12 years old
SHE WAS STILL WAITING for me. The nicest, most beautiful girl I’d ever met was still waiting for me.
It seemed hard to believe. Especially when my father made a point to tell me how useless I was and how I was just a mouth to feed.
But Sherry… she wanted me. She wanted to hang out with me, and talk to me. She had become my best friend. Only she could make me smile after an argument at home. Only she could make me feel important when I was being ignored by my parents. I hoped we’d be best friends forever.
She was fun to play with at first, a good distraction from home. But over the past two years, she talked… a lot. We talked about everything, actually. Sometimes we would do nothing but talk.
I learned her favorite color—orange, her favorite food—pizza, animal—dog. I could go on forever… I remembered all her favorites. I had laughed, feeling like the tallest person in the world, when she volunteered that her favorite person was me.
We talked about sad stuff, too. How her brother, Bobby, died of cancer when she was nine and he was only thirteen. How her parents became a little distant because they missed him so much.
We even talked about my dad and how he hit me. About my mom and how she let him. I’d never talked to anyone about it before. But with Sherry, it felt right to tell her everything.
She had hugged me and told me I was special and important. I had cried a little, but instead of calling me a baby, she just held me tighter.
Before her, I had more bad days than good ones. Now, it was the other way around.
Unfortunately, the bad days still came. Because just as surely as the sun rose, eventually, my father would lose his temper and hit me again.
Today was a bad day.
This morning I had been walking through my apartment and thinking about Sherry, so I hadn’t seen it coming. One moment I was imagining her soft, strawberry blonde hair and the freckles across her nose, and the next, I was face-first on the ground.
Everything had happened in a blur, like he had been too furious to decide what kind of pain he wanted to inflict first.
Now, as I stood in front of the police station, I shut my eyes. I needed to be strong enough to do this; I promised Sherry I would do this, even though I didn’t want to. My arm was aching as I opened my eyes and climbed up the steps. It had been twisted so far up my back this morning, I’d thought he had finally broken it.
I stopped at the top, unsure of where to go.
“Hey, little guy.” I turned my head to see an officer kneeling down next to me.
“Hi.” My gaze moved beyond her to where a few curious glances were aimed our way.
“Can I help you with something?” she asked, bringing my eyes back to her.
I swallowed roughly. “I—I need to report abuse.”
Her dark eyebrows flew up her forehead toward her unnaturally light hair. “Who’s being abused, sweetie?”
“I—”
“Hunter? Is that you?” My palms felt slick as I turned to see Mr. Adams standing next to a younger officer I didn’t know. “I can take it from here, Sandy.”
The lady’s brows scrunched up. “Are you sure—?”
“Yes.” Mr. Adams’ voice was short and hard. I didn’t want Sandy to leave. But all too soon she was gone, disappearing into a sea of blue. My stomach felt heavy. Mr. Adams was a friend of my dad’s.
“Hunter. What brings you here?”
“I…” It was even harder to say the second time. “I need to report abuse.”
“Let’s take this somewhere private.” A heavy hand was placed on my shoulder and I winced slightly, but Mr. Adams didn’t notice as he guided me into a closed-off room.
“This is my partner, Officer Wagner.” I nodded at the other officer before shuffling into an uncomfortable plastic chair.
“Is someone hurting you, little guy?” Officer Wagner asked, sitting on the table in front of me with a soft smile. I saw Mr. Adams shoot him a look, causing him to shrink back and join his partner on the other side of the table.
“My dad, sir. He hits me when he’s angry,” I answered, no waver to my voice and looking Officer Wagner right in the eye.
“I know your father, Hunter. He’s a good man. You understand the allegations you’re making, correct?” Mr. Adams’ disapproving voice sounded loud in the tiny room.
“It’s the truth, Mr. Adams.”
“Officer Adams,” he corrected.
I looked toward Officer Wagner, whose eyes were shifting between the two of us, completely unsure of his place. “Sir, should I grab everything needed so he can make an official statement?”
“That won’t be necessary, Wagner.”
“Sir?” he questioned, his eyebrows pulled down toward the bridge of his nose.
“I said that won’t be necessary.” Officer Adams looked away from me and toward his partner. “Like I said, I know his dad personally. Does he run a strict household? Sure. He’s a strong man, who inflicts necessary and appropriate discipline on his son. A son who was caught three times last year for trespassing in a neighbor’s backyard. This is all inflated, I can promise you that.”
