The Faceless One

Having beaten my brother unconscious, the monster now turns his attention to me. His meaty paws, dripping red with the blood of my sibling, swings wildly, grazing my temple with enough force to knock me down. It really doesn't take much for a two-hundred-pound monster to push around an eighty-five-pound kid, and by monster I mean my stepfather.

A sharp blare of a siren wakes me. Same dream, for years I managed to block those memories, now for some reason they return. The ground, damp with morning dew, chills me to my very core. I already feel muscles cramping at the very thought of moving. But once the sun rises we have no choice but to pack up and move on. Through blurry eyes I am aware of the police presence, marching up and down rushing us along. God forbid the commuters rushing to work should have to gaze upon this sorry pathetic lot. In truth their eyes stay focused on the road ahead, they ignore us faceless ones.

In truth most of the officers are kind, some even hand out energy bars to those in real need.

I am told there was a saying years ago that mentions children should be seen but not heard, or something like that. Our stepfather preferred not to see or hear children. That is until it was time to vent the frustrations of his pathetic life on us. It didn't matter what we did or didn't do, he sought us out, while our drugged-up mom would watch in haze of surrealism, not knowing if it was a dream, and definitely not caring if it was real. If she felt it were real, that would make her face the fact that she's a shitty mom, who made sure to tell us the only thing we were good for were the government checks she received for our keep.

But that was then, this is now.

I can roll up my tent, fill my backpack with my meager belongings and be in line for the free coffee and day-old bagel in under thirty minutes. I always hope there is a chocolate chip one, those are a rarity. It's like winning the lottery, if I get one of those my day is already bright and beautiful.

Another siren wails in the distance, breaking the morning calm. We stand in silence as the high pitch whine gets closer. Soon, we see the ambulance arrive. Peering through the corner of our eyes while looking down so as not to stare, but curiosity is strong. We wonder who never made it through the night. My heart skips a beat and my throat swells as I realize it's the professor. We watch as they bring the body out of the tent and place her on a stretcher.

No one really knows who we were in our former life, most keep that a secret. Rumor has it, she taught at the university before mental stress and addiction ruined her life, some say the death of her child caused her to lose her mind. Anyway, that‘s the rumor. Mine is that I broke out of every Juvie detention center I was placed in, for selling. Not true, I’ve never been arrested, and don’t do drugs. But it keeps people around me honest.

I watch as they proceed to slide her body into the back of the vehicle, with as much care as if they were picking up trash. I'll miss her, she always shared her books or read to those who were no longer capable. If any one needed help with forms to fill or a legal question answered, the professor was there with a smile and the patience of an angel.

It was the professor who taught me, everything from math to English and a little science. She insisted on giving me lessons, even when I didn’t want too. I hadn’t seen her as often lately, ever since I got a janitorial job at the university, which I am sure she had something to do with. Her last words to me were after our discussion on economics. It was the first time I saw the mother she was meant to be. I swear there was love in her eyes, like a real mom would gaze upon her child, not that I would recognize that look. She smiled and spoke. "Kid, you’re too smart to remain here. Let go of what ever is holding you back and take a chance on yourself and give others a chance. You're capable of more than just pushing a broom. Don’t end up like me.” She then handed me a piece of paper with a name penciled on it.

That was three days ago.

I took a step out of line to go to her when a powerful force upon my chest stopped me cold. From the massive size of the hand, I didn’t need to guess who blocked my way, it was Andre, nicknamed after some wrestler, so I heard. We all have nicknames, it’s what we do. No one uses their real names. We are the nameless ones the world would rather not see or hear about.

Looking up, way up, I watch as he slowly shakes his bulbous head. “Professor’s gone kid, they're only removing her shell. Remember her as she was.” Tilting his chin in the direction of the ambulance he continues. “Not like that.”

Everyone heard, and as one we form a line again, like nothing has changed, but it did for me.

In silence we move, one step at a time, until a voice snaps me back to reality. Glancing up, a lady with super white teeth hands me a large coffee and a little brown bag, with a smile she winks. “There is a piece of fruit as well as a bagel today, enjoy.” I move along.

