Chapter Seven
Tank
Things had changed. Everything was changing. Jason was wrapped up in Amber’s love. Now Nick was off chasing after Jenny Brewster. Even Luke was skipping school. Something I would have thought impossible only a few days ago. The guy lived for school.
My dad was home from prison.
I was living at Jason’s
Everything was different. I hated different. Why couldn’t things stay the way they always were.
Slamming Jason’s car door, I said, “I’ve got run over to my house and get some stuff.”
Marla gave me a quick penetrating look that told me how worried she was.
Of course, the real change was Marla. Or my feeling towards her to be exact. The girl wouldn’t get out of my mind. No matter what I did. She was there.
What would Marla think of this? What was she doing now? What did she think of me? A thousand thoughts that tumbled and jumbled around inside of me.
My guts were in a permanent knot, and I seriously doubted if I’d ever be normal again.
This was Jason’s kid sister you idiot, I reminded myself. Marla. Sweet, innocent, Marla.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her this way. No one should.
Grumbling under my breath, I walked up to our front door and stopped as a sudden urge to ring the bell ran through me.
A raw anger made my heart jump. This was my house. I had spent more days under its roof than he had. Why should I feel like the visitor?
Swearing at myself, I turned the knob and stepped in.
Right away I felt the wave of tension. Things had changed.
He stood there looking at me like I was a foreign invader. Like I didn’t belong.
I forced the angry curse out of my mind and brushed past him and into my room.
Grabbing my cleats and track gear I started for my door then remembered to take a notebook from my desk. I still had five more months. If I didn’t keep up, I’d never graduate and never start my new life.
Whatever that was going to be.
When I stepped into the hall, a silence fell over me. My home was gone, I realized. Just like that, I realized I would never live here if I could avoid it.
He stood at the head of the hall, just before the front door, Hands on his hips. He was looking at me like I was gum on his shoes.
“Your Mother is out getting stuff for dinner,” he said.
I don’t know why or where it came from, but I couldn’t stop myself.
“Yeah, well, at least someone knows how to be a parent around here.”
It was as if I’d punched him in the stomach. His eyes narrowed, and I caught a sight of the true man before me. Prison had changed him. He’d become harder, short tempered. Suddenly, I realized just how screwed up he was.
I’d always thought he was some giant. Capable of doing anything. The great king who knew all.
Instead, I was coming to realize he was nothing more than a bully who hated not getting his way.
Sighing to myself I pushed to move by him when he suddenly reached out and grabbed my shoulder.
“Just hold it there, you punk,” he hissed. “This is my house, and I won’t have you disrespecting me in my own home.”
I laughed and shook my head.
“Actually, it's Uncle George’s house. And it has never really been a home,” I said with a dismissive chuckle.
A dark cloud came over his eyes as he stared at me. Then suddenly, without warning, he clocked me. Square in the face. A solid punch that shook me to my heels.
At first, I was more surprised than hurt. Then the reality of what he had just done sank in.
Red. My world became red. All the anger. The years of shame. The constant gut crunching pain of never being enough for him. The way people looked at me when they learned I was a thief’s son. The pain and misery he had caused my mom.
All of it exploded inside of me.
I punched him in the stomach with every bit of my soul.
It was like hitting a side of beef. The man was prison strong, I realized as he puffed out a breath.
His eyes got very narrow as he focused on mine. Reaching back, he threw a punch, then followed it up with a trip behind my legs.
I went down like a bunch of tinker toys and crashed into the coffee table. Wood and glass shattered into a thousand pieces. Shooting through the air like a busted snow globe.
The man knew how to fight. That was the thing. I had never really been in a knockdown, drag-out fight. For some reason, guys just naturally avoided getting me pissed off.
A warm liquid ran down my face as I scrambled out of the mess. Twisting away, my mind became crystal clear. All I could see was him as a driving need built up inside of me to destroy him.
Springing to my feet, I smiled and shook my head.
“You made a mistake,” I said as I spit a glob of blood onto my mom’s carpet. “You shouldn’t have let me get up. You should have finished me when you had the chance.”
He shook his head. “You don’t have the guts,” he said with a sneer. “You’ve never been much. And really, never will.”
That was it, I realized, the final break. His words could never be taken back because we both knew that it was the truth. Or at least his truth.
Smiling, I stepped towards him.
He punched, but I took the blow and followed it in with a punch of my own. Two quick jabs to the face and another uppercut to his stomach, just under the ribs.
I felt something crack and experienced a sudden wave of pure pleasure. I was going to tear him apart and walk away. To hell with him.
