Couldn't Do It Alone....

Chapter 6, Part 2

(Chapter 6, Part 2...)


I rode my bike throughout the town, all the way through the main street without stopping for anything until I reached the outskirts of Dunsville and came upon my destination. The Solace Place was a high hill that oversaw all of Dunsville, an outcropping hill that was untouched since the town was built. There was hardly much around except dirt and a gravel path that ended at the top of the hillside where a lone sycamore tree stood and a patch of green grass underneath. I had gotten off my bike at the bottom of the hill, leaving it behind as I made my way up. I followed the dirt path until I reached the top of the steep hill and glanced out at the town of Dunsville.
It was around five in the afternoon, the steady breeze making the over head leaves of the sycamore tree rustle a soothing sound. I sat down upon the grass, gazing lazily at my left arm, which I had subconsciously cradled back to my body. I decided to ignore it this time, for I have had worse and not just from beatings. Heck, even one time climbing the very tree I was lazing under I had accidentally fallen out of and had badly injured myself. Luckily, Tom was with me on that occasion and had gone to get help. I smiled to myself over this memory, despite my face slightly aching but I did not care anymore. I was in The Solace Place. It was a great place where Tom and I could not be bothered by adults or society rules. Here, we are free to have fun, goof off and just be ourselves.
I let out a sigh, letting myself flop backwards onto the grass and glanced up at the sun dancing in-between the leafy canopy of the sycamore tree. My mind was in a calm state, it usually was when I came to The Solace Place. I had no need of fear, doubt or even rage as I felt myself relax slightly. It felt good to unwind, especially on days after I got a beat-down from my mother. I did not blame her for her actions, I just wish she’d stop. Not really for my sake, but for her own. It was terrible seeing her drunk almost constantly except for on days we had to go to Church. I opened my eyes and gazed up as the sun hid amid the tree leaves, my face set grimly and resolute.
‘Whatever,’ I thought in a slight condescending tone to myself.
I had given up on trying to reason with her about her drinking since I was ten and received my first slap from her.
‘It’s best not to think about it.’ I thought to myself, not seeing the point in dwelling upon such things.
“Henry? Is that you?” I heard a light female voice ask from behind me. It was a sweet and caring voice with a touch of concern and before I knew it I saw the face of Claire glancing down at me with a look of mild shock upon her face.
I did not know what to do. I just gaped at the face of an angel for a slight second before gathering my thoughts once more and sat up into a sitting position with my right arm as support.
Claire seemed to have noticed my appearance as she had looked down at me and walked around so she could get a better look at me. She was wearing a bright yellow dress with a slightly green sash round her waist, the dress flowing with her movement.
“What happened to you?” she asked in a sweet yet troubled manner.
“N-nothing,” I stammered slightly as I glanced down, not wanting to look Claire in the face. “I-I just fell is all.”
As soon as I said that I gazed up at Claire again, her expression changing slightly and I knew by the look on her face she did not buy my excuse but she did not press the matter, merely sitting down beside me in a comforting manner. An awkward silence stretched between Claire and myself. I did not feel comfortable sitting next to a beautiful woman like her, plus I felt embarrassed by the way I was currently looking, beaten up and all. I could hardly think of anything to say, my mind a blank slate in this situation.
“So, what are you doing up here, Henry?” Claire suddenly asked me, which made me glance over at her beside me.
She was gazing at me and half-smiling as if in an attempt to look like nothing was wrong.
“I dunno. I just like this spot,” I said sheepishly, feeling my face turn red slightly as I quickly let my eyes wander across her mature body sitting beside me before I turned my head away to gaze out at the view of Dunsville.


(to be continued...)
 
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(Chapter 6, Part 3...)



I felt myself about to burst into tears, a sudden trickle already escaping my eyes as I tried to hold back my feelings. I did not want to cry, especially with Claire around. It made me seem less of a man. At least that is what I thought at that moment. But, regardless of my will to hold it back, my emotions got the better of me as I began to cry openly. My vision was a haze of tears as I sobbed uncontrollably, glancing down as my tears trickled down my cheeks and dropped onto the grass.
I suddenly felt Claire’s tender hug, her nurturing and gentle demeanor as she held me in her embrace. I did not feel embarrassed, more relieved to have human contact as I laid my head against her shoulder with tears still running down my cheeks. I held my hands around her, clinging like I used to do as a small child when I was upset. But this was Claire, not my own mother I was clinging to. For some reason, this thought in my mix of emotions and tears did not bother me in the slightest. I did not know how long I clung to Claire, letting out my feelings of frustration and grief. But, she did not seem to mind, merely holding me as I let it all out, rubbing my back gently in a soothing manner. After a while, my tears faded and my sobs caught in my throat as I was able to calm down enough to let go of my grasp on Claire.
“There. Feel better?” she asked me cheerfully, a warm smile upon Claire’s face as she stopped hugging me and sat back down next to me once again.
I could not speak for a few seconds, my mind racing as what to say. Did I feel any more? The honest answer was no, but I felt bad enough as it was to have Claire help me that I felt it was stupid of me to ramble on in my thoughts about what to say. I decided not to say anything. I merely brushed away the remnants of my tears from my face and then slightly nodded at Claire, not trusting myself to say anything.
“I’m glad,” she said lightly in her cheerfully friendly tone, still smiling at me.
I just nodded again, still feeling myself untrustworthy to say anything because I knew what I might say was a lie or worse, the truth. I just looked back down at the grass next to me, not wishing to dwell upon the awkward yet nice thing Claire did for me. After all, she would soon be my step-mother and a member of this family, as hectic as it was. That thought as I thought about it more and more seemed alien, rather strange to me. Maybe I was still getting used to the idea my parents were divorced or the fact my dad was going to be re-married.
“Why do you want to marry my Dad?” I suddenly heard myself ask her in a coarse tone, the forefront question that was springing to my mind out of my lips before I even thought about it.
I probably looked alarmed at my own question because Claire just let out a short yet beautiful laugh.
“Why? Henry, it is because I love him, of course,” she said in a straightforward manner after she had laughed.
I just stared at Claire’s face, my mind processing what she just said to me. In all honesty, I could not see my Dad with anybody else, definitely not even with my Mom again. I always thought of him as a smooth guy, but only when I was younger and more impressionable. He struck me back then and now as a guy unwilling to settle down. But, obviously I was wrong since he plans to marry Claire.
“Oh,” I merely replied slightly, more numb in my mind from the simple answer Claire had given me.
“How do you feel about it, Henry?” she suddenly asked me, a slight worried look of concern coming across her face that made her not less beautiful to look at.
I did not respond right away, my mind back into the state of clean slate as I pondered her question.
“I dunno how to feel about it,” I replied after a second or two, my shoulders shrugging lightly as I honestly did not know how to feel about it at the moment.
I gazed back at her, noticing the unrest in her face disappear after I responded to her question. I guess my honest response helped ease Claire’s own fears somewhat.