Sipping on the hot beverage, my mind reels. This is not the first death I've experienced. Unfortunately, it won’t be my last. My mind strays back to how I got here. It took years of abuse before I decided to leave home at thirteen. I have no idea where my brother is, if my mother‘s still alive or an overdose finally won the battle. Six years of struggling to survive on my own left little time for personal sorrow. Yet, the loss of the professor left this hollow feeling in my soul, a piece of me feels like it has been torn and tossed away, and I cannot explain why.

Therefore, it comes as quite the shock when I recognize a voice from my past that instantly sends shivers through me. My body begins to sweat and shake like it always did when his drunken voice echoed in our home. Furiously swiveling my head around trying to pinpoint the sound, I see him, the monster, my stepfather. He is standing in the alley staring into a window, yelling like a mad man for someone to let him in.

Anger fuels my decision to march down the lane and confront the man who abused me for years. I am no longer that tiny frightened young child, years of physical labor and fighting to survive have made me more than capable of dishing out retribution to this piece of shit.

I set my items down and prepare to face him. Suddenly the world grows small, shrinking down to this narrow street, the noise from outside dims to an incoherent hum. The slap of my boots hitting the pavement echo off the walls of the enclosed space. From deep inside I feel a fire burn, growing with every step. I watch as this man with greasy long thinning hair rages on.

Grabbing his collar, I spin him around so quickly he stumbles to his knees, with little resistance.

It feels as if every anger that is in me comes forth. There is heat upon my neck, my heart pounds hard against my chest, my throat is so dry it's hard to swallow. I feel the tightness of my tendons as fingers clench together. Before I can say anything I hear him whimper.

His body shakes like a wet dog, as he tries to stand, with shoulders hunched he whispers. “I’m sorry if I bothered you, I’m just trying to go home.”

“Home?”

Bringing his hands to his chest like some kind of prayer he looks at me, a more frightened look I have not seen. His eyes dart about in confusion while thin lips tremble as he tries to speak. Pointing to the window he says in a voice like a child. “That’s my home, and I can’t get in. The door’s locked.”

Instead of punching him I yell. “Gary, that’s not your home it’s a delivery door for a business, you fucking idiot.”

Cringing, he shakes his head, runs back to the window, and begins crying. “Mom, open the door, it's me….please mom.”

Part of me wants to come up behind him and smash his head into the brick wall until he shuts up. Instead, I slowly walk to him, take a deep breath, and ask. “Gary, where’s my mom, and Tom…Gary where are they?”

A blank look of confusion crosses his grey stubbled face, he then says a most bizarre thing. “Are you my mom's new boyfriend?”

The adrenaline with in me vanishes, my legs go weak, and my body shivers as my aggression fades away. Stepping back, for the first time I take a good look at him. Gone are the muscles that gave strength to the hands that beat me, gone are the eyes that burned red with rage, instead they are as yellow as his sallow skin. His face is sunken like the rest of his body. Rotting teeth and bloodied gums fill a mouth that once spouted profanities, but now can’t form a coherent sentence.

I gazed into the face of the man who tormented me for years and realize that man is gone, the monster vanquished. In his place is a frail person who no longer knows who or where they are.

Just like that, my anger vanishes, all the hate inside disappears. Anxiety that ruled my life dissipates. Like the professor, here one day and gone the next. I now know this pathetic creature will not be my destiny. There is no longer anything holding me back.

My life begins today.

Gently, I reach for him, taking his hand I lead him down the alley. In a soothing voice I assure him. “Gary, come with me, I‘m taking you home.”

“Really, you’ll take me?”

I nod my head, "Yes."

And like a lost child he follows me. The paramedics are still on site. I stay with him, as they wrap a blanket around his frail shoulders. One of them asks if I know him. I shake my head and walk away.

Soon, I find myself by the entrance to the alley where my life changed. My backpack and coffee are still here. Picking them up I sit on a set of stairs and sip the now lukewarm caffeine, it's delicious. Opening the paper bag, I peer inside and see a bruised banana and a chocolate chip bagel.

Reaching in my pocket, I pull out a crumpled piece of paper and feel a smile form upon my face and whisper. " You're right professor, it's time to prove I am capable of more that just pushing a broom."

It's going to be a bright and beautiful day.

****************************************

Thank you,

Jason