He pushed me back, trying to get maneuvering room, but I was too big to be manhandled. I shook it off and hit him twice more.
For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes. True gut-wrenching fear as he began to realize I wasn’t some little boy who could be intimidated or pushed around. Not anymore.
We traded blows, but I could feel him growing weak.
He started to back away, but I refused to let him go. Grabbing his arm, I pulled him in close then used my forearm to pin him against the wall.
I could feel my arm was within a hairsbreadth of crushing his throat. If I put my weight into it, he’d be dead.
Every part of my soul screamed for me to do it. A raging torrent of need and desire pushed me onward.
Kill him, I thought. Do it. Now.
Suddenly the realization of how close he was to death washed into his eyes.
He stared up at me, his hands scrambling to keep my arm from finishing the job.
Just a little more. I could do it.
“TANK,” a voice yelled, penetrating my consciousness.
“Tank,” the voice said again, softer this time. Pleading.
A flowery perfume broke through the stink of blood and sweat, and my soul knew.
Marla. Marla was here.
Her hands were gently resting on my shoulder. Holding me back. Stopping me from killing my father. She was looking into my eyes. Silently trying to get me back to reality.
Taking a deep breath, I nodded slowly and let the real-world back in. Stepping back, I looked at him while he gasped for air.
“You’re lucky,” I said. “The girl just saved your life.”
Glancing at Marla, I shook my head and left. I knew as I stepped out of the house that I would never return. I’d die a thousand deaths before I walked back in there.
I didn’t stop until I got to the street.
My heart hammered as I tried to bring myself back under control. Every muscle quivered with pure energy. The need to destroy still flowed inside of me. That need to pound something into oblivion was still there, but not as strong.
Slowly, I could feel myself regaining control.
I had just gotten into a fight with my father. A man fight. The shame that washed over me made my stomach clench up like I was going to be sick. Right there in front of the whole neighborhood.
Bending over at the waist, I sucked in the fresh air and tried to calm down.
“Are you okay,” Marla asked as she gently laid a hand on my back.
All I could do was nod.
I couldn’t look at her. She had seen me at my worse. The beast inside of me had been unleashed. Out of control. I had almost killed my father. The gut wrenching shame was worse than anything I had ever known.
“Come on,” she said. “We need to take care of those cuts.”
Gently, she took my hand and started pulling me towards her house.
“No,” I said as I pulled back. “Your Mom will freak. No, please.” The begging tone of my voice cut me, but I couldn’t stop myself. The last thing in the world I needed just then was Mrs. T getting involved. The shame of what I had just done was overwhelming. Her disapproving look would cut me to little pieces.
Marla frowned as she looked at me then slowly shook her head. “Come on,” she said, “we’ll sneak into the basement from the backyard. She’ll never know. At least not until we’re done.”
I let myself be led through the gate and to their back sliding door. Like almost every other house on the street, they had a daylight basement. Mr. Turner had turned it into a playroom years ago.
Sometimes I thought I’d spent more hours in that room than my own house.
“Sit,” Marla commanded as she pointed to the couch. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll get blood all over everything,” I said. The cut on my forehead felt like a chocolate fountain. Just oozing down my face.
“Sit,” she said sternly. “It won’t be the first time, and it probably won’t be the last.”
I almost laughed out load. She was right. Each of us guys had been fixed up more than once by Mrs. T.
Sitting down gently, I tried to keep my bloody hands and shirt from touching anything. The room was becoming fuzzy as the blood in my eyes clouded everything.
Leaning forward, I rested my head in my hands as another wave of pure energy washed through me. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I’d almost killed my father.
Marla came back in from the bathroom carrying a bowl of water, towels, and a bunch of first aid supplies. She stopped for a moment and looked at me, slowly shaking her head.
“Why were you there?” I asked as she laid out her nursing station.
Marla shrugged her shoulders and refused to look at me. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I just had a feeling.”
That was all she said, but it was enough. She had known there might be trouble.
“Thank you,” I said. “If you hadn’t stopped me, I would have killed him.”
She scoffed and shook her head, “If you wanted to hurt him, I wouldn’t have been able to stop you.”
Was she right? Had I stopped myself? Maybe I wasn’t the most terrible person in the world.
“I didn’t start it,” I said as a way of an excuse.
She smiled slightly and stopped what she was doing to look me in the eye. “Tank Gunderson, you are not to blame.”
The feeling of release when my heart started pounding again was nirvana. She didn’t despise me. Didn’t think I was a monster.