(to be continued...)
 
Claire seems to be genuine about wanting to comfort Henry. As for men weeping, epic sagas have described fearless, invincible warriors weeping. I suppose it makes a difference WHAT IS THE CAUSE for the tears. It also makes a difference how a man sees a woman reacting to his grief. It occasionally happens that, when a man releases his emotions this way, a woman close to him decides to shout it from the rooftops with trumpet fanfares: "Look, everybody, look how vulnerable and weak and helpless he is!" In such cases, the woman seems to imagine that she's doing him a FAVOR; but no man is likely to thank any woman for humiliating him in such a fashion. And it appears that Claire knows better than to "reward" Henry's openness by mercilessly embarrassing him.
 
Copperfox said:
Claire seems to be genuine about wanting to comfort Henry. As for men weeping, epic sagas have described fearless, invincible warriors weeping. I suppose it makes a difference WHAT IS THE CAUSE for the tears. It also makes a difference how a man sees a woman reacting to his grief. It occasionally happens that, when a man releases his emotions this way, a woman close to him decides to shout it from the rooftops with trumpet fanfares: "Look, everybody, look how vulnerable and weak and helpless he is!" In such cases, the woman seems to imagine that she's doing him a FAVOR; but no man is likely to thank any woman for humiliating him in such a fashion. And it appears that Claire knows better than to "reward" Henry's openness by mercilessly embarrassing him.
Click to expand...

She is genuine. Maybe that is why Henry feels more at ease around Claire.

Well, it is known for women (and men) to take pleasure in another's misfortune or vulnerability. But as you say, it depends on many factors and causes and happenstance.

In this case though, it shows how Claire (though yet to fully understand) has Henry's best interests at heart. She seems to know provoking him further like a small child will possibly make him lash out (like the lighter incident).
 
(Chapter 6, Part 4…)


Claire took me back home from The Solace Place in her blue convertible car, having picked up my bicycle and placing it upon her rear seats. She did not say anything as she helped me gently into the passenger seat so as not to hurt me further with my injuries. We said nothing on the drive back to my house, possibly because she could feel my hesitance at opening up about my current situation.
She parked just outside of my kerb and I got out without saying anything. I began slowly taking out my bike from the back of her car with my right arm, careful not to stress my swollen left arm with the burden.
After I successfully had gotten my bicycle out of her car, I placed it in an upright position before glancing at Claire with a look of relief.
“Thanks, Claire,” I said sincerely, trying to smile despite my aching face.
“No problem at all, Henry,” she replied, concern with a mixture of kindness in her tone as she smiled back at me with genuine tenderness.
I turned from her and her car, making my way towards my house with my bicycle in tow as Claire had started driving slowly away.
I made my way up the dirt driveway and placed my bicycle in it’s usual spot upon the porch before I entered through the front door silently. My mum was still drunkenly sleeping upon the living room sofa as I entered. Closing the door behind me, I turned the latch upon the front door handle to lock it and then made my way upstairs to my bedroom.
Tonight was a usual night, despite the fact the severities of my injuries seemed slightly more painful for me to deal with. Crawling into my bed, I found myself crying to sleep that night. And hopes of a better tomorrow filled my pain filled thoughts before I drifted asleep.


(End Of Chapter 6…)
 
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(Chapter 7, Part 1…)


Chapter 7: School Daze…

I awoke to the stiffening soreness of my left arm, the new day bright and sunny. I winced in pain from the numbing pain I felt but knew it would heal with time. Getting up from my bed, I gradually went through the tough task of taking off my old school uniform to showering and downing a kid medication capsule to help ease the pain I was feeling before getting myself dressed in a new uniform to be ready for school.
I was ready about fifteen minutes over normal time for my mum to be blasting the car horn in a hungover stupor and fury of inconvenience. I haphazardly grabbed my extra school satchel with my textbooks and bible with my right arm and left in a rush to get to the car as it rattled a final horn beep from my mother.
The ride was less than expected, my mother obviously still fuming and yet indifferent of how I was favouring one arm whilst cradling the other. She obviously had no recollection of what happened last night when she was in her drunken tirades.
I did not draw attention to it, obviously ashamed and embarrassed for the both of us combined. There was no point in bringing it up with her when she didn’t remember anything. And I was too scared to even bring it up in any way.
The ride was boring and tedious, aside from a slight bump that made me wince silently from my arm. I just glanced out the window to cover up the pain etched across my face until we reached the front gate of D.C.S.
I got out the car carefully, waving goodbye to my mum with my right hand and watched as she chugged off out of sight before I turned back to face the open iron gateway to my school.


“Well, look who it is. Got in anymore fights, Dawson?” I heard the snide and all too familiar voice of Billy Watkins ask after I entered past the gate.
He was alone, but the comment drew the attention of a few other students that gazed at us in a whispered and judgemental way.
I strived to keep myself in check, merely glancing down and trying not to notice him as I kept on walking past him.
Billy Watkins just gave a condescending smirk but did not hound me, obviously thinking he had won some sort of victory over me as I did not retort back to him.
With a red face of embarrassed fury, I made my way throughout the crowded hallways, not daring to even glance at anyone. I felt emotionally drained, feeling suffocated by the silent stares I no doubt was receiving by the other students. If I glanced up, I no doubt would be given a wide berth, shunned by those that had heard Principal Stokes yesterday at Morning Attendance.
With heavy footfalls, I made my way into my classroom.

