Saving Graves: A Club Irons Novel Page 4

  Then I felt it. My back was being lashed again, but this time it wasn’t by a belt, like earlier. This time it was an electrical cord. I lowered my head, tucking it between my arm that was overhead, and the beam.

  With each lash, I could feel older welts being ripped open again. They went on with their laughter while they took turns whipping me.

  Just then, I had hope. The door of the house opened, and my mom came out. She looked annoyed, and I called her name.

  “Dammit, Bruce. Those welts just had healed up on his back. We’re going to get a call from the school.”

  “No, you won't, I'll handle that,” Connor said.

  “Mom,” I called her again.

  “Bruce, I gotta get going. I need to be at the club in thirty minutes to fill in for some other bitch.”

  My mom started to walk to the car and I panicked.

  “Mom!” I tried moving my arms quickly.

  “Anthony, baby, mama’s got to go earn some money. You be a good boy while I'm gone.” My mom came over and gave my cheek a pat before running her hands all over me.

  I cried out when she touched my back and tried moving away.

  “Dammit, Bruce, he’s bleeding.”

  My mom wiped her blood covered hand on my arms and side in an effort to get it off her.

  “Mom,” I begged.

  “Connor, let him down, and Bruce, take me the fuck to work.”

  “Mom!”

  “Anthony, I've gotta go and I don’t have time for your shit. You probably earned this beating.” She slapped my cheek and said, “Connor, clean him up.”

  My mom reached up and let my arms down before she got in the car with Bruce. With shaking hands, I quickly got my legs loose but fell over because they had fallen asleep. I sat on the floor of the garage, naked, staring up at Connor as the car backed out of the garage.

  “Don't move, you little shit.”

  Connor came back with a bucket and a brush used to wash the car.

  “Your mother wants me to clean you up.”

  Connor clamped a hand over my mouth when I cried out as he ran the harsh brush over my back.

  “Anthony, wake up son.”

  I jerked awake and shoved the hands away from me. Where the fuck was I? My back hurt.

  “Anthony, calm down,” my dad said.

  My dad.

  I was at his house in my new room. I pulled the sheet over my shoulders and rolled to my side, facing him and tried focusing on the fact I was safe now.

  “Anthony, did you have a nightmare?”

  Did he possibly understand?

  I glanced at him and was surprised that he hadn't looked angry. My mom and Bruce were always mad if I woke up in the night. I never went to them with the bad dreams, but sometimes they heard me.

  “Anthony,” my dad repeated my name and put his hand on my shoulder gently.

  I nodded at him, hoping he knew that I was confirming that I had a bad dream. He gave me a small smile and returned the nod. He gave my shoulder a squeeze, set my football in my arms and asked me about my dream. I kept my jaw shut tight. It hadn't been my intention to tell him about the dream, but then he started rubbing on my shoulder. I shared it with him and the entire time he rubbed on my shoulder. He wasn't mad and wasn't hurting me. My stomach hurt though as I lay there.

  My dad stayed in my room with me for the rest of the night and was there when I woke up again from another bad dream. This time he encouraged me to get up and follow him to the kitchen and he made me an early breakfast.

  That evening after I took a shower, I wandered downstairs to watch some TV. My dad was on the phone though so I didn’t turn the TV on to make any noise. I could tell he was talking about me and some of what I was overhearing kind of scared me.

  “Yes, the nightmares are every night…occasional bed wetting…his heart rate is elevated…yes, exactly…no, he has an appetite…No, David, I don’t want to increase the dosage. Let’s try to manage it without increasing the medication. He’s only been away from those sick people for a few weeks. Let’s let him acclimate and then assess.”

  What was wrong with me?

  My dad got off the phone and saw that I was sitting on the couch within earshot.

  “Hey, Anthony,” he said as he sat down beside me. “How did your back do in the shower?”

  “Much better tonight.” I played with the hem of my shirt while I debated asking my dad what he was talking about. “Is something wrong with me?”

  “No, Anthony. You’ve suffered some traumatic events and we just need to help you recover.”

  I hated the phrase, “you’ve suffered some traumatic events.”

  “What’s wrong with my heart?”

  “Your rapid heart is brought on by anxiety. Anxiety can lead to this panic feeling you often have. It's normal and expected after what you've been through. The medication you’re on should help manage the anxiety.”

  “Will it make it stop?”

  He looked at me as if he was trying to decide on continuing. I didn't understand; if there was something to slow this down and calm me, why did he seem so set on me not having it?

  “High enough doses can potentially make it stop. It would numb you. As much as I want you to relax, I don't want you on these pills, Anthony. Don't get me wrong, for some people they can be very beneficial, but they can also lead to trouble. It’s masking a problem. Eventually, you'd realize that anytime something upset you or stressed you out, you'd turn to the magic pill. Soon, your body builds up a dependency to it and you need more and more of it to work.”

  “Can’t we just stop when I settle down?”

  “It’s not that easy, Anthony. These drugs are very addictive.”

  I frowned and looked away. I wouldn’t let myself get addicted.

  “So, my heart is ok?”

