going inside, I'm met with annoying Pop music and the usual smells. While grabbing a handheld basket, and walking the isles, I notice some guys clad in all black clustering in a corner by the fruit section. Then I notice my bullies by the bread and immediately feel my guts knot up.
I hurriedly grab my items and get out of there. When I stop in the driveway, I sit there for a minute, letting my nerves die down.
I jump at the four, swift knocks on my window. Turning, I see that it's Mr. Hiwatari. What is he doing here? In confusion I open the door and wait for him the speak.
"Do you need anything?" He asks, looking just as confused as I am.
I step out of the car. Peering around, I don't recognize the area and I slowly begin to realize the major mistake I've made. In my haste I missed a turn and parked, what seems to be two streets over, in the wrong driveway!
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Mr. Hiwatari, I swear this was an accident." I speedily say, red hot embarrassment coating my features.
The older man looks at me and just smiles, chuckling as he shakes his head. "It's alright, it happens to the best of us."
I thought he'd be furious, considering how he is at school, but maybe he's different outside of the classroom.
"I'm gonna head home now."
"Sounds good. See you on Monday."
I can only nod back, something inside me stirring. As I pull away, my peripheral watching him go back inside, I can't help but ponder something... Why does he look so sad?
On the right way back home, I replay the events in my head. I notice that just like me he's fond of darker colors. While at school he wears a casual suit- a black jacket and a white button up with pressed black pants and a black tie- today he's sporting a deep purple teeshirt and black denim jeans. Unlike his work clothes, red belt included, they look aged and worn out some.
Meanwhile, I'm donning a dark purple hoodie and blue jeans. Underneath the hoodie is a plain, grey teeshirt. I don't wear a belt unless I absolutely have to. Like most teenagers, I hate them.
I pull into the appropriate driveway and am soon met with a rolled up newspaper to the head and angry questions about where I've been. As we take in the groceries I admit to my mistake and papa only laughs in response, saying he's done that loads of times but never ended up in a teacher's driveway.
"Just who was the teacher? The hero you admire or someone else entirely?"
"I'm not sure yet but he's one of my favorites."
"Well, at least it was a nice one."
"Yeah right. He's only this nice outside the classroom." I say, both of us now putting the stuff away.
"Oh?" I can tell he's concerned, any good parent would be.
"Papa. It's not what you're thinking. He's no-nonsense but fair. He's not a bully. He just wants us to pay attention. If I had to deal with all he did on near-constant basis then I'd be a bastard too."
Papa smiles, something akin to understanding in his blue eyes. "I get it. When I was on the Bladebreakers we had a captain just like that."
"Oh noooo. That must've sucked."
"It did at first, yes." Papa says with a nod, his mind obviously going down memory lane. "But we all grew to love him and he us, but-"
Closing the pantry door, I can tell papa's lost in his thoughts. I rush up to him and give him a hug. I'm not sure what's triggered this but it can't be good. As I hold him, he hugs me back, only to cry moments later. I don't ask what's wrong. If I do at all it'll be later, when things are calmer for him. For now, I just want him to know that I'm there for him.
Over the course of the following week, report cards are given out and I notice that my grades have improved. The points haven't risen by much but they've gone up and I'm happy with that. I also notice that my bullies aren't bothering me. I quickly learn that it's because they were expelled for the rest of the school year. There's another thing to be cheerful about.
One day, while changing in the boy's locker room, I notice Makoto has a bright red, right handprint on his left cheek.
Hurriedly going up to him, I quietly say, "What happened?"
Even though we haven't spoken since I told them to get out of my sight, I can't help but still care for them. Makoto especially, he and I have been buddies since the cradle. Though we're not as close as we used to be, I hope he'll still open up to me.
He licks his lips and plainly says, "I pushed my luck."
The noise of the room files down, meaning there's five minutes remaining until we have to be out there and seated in our preassigned rows.
"What do you mean you 'pushed your luck'?" I ask, feeling hot under the baggy, dark green teeshirt.