This was the second day that Henry Dawson was late to Sister Margaret’s classroom. The teacher sighed to herself in quiet solitude, having done the roll call ten minutes ago with the Dawson child the only absentee.
When the boy did finally arrive, this time more put together but with favouring his satchel and movements on his right side, Sister Margaret just shook her head disapprovingly before indicating him to sit at his usual desk.
More muttering of the other students in her class, but this was handled with the rapt attention of Sister Margaret by coughing lightly to cease and desist whatever gossip they were about to chatter.
With peace once more restored to her classroom, Sister Margaret instructed them to open their Bibles in silent reading time and contemplation to whatever random psalm they had flipped to. She sat quietly within her teacher’s chair to engross herself within her own Bible.
Henry got out his copy from his satchel carefully with his right hand and flipped it randomly to a page as he was bidden. His fingers thumbed to a psalm that was of one hundred and thirty two, apparently a song of ascents that Henry was not familiar with. He glanced down at the one his finger stopped upon and thought it out silently to himself.
‘May your priests be clothed with your righteousness, may your faithful people sing for joy,’ Henry Dawson thought with a slightly contemplative look upon his face.
Henry scrunched his face slightly in confusion, not sure what he thought of this piece of information. But, he was determined to do as Sister Margaret said and consider what exactly what the heck this wisdom meant.

( to be continued…)


Just a side note, I actually randomly picked a psalm with a random number generator and got that.
 
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(Chapter 7, Part 2…)

I felt slightly put off by the meaning of the psalm message in front of me. The only cloth I could recall in the Lord’s would be my white Angelic Proclaim robes. And I sang in the choir. I was starting to feel creeped out, as if the gaze of God had spoken. My body felt cold as I looked down at my Bible with the text in front of me. For the first time in my thirteen year old life I felt I had received a clear message in some weird translation. Maybe I was too hasty in my thoughts of distancing myself from Dunsville. But, despite this revelation, I still shivered slightly as I timidly lifted up my right hand to grab Sister Margaret’s attention from my desk.

Sister Margaret glanced up after a five minute waiting period. She noticed Henry Dawson had raised his right hand.
“What is it, Dawson?” she asked in a stable yet firm tone.
“May I go to the nurse’s office? I am not feeling too well,” the boy had requested.
“You may go. But take somebody with you. Pamela Godfrey, please escort Henry Dawson,” Sister Margaret stated.
She directed her gaze to a girl in the front row that was idly digesting the text in front of her with proper decorum. As Head Girl of the class, Pamela Godfrey held the responsibility of being in charge when Sister Margaret was temporarily away from the classroom to keep the peace. She sat up straighter at the gaze of their teacher, nodding obediently to Sister Margaret’s words.
Pamela Godfrey got up from her desk, careful to straighten any creases from her school issued long skirt and began walking to the door with Henry Dawson behind her. Without missing a beat, as the Head Student, she opened the door and promptly walked outside the classroom with Henry Dawson in tow.
Henry closed the door behind them as he followed Pamela towards the nurse’s office. The two of them did not speak, not that either of them ever had a notion to do so since Pamela Godfrey is an upstanding student and Henry Dawson, well, he was less inclined to be one due to his reputation in town.
Besides, this was the extent of Pamela’s Christian duty towards what she regarded as a hopeless case in the form of Henry Dawson. Not that she had any ill will towards him, but her devotedness and moral character seemed to erode at the mere thought of boys like Tom Eccles and Henry Dawson. The Head Girl of Sister Margaret’s class distanced herself from them, possibly because her pious attitude and slightly pompous upbringing forbade her to even associate within that circle of Sin in her eyes. Even the degenerate nature of boys disgusted her, though in all likelihood it was just playing around as kids would often do. But this was lost upon the girl known as Pamela Godfrey, just allowing herself to be the prim and proper Head Girl she intended to be. With her black bobbing hair and brown eyes, one would think she used her looks to get what she wants. But that was not proper etiquette for a girl like Pamela, despite being eventually a natural beauty when she would be an older teenager in her life.

The two of them eventually reached outside the nurse’s office. Pamela Godfrey turned to Henry with an almost contemptuous expression on her face, as if it was his fault she had to do this extra chore outside Bible Study in Sister Margaret’s class.
“Well, go on,” she said in response to Henry Dawson’s look of bafflement to her face.
“What was your psalm?” Henry suddenly asked, putting Pamela Godfrey off guard.
“Not that it matters, but it is none of your business,” came the deflecting reply from the Head Girl as she crossed her arms defiantly in front of herself.
Henry just shrugged at this response and walked past Pamela as he used his right hand to knock upon the closed door of the nurse’s office.
“Come on in,” bid a man’s voice from within the office space.
Henry Dawson opened the door and walked in as Pamela Godfrey stood straight to wait outside with a look of disdain upon her face.
Henry closed the door behind him as he surveyed his surroundings within the nurse’s office and infirmary space.
Medical files littered a white desk where the nurse was sitting. The walls were an off white with slight blue motifs around the edges. It had the tone of a lived in hospital space, the air purifier upon the far wall where a bay window was situated with off blue curtains were drawn to let the sun in. A skeleton dummy was propped up in a far corner with a medical bed next to it, a filing cabinet upon the other side with what Henry reckoned were medical records of the D.C.S students within.
A man was sitting at the desk, garbed in a doctor’s coat that had a teacher identification card pinned to it and a brown turtleneck sweater underneath. He wore black trousers and brown loafers with white socks that Henry saw as the man stood up from his desk. Henry smiled in familiarity at Nurse Robert Jackson.
“Ah, Henry Dawson, right? Been a month since I last saw you. What seems to be the trouble?” Nurse Jackson asked, the thirty five year old Nurse of Dunsville Christian School.