His partner looked unconvinced, and I thought, maybe Sherry was right… maybe someone would care. But the older officer sighed loudly, annoyed and losing his patience. “Hunter, can you show us any bruises that would indicate abuse?”
Other than the aches, I didn’t look too bad. He was careful. I slumped in my chair. Any bruises he’d ever left could easily be attributed to sports or “boys being boys.”
Shaking my head, I kept my eyes on the table. When no one spoke, I looked up into Officer Wagner’s now skeptical eyes.
When I met Sherry over two years ago, it wasn’t this bad. Most of the time, my parents just ignored me. But something had changed for my dad recently; he caught more of my screwups, almost like he was looking for them. And his punishments hurt more. It had never been okay before, but the only reason I went to the cops now was because it had gotten a lot worse.
But I knew this would be pointless, and I felt my anger rising.
I had hope when I walked into this building. Hope that someone would finally see what was going on; that someone would care about what was going on.
Maybe it wasn’t fair, but when it was happening, I looked for a miracle anywhere, in anyone. Even some random person I ran into on the street. I’d look at them and pray they could see that just that morning I’d been kicked in the stomach, or that they’d notice the fading bruise on my arm from when he grabbed me a week ago.
They never did. They looked away and kept walking.
It was stupid to be angry at them, but I was. Every day I prayed for a miracle that never came. But today, all those stupid and pointless wishes for miracles disappeared.
No one would save me.
I would be stuck in this life.
And I was suddenly angry at everyone.
Angry at my father for hitting me.
Angry at my mother for watching him.
Angry at Sherry for caring about me and convincing me to do this.
Angry at the officers for not believing me.
But mostly, angry at myself, for thinking I could change any of those things.
I hated her.
Cowering on the floor, my blood smeared on the wall and droplets of it on the ground, I looked at my mother and I hated her.
There was a turkey on the table, surrounded by mashed potatoes, green beans, stuffing, dinner rolls, and cranberry sauce. My mother had put her “fancy” decorations out. A festive tablecloth with leaves all over it and our nice silverware set atop. It almost looked normal, if you looked past the blood.
“HEY!” my father barked as his foot connected with my back. It spasmed, and I leaned forward to escape the pain. I was still staring at my mother, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of looking away first.
It didn’t take long.
She closed her eyes before turning her head, trying to block out what was happening… what she was allowing, any way she could.
My vision grew blurry. He came around and kicked me in the side of my head. Even without my foggy memories, I probably wouldn’t be able to recall what prompted this most recent beating. There was usually a reason, so I didn’t understand this seemingly random attack.
I closed my eyes, going to another place, just like I always did when he got violent. And I saw Sherry. Over the past six months, when the beatings had become more frequent since I’d gone to the police station, she’d started smiling less. She seemed to age years. Every time I’d come over to her place with a limp or new bruise, her smile dimmed a little more. But I could still imagine her wide, bright smile on that first day when I closed my eyes, and that became my escape.
My eyes flew open as he tugged on my hair and lifted me up. Tears clouded my vision as I struggled to rise quickly and keep the hair on my head. I was momentarily relieved when he released me. Until I realized he let go with momentum, shoving me into a cabinet. My knee connected with the glass door and my head slammed against the wood above. I crumpled to the floor, my gaze lifting and looking at all the “happy” family pictures on the wall.
“Richard,” my mother said.
“What?” he slurred as he kicked me in the ribs.
“Stop.”
It was stupid, and I should have known better, but my first thought had been finally… finally she was standing up for me. Even though minutes ago I hated her, apparently I still had hope.
But that tiny, fragile hope was shattered seconds later when she finished. “We can’t take him to the hospital like this. You need to quit while you’re ahead.”
“You’re right,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Forgive me?” He turned toward her, asking her for forgiveness, something she easily gave. I could barely make out the words between his unintelligible slurring and the pounding that had started in my head.
Everything was blurry when I looked up and saw my father stumbling away. He kissed my mother on the cheek before continuing out of sight. Her eyes found mine, and I thought she tried to say sorry. There was this brief flash where she truly seemed sorry. But it was gone before I knew it, and a second later, so was she.
It shouldn’t be so natural to recognize the bitter, metallic taste of blood. It shouldn’t be as familiar to me as having a soda or eating a hamburger. But I knew there was blood in my mouth even before it spilt down my shirt and onto the floor.