  “Yes. The anxiety, or the panicked feeling, elevates your heart rate. We need to work on stress management and work on ways for you to relax and get some suppressed anger out. I’m hoping that once we find something that helps, we can stop the low dose of the pills that you’re on.”

  “Good morning, Anthony,” my dad said as I sluggishly walked into the kitchen.

  “Hey,” I said and went to the cupboard to get cereal.

  With my bowl of cereal, I sat down and quickly began to eat. My dad was reading the paper and drinking coffee, so I kept my head down and quiet.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked.

  “Ok, I think. My back itches in a few places.”

  “The welts are healing and it’s probably dry. Come see me before you get dressed for the day and I’ll put some lotion on it.”

  He’d see me shirtless again.

  “It’s ok, Dad. Now that I’m up moving around, it doesn’t itch as much.”

  “Son, the lotion will help.”

  “I’m ok. I don’t need it.”

  “You don’t have to be afraid—”

  “I’m not afraid!” I blurted out.

  I wasn’t afraid…much. I didn’t want him to have to see my back again. I’d be at a disadvantage with him putting lotion on me.

  “Are you feeling up to doing a few errands with me today? I could use your help.”

  He wanted my help with something? I sat quietly and waited for some comment about being useless. It was just out of habit that I was waiting. Bruce and Connor always said stuff like that to me.

  “Sure.”

  “Ok, go get ready and before you put on your shirt, I want to put some lotion on your back.”

  My dad got up from the table and took his coffee mug to the dishwasher and then headed upstairs to get ready to go. I sighed and followed suit. I moved in slow motion to get ready and I was in the bathroom fixing my hair when my dad appeared in the doorway with some lotion. I was shirtless and looked down. Fuck.

  “Ready for some of the lotion? I can see where the edges are starting to flake a bit.”

  I could feel my heart pounding and just nodded. I put my
hands on the counter and concentrated on my tube of hair gel that sat next to the sink while he rubbed lotion on the welts. He was very cautious and gentle; I don’t know why I was so worried.

  “You’re healing up, Anthony. It’s looking much better back here. The bruises are fading too.”

  I nodded and quickly pulled on my t-shirt and then my sweatshirt.

  “You going to be warm enough in that?”

  “Yeah, I should be.”

  We went to a home improvement store and my dad asked me if I wanted to push the cart. I could handle that and wrapped my hands around the handle and pushed it next to my dad as we walked. I quietly let him guide the way and then he finally stopped in front of Christmas decorations.

  “Ok, Anthony. What you think, clear lights or colored ones?” he asked as he held up two boxes of Christmas tree lights.

  Christmas tree lights.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Anthony. Let’s do this together, son.”

  “What are we doing?”

  I abandoned the cart and moved closer.

  “We’re decorating a tree. We need lights and some ornaments.”

  My dad handed me the boxes of lights while he examined a few extension cords and surge protectors. I stared at the lights, unsure what to do. I’d never experienced anything Christmas-like at home. He tossed a few things in the cart and looked at me still holding the lights.

  “So, which ones would you like?”

  “The colored ones,” I said and held that box up.

  “Perfect, I was hoping you’d pick those too.”

  I put them along with a second box in the cart and followed my dad along the aisle. We picked out a box of silver ornaments, a star, and a tree skirt. As we walked past Christmas stockings, my dad put a plaid one in the cart. We went outside to the section where they had live Christmas trees and went up and down the aisles searching for the perfect tree. I was having fun looking at all of the trees, trying to decide what kind to get.

  “Hey, are you cold?” my dad asked.

  I shook my head and looked at him. He searched my eyes for a minute before stepping closer. I didn’t falter though and held my ground. He reached out, moved my hand away from my ear and tried to place his hand over my ear. I flinched and pulled away from him. His forehead was creased now and he placed his hand on my shoulder.

  “Relax, Anthony. Take a deep breath, son. I’m not going to hurt you. You’ve been rubbing at your ear since we’ve been outside. I was going to feel it to see if it felt cold.”

  “Oh.” I swallowed hard and nodded. “I’m sorry. I…I didn’t know what you were going to do.” I reached up and felt my ear; it didn’t feel cold to me. “It’s not cold, Dad,” I reported. “You can feel it, if you want to,” I offered.

  His warm hand cupped my ear and I could feel his thumb gently rub my ear. He touched a tender spot and I flinched again, but recovered and stayed still.

  “See, it’s not cold, huh?” I asked.

  “No, son. It’s not cold.”

  He looked sad for some reason, and I didn’t understand why. I thought he’d be happy that I wasn’t cold.

  When we got up to the counter with our cart and the Home Depot guy walking alongside us with our tree, the lady behind the counter asked if we were updating all of our Christmas stuff. My dad laughed and put his arm around me and said, “This is my first Christmas with my son.”

  The lady smiled at us and she asked me what was on my Christmas list. I didn’t know what to say, so I shrugged. I already got what I wanted; this Christmas I wouldn’t have to see Bruce or Connor. I had a warm bed to sleep in every night and food. As I watched my dad and the Home Depot guy tie the Christmas tree to the roof of my dad’s Mercedes, I decided that somehow, I need to thank him for everything he’s done for me.