(To be continued…)
 
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(Chapter 7, Part 3…)


I looked at Nurse Robert with slight hesitation at his question. My smile faltered as I considered telling the truth to him. I trusted him as I grew up, almost like a substitute father when my Dad had left five years ago. Well, that was to be expected as Nurse Robert Jackson practically looked after me at school whenever I was sick or injured. I saw him even more regularly than Brother David. He even helped explain the birds and the bees with me when I was twelve and had trouble coming to grips with puberty. But, I still hesitated very briefly, not wishing to admit everything.
“My left arm hurts,” I said, gently glancing away after he indicated to the medical bed.
I went over and sat down, grasping my left arm to myself. Nurse Robert came and knelt down, his blue eyes surveying my body in a professional manner.
“Your left arm, huh? Well, take your blazer and shirt off so I can see it,” he ordered in a calming nature.
I did as he commanded, still feeling sheepish from displaying my bruised left arm, wincing as I did so from the dull pain from my left arm.
“So, how did this happen, Henry?” he asked me as he reached out, gently touching my left wrist, the lower arm looking swollen and bruised.
“I fell off my bike yesterday,” I replied, slightly wincing in pain as Nurse Robert lightly extended my arm from my body until he noticed it caused me pain from the expression on my face.
Nurse Robert Jackson released his light grip from my arm, allowing me to instinctly draw it back to my body. I watched as he gave a brief nod and began to walk over to his desk. He began rummaging inside a deep drawer before turning back to me with a few rolls of gauze and medical tape. He instructed me to put my undershirt and school blazer back on. After I did, he stepped back over to me. He forcefully held my left arm with a slight pressure against my body and tightly wrapped the gauze around my arm and neck into a tight fitting sling, instructing me to lift my arm slowly to get under my left arm to wrap it sideways like a lanyard around my body. I relaxed my arm back down as he readjusted the sling around my left arm with a professional knot to tie it so I could hold my left arm within the sling. Tying up the loose ends with the medical tape, he stepped back to observe his work with satisfaction. I glanced at a mid length mirror off to the side and sighed inwardly, obviously I could not hide this injury any longer from anyone.
“I am recommending you rely on your right hand for a while if you want your left arm to heal properly. I am also giving you these,” paused Nurse Jackson as he handed me a pill bottle. “Child painkillers for starters. That will help numb the pain for at least two weeks. Take one daily with water. If pain persists, ask your mother for a trip to the hospital. But if you find by that time the pain is gone, I urge you to use ice packs to reduce the swelling. Anything else you need, Henry?”
He expected me to answer but I just stared down at the pill bottle. It looked just as he described, child medication. And the pills within the clear plastic container seemed about the recommended amount too. At least one a day tablets. I gazed up at the waiting face of Nurse Robert, his face a stern professionalism with kind eyes behind the sincere bedside facade. I almost wondered if he knew I was only being half truthful with my request for treatment but I decided not to dwell upon it and just gave him a modest nod as I hopped up from the hospital bed.
“Nothing else, Nurse Robert. Thank you,” I responded in a false chipper voice.
He seemed satisfied and gave a short nod in reply as I pocketed the bottle of pills into my right side trouser pocket.
I stepped over to the nurse office door and opened it with my right hand. I slightly glanced back and saw Nurse Robert Jackson slumped in his office chair with a concerned look upon his face before I turned away to exit.


(to be continued…)
 
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(Chapter 7, Part 4…)


I stepped out of Nurse Robert Jackson’s office and found Pamela Godfrey still standing to the side. She had a perplexed look upon her face before noticing I was staring at her. She looked over at me, a slight shocked expression as she was staring at my left arm in a cast sling. But the look of surprise soon moved to a neutral expression of contempt and what I could only describe as holy determination.
“What happened to your arm?” she genuinely asked with a touch of concern in her voice.
“Not that it matters, but it is none of your business,” I responded back, an undertone of playful spiteful intent from our previous conversation as I smiled up at her.
Pamela Godfrey did not respond to that well, a shadow cascading across her visage as she just blankly turned away from me and began walking back the way we came to get back to class. I followed her silently, the two of us not making any conversation on the way.
Sister Margaret made no fuss as she saw the Head Girl come back in, but was internally fraught with worry when Henry Dawson entered her classroom with his left arm in a sling. But, she did not question the child. He had probably had an accident earlier and just needed the nurse’s care and advice. She went back to her silent prayers as the two children returned to their respected seats.
Henry Dawson slumped down into his seat after pulling it out slightly with his right hand, trying to ignore the unheard whispering stares of his fellow classmates when he wandered to the back of the classroom to his desk. He did not need the judgemental eyes pestering him. It was not their business to know anything. He doubted they did know anything anyway.
Pamela Godfrey knew the stares Henry Dawson would get from their classmates, but in all honesty, she was glad the burden of her duty was finally over. She relaxed within her front row seat, glad the turmoil of dealing with that boy was over and done with. She had felt affronted as her genuine concern was abashed by Henry Dawson. That was why she never hung out with people like him in Dunsville. That relief of hers soon turned sour as she gazed back down at her open Bible. There, upon that page, was her psalm.
‘May my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth if I do not remember you, if I do not consider Jerusalem my highest joy,’ she thought bitterly with the back of her neck shivering slightly.
She felt oppressed, her usually calm demeanour cracking slightly as the words filled her head with uncertainty. Was she not pious? Was she not Christian enough to get herself within the sacred city? No, she shook her head slightly in thought, brushing away these fears coldly within her mind. But her tongue had gotten her in trouble before. Things she had said in the past now glaring up from her memories. Surely, what happened five years ago could not cause her grief right now, right? Unless…
She briefly stopped thinking and gave a quick glance backwards towards Henry Dawson. She had turned in her seat to do so but barely paid it any mind as her thoughts were elsewhere. The boy was now different from what she thought before. For once, she noticed him as a simple person as he was holding up his Bible with care and difficulty until he gave up and placed it back down opened upon his desk with his right hand.
For once, she allowed herself to feel sympathy for his life’s plights.

