Day Twenty-two

"What the hell is this!" popped the old man. He stormed up out of his seat and zipped around the sofa, his wiry face twisted in a drunken mania. "What the hell do you think you're playing at boy?" He came directly at me, but Woody stood in front of me and shielded me with his body. It didn't make a difference. His father's frail limbs easily pushed Woody aside and before I knew it I was in his tight grip, his nose hairs threatening to puncture my face. "You don't get the right to bring that up in this house! Do you understand?!" His breath reeked so badly I held my breath. "Now, you take your little nigger ass and get the HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE!" He pushed me back into the door with amazing strength. I looked over at Woody and realized all the times I thought I'd seen him scared, I hadn't. The face of fear was masked behind cold grey eyes that were tearing up in the face of the only family he had. That didn't stop him, however, from having the courage to confront him.

"YOU DON'T GET THE RIGHT TO TOUCH MY FRIENDS!" he yelled. And then he pushed his father and they struggled until his father punched him across the face. Woody may have been strong, but he was only fourteen and was nothing compared to his father who towered over 6 feet tall. He went flying over the sofa. I stood with my back to the door, petrified. The little blonde boy watched intently from the sofa, his little hands gripped onto the back edge of the torn seat, his mouth threatening to unleash his ocean of tears at any moment. Before Woody could even get up, his father was at him again.

"You don't have no goddamn friends, boy! Cause you're a freak! You're a goddamn freak of nature! You always have been and always will be!"

"SHUT UP!" he cried.

"What the hell have you been telling people? Huh! What the hell you been out there saying? What lies are you spreading now?"

"I ain't said nothing!"

"DON'T YOU LIE TO ME!" His father grabbed Woody by the hair and dragged him up to his feet. My friend grimaced in pain and was helpless to do anything about it. "What the hell did you tell this sissy boy?"

"Mr. Harris, he ain't told me nothing, I swear! I don't even know what you're talking about!" He threw Woody down to the floor and approached me, but not in rage this time. His empty eyes were suddenly full and his voice came out in strange eruptions. He was choked up.

"You're talking about my boy! You're talking about my son! And what I want to know right fucking now, is what the hell you know about it!" The noise from the TV sounded like the countdown before an explosion. I didn't know what this mad man would do to me if I didn't answer him, so I looked over at the frightening child and answered quite simply.

"I know he drowned ... and that's about all I know." Nothing moved except the shadows in the room from the television. He stood there, his chest heaving heavily up and down. Then, finally,

"Get out."

"Ok," I said. I looked over at Woody as I opened the door and prayed he would follow me. God heard me that day because he jumped up and grabbed his bag, but before he could get to the door, his father grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back. Woody struggled to break free.

"Let go of me!"

But the more he struggled, the more useless it was.

"Did you tell your nigger friend how he died, boy? Did ya!"

"Stop it!"

"Did you tell him you killed him!" Woody reached up and smacked his father, which was not the wisest move. He recognized this immediately, but there was nothing to be done. His father's big hands circled around Woody's neck and Woody couldn't breathe.

"It should have been you! It SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU! You worthless piece of shit! You been a curse to me from the day you were fucking born. You and your fucking whore of a mother!"

"STOP IT!" I yelled. "STOP!" I ran over and tried to pull him off of Woody but he only reached around and slapped me down. I hit the floor with a thud, but it was enough to give Woody a chance to breathe and escape his grip. He ran to the kitchen but his father pulled him back. I jumped up again but that high pitched shriek stopped me dead. The water threw me back down and it stung like cold bee stings. The boy was standing there, his horrendous mouth open, and the water rushed out like never before. Woody and his father continued their struggle, oblivious to everything. I couldn't get up, the water was ferocious and pulling me under.

"HELP!" I yelled. His father looked back at me and I'm not sure what I must have looked like, gagging on the floor with my legs and arms being wisked about.

It looked like his father said, "What the hell?" I saw him staring at me, puzzled, with his mouth moving, only I couldn't hear him. That shriek was threatening to make me deaf. The icy water was invading my body through my nose and my mouth and my ears. I thought I was going to die. The water circle around the drunk man's thighs, but he stood there as if I were crazy. Suddenly I saw Woody running through the water. He picked me up and threw me over his shoulder and made a run for the front door. He grabbed his bag which went floating by him on a wave and he threw us into the bitter frost of the evening air. The shrieking stop, but Woody didn't stop running. He slipped on the very ice he had told me to be careful and we both hit the wood and fell down to the cold concrete. My jaw hit the ground last with a CRACK!

"OWWWW!" I screamed. At least the shrieking had stopped. The water was gone and I was amazingly dry.

"Come on," Woody said, helping me up. "Let's go!" I got up and we started to run. I looked back and I saw his father, lost in his own doorway, watching us go.

We ran until my legs could carry me no farther. I had to stop and cough. We were far enough away from the house now that his father wasn't a threat, unless he got behind the wheel of a car. Then he would have been a threat to all that crossed his path.

Woody came up to me, panting for air, and patted me on the back.

"You all right?"

"Fine," I coughed. We collapsed on the ground. There was no one else out. We had the entire neighborhood to ourselves. And it was still a three and a half mile hike to my grandmothers. I longed for the warmth of her welcome.

I looked over at my friend and he looked frozen. The tears made icycles at the corner of his eyes and the snot had smeared and turned to an icy stain upon his upper lip. He had himself a shiner on his cheek where his father had punched him. It was in the beginning stages, but it would be black and blue by nightfall.

Did I dare ask? He had already been through so much. I couldn't put him through anymore at the moment even though I had a million and one questions I was dying to ask him racing around my scattered mind.

He gazed at me, his breathing returning to normal, and said, "I'm sorry."

"Me too." I held out my hand and he took it. We walked together and made it to my grandmothers only an hour into the moonlight.