  When we got home, my dad ordered pizza for delivery and we began putting our Christmas tree up. Before we took it in the house, he laid the tree on its side and got a drill from his workbench.

  “If we drill a few holes at the base of the tree, when we set it in the stand with the water, it will help the tree to absorb it. Then it’ll last longer and won’t dry out so fast,” he informed me.

  I nodded and helped him hold the tree trunk.

  “Ok, let’s go get the stand ready. I’ll put a large trash bag under the stand so if the water spills, it won’t get on the floor.”

  “Good idea,” I said.

  My dad was smart with this Christmas tree stuff.

  “We need to fill the tree stand with hot water. The heat will open up its pores, so to speak, and it will absorb more water.”

  I nodded and followed him into the kitchen. He knew a lot about Christmas trees and when I asked him where he learned all of it, he said his dad told him about it when he was younger. I didn’t want to get near the hot water but was eager to help with everything else. It was as though my dad remembered that I had a thing about hot water.

  “Here, I’ll handle the water, Anthony.”

  I backed out of his way and leaned against the counter and watched. Finally, the water was hot and he carried the pot of water to the living room and poured it into the tree stand. Soon we had the tree inside and in the stand. The lights went up next and then the ornaments and when we were done with that, the tree skirt went around the base.

  “There.” My dad said and stood back to admire our work. “What do you think?”

  “It looks great! I’ve never had a Christmas tree. This one is really neat.”

  I wanted to tell him more, but couldn’t seem to find my words.

  Over the next few days, I tried to come up with a way to thank my dad for everything. I didn't have money to buy him a gift. And even if I had, I didn't know what to get him. I started writing a note several times, but I wasn't sure if it justly conveyed what I wanted it to. I wanted to be able to give it to him, and each time I tried, I chickened out. I stared at it again and thought.

  Dad,

  Thank you for coming to get me in Las Vegas. I really like it here and thank you for the new clothes and food.

  I frowned and crumbled it up. That sounded stupid; thanks for clothes and food.

  Dad,

  Thank you for coming to get me and for not hitting me.

  Fuck. I can't give that to him either. I was frustrated with myself over not knowing how to even say a simple thank you. I forced myself to just write what was on my mind.

  Dad,

  Thank you for everything. I’m sorry if I am frustrating and seem to give you trouble. I don’t mean to. There are things I don’t like talking about and then there are things I don’t know how to talk about. I may not say it, but I’m grateful that you came for me and all that you’ve given me: the warm house and bed, my new clothes and the food, the band aids and medicine. I really like the plush football. It helps settle my stomach aches at night. I wish I had something to give you for Christmas.

  Anthony

  I read it a few times before folding it up and putting it into an envelope. After I sealed it up, I wrote his name on it and put the date in the lower corner of the envelope. This was the best that I could do.

  Christmas Eve brought us sitting in the living room watching Christmas movies with the glow of the Christmas tree lights as our only light. Like a little kid, I fell asleep on the couch while we watched movies and woke up hours later to movement next to me. Even if I were fast asleep, I would wake up at the slightest movement next to me. I jerked awake and my dad sat back down beside me and rubbed my shoulder.

  “It’s ok, Anthony. Just relax.”

  “Sorry, I just wake up when I feel movement next to me.”

  I looked away and at the tree lights.

  “I’m hoping that will settle down over time. You have nothing to fear here, Anthony.”

  I nodded and trudged off to bed.

  Christmas morning brought a surprise. I woke up and headed downstairs to the smell of pancakes. I had only had pancakes for the first ti
me while I was in the hospital, and I really enjoyed them. I followed the scent into the kitchen and my dad turned around to greet me.

  “Morning! Merry Christmas, Anthony.”

  “Merry Christmas,” I said and flopped down at the table.

  “Thought I’d make us some pancakes.”

  I devoured them and took care of the dishes and was going to go see what Christmas movies were on when my dad asked me if I saw the tree.

  “No, what happened to it? Did we forget the water?”

  I raced into the living room to check the water. I had been helping my dad check the water each day to make sure the tree stayed nice and green as long as possible. Had I fallen down on my responsibility?

  As I neared the tree, I saw presents and stopped in my tracks. Suddenly my dad was beside me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I think he detected my nervousness.

  “Easy, Anthony. There are just a few things.”

  Presents. My heart began to pound. Presents were sometimes offered to lure me into situations. And though I didn’t think my dad was doing it to lure me, all I could think about were prior times.

  “Come on, open them.”

  My dad guided me to the tree and he sat down on the couch as I slowly knelt to the floor. I didn’t need anything or want anything. I was away from Bruce and Connor; that’s all I needed and wanted.

  I was afraid to touch them. There were six presents under the tree, all wrapped in green paper with snowmen in it. They looked perfect. Eventually, my dad picked one up and handed it to me.

  “Anthony, they don’t bite. They’re just little gifts,” he said and rubbed on my shoulder.

  I needed to try to explain but I wasn’t sure how.

  “It’s just, in the past...well, I never had presents or got anything for Christmas, except the year you sent me my bear and the twenty dollars. But—” I stopped and turned the gift over gently in my hands.

  “But what, son?”

  I regretted having started this conversation now.