(to be continued…)
 
(Chapter 7, Part 5…)


It was midday as I found myself with Tom again at our usual hangout spot upon the bench. He was not impressed by my arm in a sling but did not hassle me about how I got hurt. He was chill like that. He usually would not bother with things he knew would embarrass me. I sometimes wondered how he knew but would shrug it off mentally because of course he knew, him being my only friend in this town.
“Do you reckon there is any truth in Bible Study, Tom?” I suddenly asked him as he was lightly flicking ash away from his lit cigarette.
Tom just shrugged in response to my question as he casually took another puff of his cigarette in his mouth before exhaling the smoke.
“Why the sudden interest, mate? God tell you something important?” he rebuffed, leaning back slightly upon the table of the bench as he held the lit cigarette in his left hand.
I shook my head slightly, careful not to move my left arm as I sat beside Tom upon the bench.
“Nothing like that. I just, well, is there?” I asked again, this time slightly more consistent in my earnest question.
Tom seemed to notice my shift in tone as I asked the second time and sat fully looking at me from behind the black shaded sunglasses he was wearing.
“Well, let me put it like this, mate. I never tussle with Scriptures or the like. You know, my dad never taught me to read anything. But I believe in whatever this town taught me to believe in. Despite what they all think of me,” Tom Eccles stated seriously, his words containing an inward sigh that made me stay silent afterwards.
I knew Tom had it rough and I even knew his situation of being unable to read was tough on him. I mentally kicked myself at having been insensitive to my friend’s feelings.
“Yeah, sorry,” I half mumbled an apology to Tom, unsure how to make it up to him.
Tom seemed to sense my uneasiness and just gave a light chuckle as he observed my melancholy face.
“It all good, mate. I got no need to read anyways,” he responded, obviously trying to lighten the mood as he softly bumped his left elbow into my right arm to ease the tension.
I half heartedly gave him a wry grin, though it was obvious to the both of us we were not fooling each other.
“So, what did you do in Morning Class?” I tentatively asked Tom, trying to divert the conversation away from the awkward question I had.
“Oh, same old, same old. Got told off for my dress code, my behaviour, extra knuckle thrashes for just existing. Ya know how it is,” Tom remarked sarcastically and rolled his eyes from behind his sunglasses.
I gave a chuckle at that, knowing that what he said was in all likelihood true. I just admired Tom for how he put up with his daily treatment.
“And it does not bother you at all?” I just blurted out, glancing at the callous welts upon his hands.
“These? Nah. I got so many I think my hands are numb to it,” Tom responded in an off handed tone as he displayed his red welts upon his knuckles.
Despite his bravado, I noticed Tom’s hands were lightly shaking as he drew attention to them, especially the one holding the cigarette. He did not waver though, boldly putting the cigarette back into his mouth to take another inhale of smoke.

(to be continued…)
 
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( Chapter 7, Part 6…)

I often wondered why Tom never visited Nurse Jackson for treatment of his daily beatings. But I figured he was told by his teachers to let the shame of his sins show. Besides, Tom was too proud to get treatment anyway.
With this thought in the back of my mind, we did not say anything else to each other for the rest of Lunch Break.
Then we parted ways, Tom leaving his crushed cigarette behind as he went to wash the smell of smoke from his mouth.


I traversed down the school hallway, ignoring the surprised or shocked looks I got from other students at my left arm in a sling. I did not feel ashamed anymore, it was unable to be hidden anyway. I bypassed the black and white tiled floor and multitude of banners and posters plastered upon the white walls of Dunsville Christian School. I stopped walking as I heard a crackle from some corners of the hallway. The P.A. System above burst to life and the strict dull tones of Principal Stokes rang across the whole of the school.
“Henry Dawson, please come to the Reception Desk. I repeat, Henry Dawson, please come to the Reception Desk. NOW,” the voice of Principal Stokes uttered in a forceful and commanding tone.
The last utterance of the word NOW caused slight feedback from the speakers before the audible click of the P.A. System turned off. I felt nervous at that moment. I glanced around as whispers were starting to circulate at the previous announcement. I did not pay any heed to the whispers around me, merely walking casually in the direction of the Reception Area.
The Reception Area was just past the Main Entrance Hallway, a large semi-circular desk of darkened oak served as the main hub for the receptionists and Vice Principal Elizabeth Sutton to be stationed.
The Vice Principal was there, sitting rigidly to attention within her attire of a buttoned over coated blouse with an off pink carvat.
I barely was noticeable as I came upon the large desk, my exsistance only standing out as I was approaching the desk.
I just stood there for several seconds, the bottom of my chin barely reaching over the top of the imposing desk.

As eloquently as she sat, Vice Principal Sutton beheld herself like an overpaid receptionist as she placed her hands upon the countertop of the table and looked at Henry Dawson with calm indifference. Behind the bespectacled countenance was a woman of great learning and educated pedigree, a stark contrast to the other fanatical devotees of God in this backwater town.
But her silent degree of self depraving servitude to God was her own sin, despite the silent stares of the others in Dunsville. Elizabeth Sutton was still in her prime, the forty year old woman still a rare beauty behind the stuffy consternation of her clothes and station as Vice Principal in Dunsville Christian School. Some would possibly call her a “painted tart” or “Jezebel”, but she did not begrudge them as the sin of Envy was not her own but ones that did not know her better. Besides, she did not use make up at all, natural beauty like hers would soon fade away. Elizabeth Sutton knew youthful looks did not last forever and she, in her own mind, was in despair from having been “blessed” by God’s design to be born fairly pretty.
A slight sigh escaped the pursed lips of Vice Principal Sutton as the boy known as Henry Dawson had halted in front of the Reception Desk. Lifting her hand to adjust her glasses upon her face, Vice Principal Sutton used her remaining hand to indicate towards a bench that was beside a doorway with the words Principal’s Office in bold text engraved upon a bronzed plaque on the door.
She watched as Henry Dawson slightly struggled to sit down until he used his right arm to brace himself and slowly sat down upon the bench, nursing his left arm that was in a rudimentary sling.
Elizabeth Sutton felt no need to go and offer assistance to him. She just pushed a small button to the side of her desk that gave a light buzzing sound until she stopped pressing it. An audible note chime was heard before a slight click and Principal Stokes voice came over the intercom.
“Send him in,” came the short and terse command before the intercom turned off again.
Vice Principal Elizabeth Sutton looked over towards Henry Dawson with her sharp blue eyes.
“Principal Stokes shall see you now,” she announced with decorum and rapid professionalism.
Henry Dawson just merely nodded before getting up and silently turned to face the door with bated breath.
‘Once more into the trenches,’ he thought without enthusiasm as he turned the doorknob and swung open the door with his right hand.