I’d never told Sherry, but he’d caught me a few times coming home from seeing her. Before I’d met her, I had been really good at not getting caught. But now… I was always able to convince myself to stay. One more minute. Ten more minutes. One more hour.
Sometimes it was fine, and sometimes it wasn’t. But I was always willing to risk it for more time with her.
Now, I didn’t know why I’d ever worried. If he wanted to hit me, he would. If he wanted to kick me until I was unconscious, he would.
He could do whatever he wanted, because no one was trying to stop him.
12 years old
My best friend was still imaginary. He made sure no one ever saw him, and I certainly didn’t talk about him again. It seemed impossible that we had kept this secret for two and a half years, but somehow we had.
And we had become best friends.
We talked about everything.
Hunter told me why he used to be so skinny—because his parents didn’t always have enough money to feed him. He told me why he limped—his father kicked him. And when all that got too sad, he told me all his favorites. Color—green. Food—hamburgers. Place—my backyard. There were so many favorites I’d learned since we’d met, and I remembered every single one. My brain catalogued everything Hunter-related.
Even things I didn’t want to know.
At first, I hadn’t understood what he meant when he said his father hit him, and in the beginning it didn’t seem too bad so I didn’t ask questions. But these past few months had been bad. Hunter didn’t talk about it and I only ever saw the aftermath. A limp, a bruise, a cut. It made it easier to overlook, since that was clearly what Hunter wanted. But I never saw the blood or the pain on his face.
Not until now.
It was Thanksgiving. My family was all smiles and laughs, myself included, despite how much I wished Hunter could be there. In the two and a half years we’d been friends, he’d started to feel like family. I wanted him around me all the time, and it felt wrong that he wasn’t here. Our house still felt a little too quiet and a little too lonely since Bobby had died. I looked around the table. It was just me and a whole bunch of grown-ups.
Uncle Steve had just finished a story about his college days that had everyone laughing and telling follow-up stories, when I happened to glance out the window to the backyard. Everyone’s joy managed to cover up my tiny gasp as I watched Hunter fall to the ground right next to our tall bushes. My head quickly whipped around, making sure no one else saw his tumble into our yard. Luckily, they were too preoccupied with football, turkey, and stories to notice a beautiful broken boy lying just outside our house. His eyes met mine and my heart broke. Completely shattered. Defeat was written all over his face as he scooted further behind the bush and sat there, patiently waiting for me to excuse myself.
As fast and casually as I could, I shoveled the rest of my food into my mouth. Some of the men had already gone to the family room to watch the football game, so when I asked to be excused it was hardly abnormal. My dad said yes with a smile and I slowly walked out of the room to wash off my dishes and place them in the dishwasher. My mom had started putting the leftovers in Tupperware containers and I gave her a small, hopefully genuine, smile before calmly exiting the room and walking to the hallway that led to the bedrooms.
After I was out of sight, I didn’t waste another minute. I quickly padded down the carpeted hall and ran to my bedroom, shutting my door and racing to the window. I immediately found Hunter’s eyes. I waved him over and watched his gaze dart to the windows that held our picture-perfect family dinner. Another minute or two later, he decided he was in the clear and he dashed over as fast as his battered body would allow.
“Ohmygod, Hunter,” I whispered when he was right outside my open window.
“I’m sorry,” was his only response. He awkwardly leaned against the windowsill. The despair rolling off him made me realize I needed to be stronger than this. I needed to not be as scared as I felt.
“Don’t be. Come in.” I grabbed his arm, being careful of the injured parts, and lightly tugged. His face was unsure as he looked down at his torn clothes with blood on them.
“I don’t know, Sherry. I might get your stuff dirty.”
“Who cares?” I tugged again and he winced a little. “I’ll figure it out later. Now get in.” I used the tone my mother used on my father when she meant business. It seemed to work. He crawled through without another word, collapsing against the wall underneath as his eyes closed.
I helped him unzip his jacket and set it on the ground. My eyes grew impossibly wide when I saw a boot print on his shirt and more blood.
“Can you move a little bit farther?” My voice shook.
“Yeah,” he said. But his eyes were closed and his mouth was twisted in a frown.
“Okay, c’mon.” I helped him up before we limped together across my room. I’d never been more grateful for having my own connected bathroom than I was right now. After I made him sit and lean back against the tub, I quickly moved to the sink. I squatted before rummaging around underneath for the first-aid kit mom had put below and shown me the basics of when she left me alone for the first time a few weeks ago.
