Bob And Weave

“Bob and weave, son.”

Benny Everett ducked under the slow swing of his dad’s meaty fist. This wasn’t a boxing lesson. This was a survival lesson. He was so focused on the fist, he didn’t see the foot.

Steven Everett’s engineer boot crashed into Benny’s knee, kicking the small boy’s leg out from under him. “Think you’re fast, dontcha, ya little puke.” The fully grown man faked a kick into Benny’s now exposed ribs and laughed as his son flinched. “Come inside when you’re done cryin’ like a bitch.”

Benny’s tears were silent. He’d learned bt the age of ten not to cry out loud. The hot trails of shame burned his flesh, and he could imagine them sizzling as they hit the soil. He thought about them boring their way into the Earth, like he wanted to. Whether it was to dig his own grave or just claw his way to another country, one where fathers didn’t beat their kids, he couldn’t say. Truthfully, he didn’t care. Either way would be an end to it.

“You shouldn’t let him do that to you.” The voice belonged to his next-door neighbor, Nora. She was a Freshman at Kennedy High, one year ahead of him. They were the same age, though.

If he’d wanted to die before, now he wanted to burst into flames. To turn into ash. To disintegrate into dust. Anything but to lie here and weep in front of a girl he wanted to date one day. All he could do was fold in further. Maybe he’d be like the Ouroborus and consume himself until he disappeared.

She knelt beside him, close enough for a flowery scent to overcome nasal tissue swollen shut by abuse and blood, fresh from God knew where. His nose? His scalp? His spleen? Could his spleen bleed?

“I can take care of him. I can make it so that he never hits you again.” The words weren’t a platitude. They were said with absolute conviction.

“What would you do, call the cops?” He wasn’t sure how much sense the words made through split lips and mashed gums.

“No. Not the police. I just need some of your blood. He’ll never beat you or anyone else again.” Now there was an edge to her voice.

A year ago. He and Nora had been in the same English class at King Middle. That had been when he’d fallen in love. It had also been when Mr. Peacock, their teacher, had given Benny an F.

“Ain’t no fairy gonna flunk my son, even if you are a good for nothin’ just like your Ma.” Dad had gone to give Mr. Peacock a lesson on the old bob and weave. Mr. Peacock had to lay out for the rest of the semester. The F had stood, because of course it had. Beating the shit out of a teacher wouldn’t raise a grade. In fact, Benny’s grades had taken a nosedive in the rest of his classes, and that was when the “survival lessons” began in earnest.

No one could prove it was Mr. Everett who had given Mr. Peacock the beating. Mr. Peacock wasn’t interested in pressing charges anyway, from what Benny had heard.

Nora pushed the hair out of his eyes. “I can make him pay for it all.”

Benny looked up at her.

Pale skin was a sharp contrast to her jet black hair and dark clothes. She wasn’t a goth, but there was still something about her that drew comparisons to the kids who listened to depressing music and hung out on the edges of scholastic society. He didn’t travel in her circles, given that their schools were miles and a grade apart. Still, he had a friend he was also separated from, thanks to being held back, Johnny Owle. Johnny had called her “witchy” once.

That had almost led to a fist fight. That was before Johnny had clarified he meant “as in actual Mayfair witch” and not “as in bitch”. They’d been reading the Anne Rice horror books when other kids had been reading the Potter stories.

“Don’t kill him, though. I want him to suffer.” He didn’t have a clue what Nora was capable of, but she nodded.

“Me too.” She pulled out a little test tube with a Q-tip in it. “I have permission to take your blood?”

He nodded. Why in the world did she even carry that with her? Then it occurred to him. She had been watching him get his ass beat for about ten minutes. There was time to prepare. For some reason, that sent a cold chill down his spine.

“I need you to say it out loud.”

“Take my blood and use it against that son of a bitch.”

Again, she nodded. With calculated ease, she wiped some blood from the corner of his mouth onto the cotton swab. Then, she put it back into the tube, capping it. “It won’t happen right away. You may have to endure another beating.”

“It’ll be worth it.”

She kissed him on the cheek, and then she helped him to his feet.

~~~~

As it happened, he didn’t need to go through another lesson. He came home from school a few days later to find the old man on his side in the middle of the driveway. Foam specks gathered at the corner of his mouth.

Terror gripped him. At the moment, he didn’t give a thought to his conversation with Nora. He grabbed his dad’s phone and called 911. The EMTs got there after about eight minutes. He knew because that phone never left his hand. He couldn’t unlock it. All he could do was stare at the clock and try to ignore the sounds his dad made.

A stroke. That’s what the doctors said. It made sense, given the three packs a day, two fifths of liquor, and 3 cases of beer a week habits Steven Everett had.

Benny and Nora knew better. She’d done it with his blood.

It meant he had to go stay with his Mom’s sister in Nebraska. She was weird, but not in a bad way. He and Nora kept in touch. They went to each other’s proms. He had been able to catch up to the right grade after the move. College drew them apart, but they would always have that trickle of blood to bind them.

No matter how he bobbed and weaved through life, he carried that dark secret. And he survived.