(to be continued…)
 
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(Chapter 7, part 7…)

I entered the office of Principal Stokes with bated breath, shutting the door behind me.
The silhouetted back of the thin but looming man greeted me without a word nor motion. His hands were clasped behind himself as I sat down within the solitary chair that was opposite his darken wooden desk. For a brief moment, I felt he was like a solitary scarecrow until he turned his wiry frame to face me in his dark navy blue suit. His distinct hawk like nose was jutting out of his side profile as the sun from his window cascaded light momentarily into his office from this gesture.
“Dawson, how did it happen?” Principal Stokes uttered with disdain, glaring at my left arm in a sling.
I almost questioned how Principal Stokes already knew about it until I recalled that it was in all likelihood Nurse Jackson that informed him. He is the registered School Nurse after all. I slumped my shoulders slightly, feeling regret instantly as my left arm felt a twinge of pain but I endured it.
“Bike accident,” I just murmured, not trying to look away from Principal Stokes as he watched me from his side glance.
Principal Stanley Stokes gave a furtive nod of understanding, which was rare for his usual oppressive demeanour and bearing as he turned to face me head on.
I felt nervous under his steely gaze but just feigned ignorance as Principal Stokes wheeled back his chair and sat down at his desk, clasping his bony fingers together in meaningful silence.
“I hope that is true, for your sake, Dawson. You have already been reprimanded for in school fighting. My tolerance is waning if I find you have been lying to me. Do you understand?” Principal Stokes said plainly, his veiled threat obviously encased in his hollow words of concern.
“Yes, Principal Stokes,” I responded, my fear of retribution even more noticeable.
This seemed to ease Principal Stokes as he leaned himself back in his chair, but the ever present glare was still within his eyes.
“You may go, Dawson,” he stated whilst observing me stand up with my right hand balancing me to my feet. “I pray for your swift recovery.”
I gave a brief nod at this, knowing I was too nervous to respond. I beat a hasty retreat from Principal Stokes Office, not daring to look back.


(to be continued…)
 
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(Chapter 7, part 8…)

That afternoon, my mum came and picked me up. On the ride home, she avoided speaking to me, let alone acknowledge my left arm within my sling. I did not want to incur her wrath if I could help it. I just remained silent on the drive back to our house.
It was a hassle within the following two weeks to do mostly everything with my right arm and hand but I somehow managed as my arm slowly started to mend with the aide of the medicine Nurse Jackson had given me.
Over those two weeks, not much happened. Except on last Friday, Billy Watkins heckled me about my left arm but I endured it. They were slightly hurtful but only mean spirited. I gritted my teeth as I just bypassed him into school. Without trying to let him get satisfaction in goading me, I carried on my Friday school day like normal.
After the two week period was over, I felt comfortable taking off my sling and adjusted my left arm muscles to test it out. Despite some slight discomfort, I was surprised that there was no more pain, even with the swelling bruises having gone down over the last weekend when I treated it to some ice. My left arm felt fine and I felt free from the constricting sling I had endured over the last two weeks. Today was a brand new Tuesday for me. I was able to move my left arm fully recovered. I could hear the beeping of our car horn as I got myself ready for school.
I gave myself a glance in the mirror, picturing myself in a whole new light at the reflection without my left arm in a sling.
Without much thought, I scampered away to save my mum waiting in the car for too long.
The ride was pleasant, maybe my outlook on life without the constant reminder of my mum’s drunken rage from the sling weighing me down made me feel more optimistic about today.
I didn’t even acknowledge Billy Watkins today, maybe because he was not there this morning to tease me about anything. I did not question his absence, just grateful that I did not have to worry about his comments about me.
But, as always, things were not so simple.

I graced my first free classroom period by checking out the Library. It had been months since I even bothered checking out any books but figured it was time I was due for some catch up reading.
I entered the School Library silently, daring not to even slam the door behind me as I entered in. I was no fool. Mr. Forbes, the librarian, was also the head of Disciplinary Department within D.C.S. Not to mention, Tom’s Homeroom Teacher. He was by far the most intimidating teacher in the whole school. I was glad he wasn’t my Homeroom Teacher, grateful for Sister Margaret.
He was sitting within the Library, perusing his Library Computer for something or other. The man’s countenance had a stern sneer upon the corners of his frog-like mouth. He looked like he was upset about something. A small bead of sweat bespeckled across the balding man’s brow, the rounded spectacles he wore slightly fogged up from condensation upon his face.
As I came in, Mr. Forbes gave a slight turn of his bulbous neck, barely paying attention as I walked in. He went back to looking at his computer with fixed eyes glued without hesitation.

(to be continued…)
 
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(Chapter 7, part 9…)