“Thanks,” he whispered. I looked over to see Hunter’s eyes were still shut.
“Of course.” I tried to cough away the croak in my voice, but I knew it would be no use. I was fighting tears, and so close to losing the battle.
Once I had everything, I knelt back in front of him and looked from his split lip to the gash on his forehead. The lip didn’t look too bad, but the cut on his head was still bleeding—and those were just the injuries I could see.
“What hurts the most?” I asked softly.
His sad eyes opened and met mine; and even though he stayed silent, his eyes were screaming at me. Hunter picked up my hand and slowly placed it over his heart.
“Hunter.” My voice broke on the word.
“Can you make it better?”
“I… I don’t know h-how,” I stuttered.
He smiled, but it was all wrong. His lip cracked further and more blood oozed out. “Sure you do. Just be yourself.”
“H-Hunter.” I was weak. I couldn’t be strong. This was all so wrong. All I could think about was how an hour ago my dad had kissed me on the forehead as he served me turkey, while Hunter was getting hit in the head. “I c-can’t. We need to tell someone. The police or my parents… my parents will know what to do.”
He shook his head. “Sherry, when I first reported him six months ago, I was worried no one would believe me. And they didn’t.”
“I know,” I cried. “But look at you. You have proof. Anyone would believe you.”
His eyes were red and he looked ready to cry. “Yeah, they would. But now…” He winced as he shifted up. “Now I’m afraid they will believe me. What do you think would happen if they did?”
“They’d take you away from that awful place.” I didn’t understand what he was saying. The only thing that mattered was him being safe.
“And where would I go?” he asked.
“I-I don’t know.”
“Sherry.” Silent tears finally dripped down his face. “You’re my best friend. You’re the only person who cares about me. And I don’t want to be without you. I can’t be without you.”
I understood what he was saying, but…
“And I won’t always be this little,” he added. “Eventually I’ll be too big for him. So please don’t ask me to report him.”
My tears came harder. “But—”
“Please. Besides, these cuts are nothing compared to the rest. And you’re all I need to make the rest better.”
I knew he meant his mother. Her standing by and doing nothing hurt him more than his father’s fists ever could.
“So tell me something good, Sherry. Anything.”
“Uhh…” I had absolutely nothing. My brain sucked right now.
Hunter laughed, wincing a little. “You look terrified.”
“I can’t think of anything,” I hissed, putting light pressure on his chest. And then we were both laughing.
I had tears in my eyes and his blood on my hands, and we were laughing like we didn’t have a care in the world. I didn’t know what to feel. Should I have left the cloud hanging over us, acknowledging this tragedy? Or was it better to be smiling in spite of it?
I didn’t know. I only knew I wanted to win. I wanted to beat Hunter’s father. I wanted to be able to go to sleep tonight knowing Hunter’s dad didn’t take anything away from him, knowing Hunter could still smile in spite of his horrible father.
In the beginning, I’d thought ignoring it would give his dad power. I’d thought letting it go was the same thing as saying it’s okay. But that wasn’t true at all. Because nothing would make it okay. Whether we swept it under the rug or confronted it head-on, it would always be wrong. There was nothing we could do about that. The only thing we could affect was now, the after. That was how I knew what I would do.
I’d make Hunter smile. I’d make him laugh until his stomach cramped and his cheeks ached. Even if I had his blood on my hands, I’d also have his smile, his joy. Something I’d never let his father take.
Hunter had asked me to make his heart better, and from that day on, I promised myself I would.
“Sher bear?” my mother called through the door. I felt my cheeks warm when Hunter cracked a genuine smile.
“Sher bear?!” he whispered, mocking me. I wanted to be embarrassed or angry, but I was just happy to see him looking better.
I’d grabbed some old clothes of Bobby’s for him to wear and cleaned up his lip. It was still gross; the cut wasn’t bleeding anymore but it was dark red and the area around it had gotten fat and purple. There was also a large white bandage on his forehead, but otherwise nothing looked wrong. He wouldn’t let me see any of his other injuries, he told me he took care of them when he was changing.
“Shut up,” I muttered before getting to my feet. I tossed his bloody clothes in my tub and closed the curtain before walking toward my bedroom door, shutting the bathroom door on my way.
“Yeah, Mom?” I yelled, my front plastered to the inch of wood separating us.