"I tried to get her to spend the night with me. She said no, I persisted, and she slapped me when I kissed her."
I snort, smirking. That's my Lin. "Learn your lesson?"
He playfully punches my shoulder, "What do you think?"
I playfully nudge him back, "I say, wait for her to say she's ready, ya goof."
"Duly noted."
We both get up leave, laughing as if nothing has changed.
Come the weekend, I'm at Makoto's place playing video games. As usual, I'm kicking his butt across the genre board. We normally do this on school nights, but given that we haven't talked father understood when I asked if I could give a day to Makoto. While I get up to get us something to drink, I enter the kitchen to find Mr. Granger, who I call uncle Tyson, and papa talking over what looks to be tea. They go quiet when I enter the room, so now I'm curious. I sit our drinks down and silently usher Makoto to listen in with me. We put our ears to the door and do so.
"I'm sorry to 'keep bringing this up' as you so put it, but have you told him yet?"
"No, and once more, I don't plan to. Now will you hush? They're in the next room."
"You should tell him, Max. If you don't he'll resent you for it. If you tell him now, he'll still be livid, and rightfully so, but he'll come around. My point is, the longer you wait the worse his reaction will be."
"What part of 'I don't plan to' did you not hear? He's happy, he doesn't need to know. Ignorance is bliss."
"No, ignorance is just ignorance."
"Tyson-"
"Then at least give me a reason why."
"I just wanna protect him."
"Protect him? From what, the truth? He's gonna find out eventually. You already don't share a last name, so he knows something is off. And don't wait for him to ask, again, just man up. He's gonna soon be sixteen for Christ's sake so he'll understand. I can tell he feels like he doesn't belong anywhere. Why won't you just tell him?"
"Because I don't want him coming back into the picture and ruining his life. He deserves to be happy, and not hurting. That man has caused me nothing but trouble and you know it."
"If Gou finds him, that's on him. You have nothing to do with it." Uncle Tyson says, feeling defeated.
"I have everything to do with it. I raised that boy, not him, and I'll be damned if he's gonna hurt him. He cried for days on end the first time. I don't ever want to see that again."
As papa storms out, Makoto and I clumsily shuffle to our feet acting like we didn't do anything. While uncle Tyson chases after him, Makoto and I exchange confused glances. What the hell was all that, and why does papa sound like he wants to kill someone?
Two tense weeks later, on a Saturday, Makoto somehow convinces me to stay the night. Around ten o'clock that night uncle Tyson and aunt Hilary go to bed, and around eleven o'clock Makoto pulls out a bottle of what his parents call 'sin juice' (alcohol) from under his bed. We take turns knockin' back shots of the brown stuff while engaging in small talk.
"So, you ever get your old man to talk to ya about what we overheard?" Makoto asks, his speech slurred as the half-gone bottle swings and swirls limply within his loose fist.
I look at the man sitting on the bed beside me, my swimming mess of a self on the floor, "No. Anytime I try to ask he gets all argumentative and says it's none of my business." I knock back the cupful, feeling angrier than usual.
"That's bullshit. It's about you, isn't it? How's it not your business?"
I shrug, not knowing what else to answer beyond something I haven't already vented out a thousand times before.
"When aunt Mariah and uncle Ray fostered Lionel they told him everything when he was five. He asked who his parents were and they explained the car crash to him. He was sad at first but ultimately that made him love them more."
"Good for him." I spit venomously, fuming.
Then I heatedly shout, "You bloody backasswards git, he just won't tell me!"
Makoto shushes me and I get up, stating that I'm going to take a walk. He doesn't stop me, knowing that it's futile.
I storm down the streets, not caring for the distance or how much my legs burn. In several-something-ish minutes, though it feels more like an hour, I stop outside my home. In a blinding rage I stomp up to the door. Not bothering to try my keys, I bang on the door, only to collapse a moment later onto the porch. The last thing I hear is the front door opening and my name being called out by a worried male voice. But, it doesn't sound like my dad.