I did not dare stay too long, my thoughts of getting a book now the only thing in my mind. I hastened towards the nearest book shelf and perused the various titles without a second thought as to what section of books I was even looking at. I just felt oppressed by knowing Mr. Forbes was a mere fifteen or so feet from me. The only peace of mind that I was not under his gaze was from the clacking of keyboard keys I could hear behind me.
‘He must still be focused upon his computer,’ I thought as I removed a random book from the shelf.
It wasn’t until I had wandered away from the shelf and sat at a further away table that I glanced down at the book I had thoughtlessly picked to read.
Paul And Union With Christ: An Exegetical And Theological Study, Constantine R. Campbell.
I was unfamiliar with this book. Its cover had a mostly black and red background with a close up depiction of a cross. I did not fathom what it would entail but started to read for twenty minutes after I flipped open the book.
I stopped reading briefly to contemplate or get around what I was reading. The theory of Paul seemed to confuse me, not so much the idea behind it but the frenzied writing style the author seemed to convey from what little I read of this book. Somewhat confused by this idea of theology based rantings, I stood up with the book closed within my hands before replacing it back upon the appropriate shelf. Shaking my head, I turned around to find Mr. Forbes looking at me from his desk. He did not seem to be angry or anything, just glaring at me with inquisitive eyes.
I did not say anything, just gave a curt nod in his direction before exiting the Library, feeling relief as I had left that place in one piece. I glanced at a nearby wall clock in the hallway. It was still ten minutes until my next class. I decided for a change to go towards my next classroom whilst I still had some spare time.
But as I had rounded the corner towards my designated next class I bumped into someone I was not intending to see. It was Jenny, looking slightly startled as we bumped into each other.
She glanced sharply at me, I could tell she was ready with some choice words until she noticed it was me.
“Oh, Henry…” she exclaimed in a light surprised tone.
I waited as she left the sentence lingering, expecting Jenny to finish saying something. But she never did, just shyly glancing down as she fidgeted with her hands.
“Yeah, sorry for bumping into you,” I murmured in reply, feeling somewhat sheepish and guilty about bumping into her.
“Well, sorry for punching you two weeks ago,” Jenny said as she bowed her head to try and cover up her shame and embarrassment.
“Yeah, well, it ain’t the first time I been decked by a girl,” I said with a wry smile on my face and shrugged my shoulders indifferently.
I noticed Jenny glance up at me sharply, as if remembering something.
“I heard you got your arm injured. Is it okay now?” Jenny suddenly asked me, her voice full of concern.
“It’s fine. Just slight bruising but it is fully healed,” I remarked, my turn to feeling embarrassed as I scratched the back of my head idly with my left hand.
I think Jenny sensed the unwillingness to convey anymore information in my voice as she shyly shirked away from saying anything more, her head meekly nodding.
“Listen, I gotta go. On my way to next class,” I said as the awkward silence lasted between us for over thirty seconds.
“Oh, okay,” she suddenly responded as I began to walk away.
“See ya later, Jenny,” I said before we were out of earshot range to each other.
I did not wait for her answer as I was unable to see Jenny after she turned the corner I had bumped into her from.
I did not dwell upon Jenny in the present, my mind still thinking it odd how I had not seen her for the past two weeks but then recalled that most of the girls had gone on an outdoor excursion last week for four days to experience nature.
With that thought still fresh in my mind, I made it to my next class with five minutes to spare.

Mr. Lennox, the math teacher, was there at his desk. He seemed to be doing some sort of revising with some papers spread out in front of him. With a burgundy sweater and deep red tie underneath the white collared shirt he was wearing, the balding fifty year old teacher glanced up from his revision spreadsheet and looked confused at Henry Dawson.
“Yes, what is it?” the old math tutor asked the student in front of him.
“Henry Dawson, sir. This is my next class,” Henry replied to Mr. Lennox.
“Dawson? Dawson..? Ahh, yes, you are right. Sorry, getting forgetful at my age. Just go ahead and take a seat,” the forgetful Mr. Rupert Lennox said as he checked his roster of students for the week and found Henry Dawson’s name on there.
Henry made his way fully into the classroom and picked a desk nearby the side of the wall, opting for a middle row seating as he noticed a few other students in his class were already seated for the lesson.


(to be continued…)


Again, picked the book randomly. Weird how it was Bible based as I used a random book generator to decide which book Henry would pick.
 
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(Chapter 7, part 10…)


The math class was dull, as usual. I was getting blurry eyed from gazing at the equations I had written down in my notebook.
‘If X equals Y, and the fundamental prime of Y equals Z, what does the initial form of X make?’ I haphazardly thought in my brain.
Even the lettering was starting to become gibberish to my fried mind. I decided to glance up from my notebook, giving myself a small reprieve so I could breathe from the imaginary bubble of desperation I felt I had made for myself. It was almost as insufferable as the time I wore that orange itchy suit. But this…
I let my mind focus from my wandering thoughts back to the problem at hand within my notebook. My right hand wavered over the page as I wrote down what I felt was the correct answer to the math question before me.
X equals Y, thus the answer divided between Y and X equals Z. Therefore, X is the remainder of Z.
I just remained breathing heavily, not understanding even to myself why I was stressing out over this simple math problem so much. It wasn’t even like this was a final grade marking or anything like that. This was just a simple question.
‘Come on, Henry Dawson. Stop being so freaked out over nothing,’ I berated myself, trying to psyche myself out of this funk of irrational fear and depression.
The school bell rang suddenly, making me look startled in my seat. I tried to calm my nerves down as I watched other students start to leave the classroom.

Mr. Lennox was sitting at his desk as the other students left his classroom. All but one remained still sitting in his seat, Dawson.
“Anything the matter, Dawson?” he asked inquiringly to Henry Dawson.
The boy shook his head as if in a daze, slowly getting up from his chair and putting his notebook in his satchel as he stood up.
“No, sir,” was the short reply from Henry Dawson as he shuffled his way towards the doorway of the classroom.
Suddenly, in a moment of seconds, Henry Dawson turned back to Mr. Lennox with a small frown upon his face. The boy seemed like he wanted to say something but was hesitant about it.
Mr. Rupert Lennox waited patiently at his desk for the boy to speak.
“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you take this job here?”
Well, if it was anything, this was not the question Mr. Lennox was expecting from the boy known as Henry Dawson to ask.
“That, is hardly a matter I would like to disclose, Dawson. I will just say this. It is a personal matter between me and God. I hope that satisfies your curiosity,” Mr. Lennox responded candidly, his explanation not betraying his faith.
Henry Dawson did not respond but gave a brief nod in understanding. He did not ask anything more, just turned around and exited the math classroom leaving a gentile yet puzzled Mr. Lennox behind.


End of Chapter 7.