“Do you want to help me serve dessert?”
“Already?”
She paused. “It’s been an hour and a half.” I could hear the worry in her voice, and I wondered if she had heard the panic in mine.
“Sherry, please open the door.”
I eased it open, leaving myself only enough room to fit my body through.
“Sorry, Mom. I just—” I stopped, my last words coming out strangled. My mother wasn’t looking at me. Her gaze was roaming the room behind me before she paused on something. I turned to see what she found. She had zeroed in on the blood smear under the window frame and Hunter’s jacket discarded beneath it.
Crap! Crap! Crap!
When I faced her again, her body had turned stiff and her wide, disbelieving eyes were on mine.
“What happened? Are you hurt?” she asked quickly, snapping out of her daze and pushing the door open. Her hands lightly gripped my shoulders as she assessed my body.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” I assured her. She had the same look on her face as she did the day we rushed Bobby to the hospital almost four years ago. Her gaze flew to the bathroom door behind me, seeing the light coming from underneath, before walking around me and reaching for Hunter’s only line of defense.
“Mom, no—”
It was a futile effort. The door was open before I could even think about what I would have said. Moving to her side, my eyes locked on a shell-shocked Hunter. He was looking at my mom and despite his attempt to hide it, fear was radiating from his dark brown eyes. My hand made contact with my mom’s arm, ready to explain the situation and make sure she didn’t do or say anything to upset Hunter even more.
“Oh my!” she exclaimed, immediately making me realize how stupid I’d been to think my mother would be anything other than the nice and supportive person she always was. “Are you okay, son?” His eyes flared at the word son, even as he straightened and tried to move away from her when she reached for him.
She kept her distance and squatted on the ground.
“Hi. I’m Liz. Sherry’s mom,” she said before she turned around and gave me a warm smile. I tried to return it, but I was too worried about Hunter.
My mom turned back toward Hunter. “Would you like some dessert? We have all different kinds… ice cream, apple pie, pumpkin pie, brownies… you name it and we probably have it.”
“Um…” He trailed off, clearly flustered. Like a grown-up being nice to him was so strange he didn’t know how to respond.
“Sherry can sneak one up to you, it’ll be our little secret…” Her voice trailed off to a whisper as she lifted a finger to her deep red lips, earning a small smile out of Hunter.
He ducked his head. “Yes, ma’am. That sounds good.”
“Excellent. What kind?”
“Whatever you have the most of, ma’am.”
I’d never heard Hunter talk to someone older than him before. It was weird how polite he sounded. I wondered if that had been beaten into him. I wondered if I’d ever stop wondering at the lengths of his father’s abuse.
My mother smiled. “What’s your favorite, dear?” she asked.
“Pumpkin,” Hunter mumbled, his chin tucked down, finally relaxing and letting his guard down.
“You stay here. Sherry will be right back.”
She stood, still smiling, and left the room. My mom never even bothered to see if I was following her—she knew I would. As soon as the door was shut with us on the other side, my mom turned toward me. Her smile was completely gone and her eyes were pinched with worry.
“Who is that?”
“M-my friend, Hunter.”
“And what happened to him?”
My eyes flew around the hallway; I needed to think quickly. “Football,” I blurted out. “H-he was playing football and uh, his parents told him he couldn’t. He came here so he wouldn’t be in trouble with them.”
“His face looked awfully nasty for football, and that blood looked like too much…” She trailed off like she did whenever she was waiting for Bobby or me to tell her what really happened.
“People break bones playing football.” That seemed a lot worse than a cut lip.
She nodded, but I could tell she didn’t believe me. Looking hurt and unsure, her eyes landed on the closed door.
I had never lied to my mother before, and it was on the tip of my tongue to tell her the truth. But then I remembered Hunter’s words…
You’re the only person who cares about me. And I don’t want to be without you. I can’t be without you. I won’t always be this little. Eventually I’ll be too big for him. So please don’t ask me to report him.
And I couldn’t. He trusted me, only me, and I couldn’t risk that. Swallowing down the truth, I said with as much confidence as I could, “I promise. It was just football.”
Something sparked in her eyes. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
“Yeah.”
My mom frowned before she shook it off and gave me a hug. “Okay, well let’s go get Hunter his pie.”
Nodding, I hugged her back. We broke apart and made our way to the kitchen, hand in hand. I held on as tight as I could, hoping that someday Hunter knew what it was like to be loved this much.