( to be continued…)
 
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(Chapter 8, part 1…)


Chapter 8: Trailer Trash Dawson

I had exited the school building, feeling glad my school day was over after a few more classes. With a sense of relief, I did not notice until I was accosted suddenly that several older classmates dragged me over to a side wall of the school building within a shaded area. I did not do anything as I was forcefully dragged and shoved against the brick exterior of the school. There was no point, as there was three of them against just one of me. They did not look like they were fooling around and I did not want any trouble if I could avoid it.
“Okay, ya little twerp. You got any troubles with us?” asked gruffly the middle of the older boys as he roughly pushed me back against the brick wall as I had instinctively tried to lean off the side of the building.
I had no idea what these guys problem was with me. I decided to be candid and honest with them.
“Troubles? What are you talking about?” I asked, which caused a smile of the leader between the three of them as he glanced briefly to his two friends.
“Don’t try and be cute with us, Dawson. Billy told us what ya did. If you try anything, and I mean anything, my buddies and I will make sure you get more than a broken arm. You got that?” the lead guy threatened me, his demeanour was terrifying as the three of them loomed over my small body.
I had no choice but to comply, nodding my head slowly whilst cowering in fear at the older boys towering above me.
Seeming satisfied with this, the three of them backed off and I made my way sharpish from the area, knowing that what they had threatened to do to me was not to be taken lightly. I silently cursed Billy Watkins as I made my way towards the front entrance of the school again, eager to leave the school’s grounds with all my limbs intact.
I was surprised after I left the gates of D.C.S to not see my mother in our beat up old car but Claire, who was waiting to pick me up in her blue convertible.
“Hi, Henry!” she announced cheerfully, giving a welcoming wave from her car as she saw me exit from the open school gates.
I haphazardly gave an awkward wave back, trying to ignore the stares of several other classmates from my school gazing with awe at the flashy convertible and woman behind the driver’s seat.
I just got in the passenger’s seat beside Claire and we drove away from my school as I flushed with embarrassment from the situation.
“Where’s mum?” I suddenly asked Claire as we were a block away from my school.
Claire gave me a side glance before drawing her attention back towards the road.
“We thought it best to pick you up today,” she answered with care, her tone one of concern.
I wasn’t dumb and Claire knew this. I just gave an outward sigh as I knew this probably had to do with my injured arm.
“So, Dad knows?” I asked in defeat, my body slumping slightly in my seat.
“What goes on between your mum and yourself is your business, Henry. Do not worry, I did not betray your trust. But, your Dad and I felt it best to take you out of that situation,” Claire stated calmly but I could tell she was trying to tiptoe around the issue with hesitant words.
“Oh,” was all I could say, my forlornly tone evident in my voice despite the fact I was trying not to show it effected me.
The ride was more quiet after I said that, possibly because Claire was noticing the reluctance in my voice as I had said that to her and the awkward silence that followed thereafter.


( to be continued…)
 
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(Chapter 8, part 2…)


I noticed as we were driving through the town that we were not headed down the familiar roads that led to my house. I decided to glance over at Claire in the driver’s seat.
Claire’s golden windswept hair as she was driving made me almost gasp in shock at the sight of Claire brushing it aside from her face so her vision of the road was not obscured.
She wore a modest day dress with simple patterns adorning the dress in a random fashion. It appeared to be of moderate length, barely reaching past her knees as she was sitting down. I noticed that under the low cropped neck and shoulders of her red dress was the start of some bikini bra strings tied around in criss cross pattern behind her neck. Some simple heels adorned her feet in the same shade of red as her dress. In some ways, it intrigued me how girls both seemed to excite and frighten guys based upon what they wore.
“Claire, where are we going?” I asked her with a confused look upon my face.
“We decided, your Dad and I that is, that since we are getting married, we figured you could get to know our situation as a family moving forward better. Besides, I like you Henry and want to get to know you better too,” she responded to me, her gaze wandering over to me before glancing back to the road.
I just nodded in reply, not trusting myself to speak my mind as I knew it was also just an excuse to get me distanced from my mum. But there was sincerity in what Claire just told me. She apparently was deeply concerned for me. I just looked out the side of the convertible with bated breath. A part of me was anxiously excited in a weird sense. I let myself just lay back and enjoy the ride in a euphoric feeling of peace.
‘Besides,’ I thought to myself. ‘This might be fun.’


It was not long until we finally reached our destination. Claire turned into a trailer camper complex that was on the fringes of the bad side of Dunsville, a mere hundred miles from the industrial garbage dump in town. I recoiled slightly from the vague smell of garbage that travelled upon the breeze. Even the outcasts like Tom and I knew the trailer park place was even out of bounds to the Christian Community of Dunsville.
With slight trepidation and hesitation in my mind, I got out as Claire stopped her car in front of a camper van near the middle of the compound.
The off white sheen from plastic metal made the camper look less inviting. Four cinder blocks held the foundation of where the tires should be, showing the van was a permanent fixture in the compound. I noticed Dad’s maroon car parked beside the front of the place, a stark contrast to what I was seeing in front of me.
I could see a small planter in front of some red painted steps that led up to the front metal door of the camper van. Inside the planter clay pot was a tacky plastic sun flower to add a bit of garden motif flair, at least that was what I assumed before the metal door opened with my Dad in the doorway.
“Welcome home, Slugger,” he cheerfully announced towards me with a smile.

( to be continued…)
 
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(Chapter 8, part 3…)

Mitch Dawson was an excruciating man of subtlety. He was observing his son Henry carefully, his smile a mere reminder of his dubious nature. Ever since he had left his ex-wife Catherine because of her drunken behaviour, he knew he was a coward for leaving his son to be the brunt of the abuse. If ever he had wanted to be wrong, he knew that excuse would no longer fly ever since Claire told him of Henry’s injuries two weeks ago. As a father, albeit an abandoning one, his moral obligations finally got the better of him. There was no hiding from that brutal truth that he was a battered husband all those years ago.
‘Not that I didn’t deserve it,’ bitterly thought Mitch Dawson to himself.
Initially, it was the truth that he wanted to announce the news of marrying Claire to his “family”, though it was Claire that thought of it. In all honesty, Mitch Dawson was afraid of seeing Henry again, frightened that his son would not have forgiven him for his actions. But those fears, though justified, were the least of his worries for sins of his past.
The boy before him now was standing tall on his own two feet, making Mitch feel proud of his son.
The two of them stood mere feet apart from each other until Mitch decided to step down the wooden steps that led out of his and Claire’s caravan abode.


(to be continued…)
 
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