Take This To Heart

I thought about running away, but that thought entered my mind accompanied when thoughts of my childhood. I didn’t get it. I’d been doing so well blocking my past, making my future, but now, everything was falling apart. I sat in fear and hatred as I watched the scenes flashed through my head, helpless to stop them.

Dad beating me. Me taking my first hit of speed. And me running away.

It was November 22, 2004. I was nine and Dad decided to go out for a few drinks.

Christine was pretty sick, but she fixed me some dinner. After I ate, it was about 8:00 PM and already dark, but I wanted to go for a walk. I forgot my jacket, I don’t remember why, some stupid reason and when I got home, Dad was home, too.

I knocked and I remember shivering so hard that my teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. He came to the door, but told me the only way he’d let me come in was if I stopped chattering.
I couldn’t. It was too cold and my fingers were turning blue. I, however, should have expected it in New York at that time. So why had I forgotten my coat?

He took of his belt in a threatening way, but after a moment, he replaced it on his hips and said that I needed to take my hits like a man, not a kid. What he was saying meant no more belt. Instead, a few moments later, I was on the ground and he was kicking me in the ribs. I curled up in a ball and closed my eyes tightly. When he finally, stopped and shut the door, I still lay there and whimpered as snow fell down and covered me.

When the snow numbed the pain, I stood up, careful to avoid any unnecessary pain. After I stood, I didn’t know what to do. Going in was out of the question. I turned to opposite direction and still shivering, I shuffled my way through the snow.

My shirt was soaked through, along with my ratty Converses that Mom had bought me in a second hand store. My jeans were damp, not soaked, but just a little wet and a little cold.

I must have walked for three hours straight, because after a while, I didn’t even know where I was at, but that wasn’t unusual. Buffalo was a big city and I’d happened before, but I’d never gotten lost in the fall…when it was snowing. It had always been in summer…and I’d always made it back home. This time, nevertheless, I was sure I’d freeze to death before anyone found me.

That’s when I met Mikey, this really cool guy that was a few years older than me and totally gay. I mean 100%, but he knew drugs. My digital watch was flashing two in the morning and 16 degrees. I bumped into Mikey when he passed, smoking a joint bundled up in an Aeropostal Hoodie, a grey scarf and a grey beanie complete with grey skinny jeans. His dark brown hair was streaked purple and I immediately liked him. He seemed laid back and it wasn’t until a few hours later that I’d found out how laid back he was.

After I bumped into him, he turned around and started to cuss me out for not watching were I was going. When he saw what I looked like, he stopped his rant and asked what had happened to me and why I didn’t have a jacket.

I shrugged it off, muttered a “No reason,” and walked away. I tripped a few steps later, but recovered; he stared at me skeptically.

“You OK?” He asked.

I coughed. Once. Twice. “Yeah. Fine.” Up ahead, I noticed an alley and ducked into it, shielding myself from the wind chill effect.

He fallowed. “Dude? I gotta blunt. Want it?”

I looked up. My thoughts were slowed by the cold. I shook my head. He sighed.

“Fallow me.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me up from the dirt and filth I had sat in.

Hopeless, I fallowed him. There, walking with him to this underground rave, he became my first real friend. I found out his name and that his parents had kicked him out when he admitted that he was gay. He never mention being beaten, so I began to wonder if it was something common I was going though, or rare. But either way, I deserved everything I got.
Later on in the night, I bunked with him at this old warehouse and when he kept begging me to try a hit off a blunt or snort some speed, I was ready to talk about my abused past; I asked him about it: if abuse was normal.

“So that’s what that bruise on your face is from…” he muttered more to himself than anyone else. I looked away before answering.

“Yeah…I guess.”

He laughed. “You guess? Dude, either you got hit or you didn’t. And from the bruise on your cheek, you got hit.” He was quite. “Did he hurt you any other places?”

I shook my head, but it was hesitant. He knew I was lying. “Fess up.” He encouraged.

At a loss for words, I pulled up my shirt and let him see my bruised ribs. Discoloration was starting to become natural in that area. Instead of the contusion, I found him eyeing an older scar that had been caused by my dad’s belt buckle.

“Whoa….” He was at a loss for words now, but I just shrugged it off.

“You got anyone who knows about that?”

I shook my head, but then said, “My sister does. She takes care of me when it happens, but…” I drifted off.

“But you don’t speak about things that happen in the house, huh?” He question was exactly what I was about to say. I nodded.

I quickly changed the subject. “So what about you? Where you from?”

He smiled. “I’m from Chicago and when my parents through me out, I ran away here. My boyfriend ran away with me, too, but a few months ago and we had a big fight because he wanted to go steal some money and I disagreed and we just…” He fluttered his hand in a way that made me think that he’d moved on.

I nodded.

Everything went quite, but I shivered again. Mikey noticed and shrugged out of his hoodie before handing it to me. He took of his scarf too, and his beanie. I refused to take them at first, but when he wouldn’t shut up about it, I took it. He shut up and it was moments before his voice broke the silence again.

“Hey, Phoenix?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

I was confused.“For what?” My voice was filled with confusion.

He laughed. “You’re the first friend I’ve had in a long time. And besides, it’s funnier to get high when you have a friend doing it with you.”

I nodded, even though he could barely see me in the dimly lit warehouse. “Thanks to you, too. Thanks for my first high.”

I could feel him smiling. “Your welcome.”

Silence.

“Hey Phoenix?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you going to remember me…I mean, later on?”

I looked at him like he was crazy. “Duh.” The answer was simple. “You’re my best friend at the moment.”

I could feel him smiling again.

“Yeah, I won’t forget you, either.” He looked at the jacket he’d given me. “Keep warm.” The last line seemed to have a slight hint of sadness kept in it.

“I will.” I assured him.

Something was up. Mikey knew something I didn’t.

I blinked my eyes hard, trying to dispel the image of Mikey, dead the next morning.

He was cold as ice and in the morning, I remember finding him that way so I shed off his jacket quickly and his scarf and hat. I must have stood there for hours, crying, and looking at his body when a few police came and scoped out the area.

When they saw me and the body, they raised their guns and told me not to move, I did, though. I ran. Guns didn’t settle well with me and the prospect of them sending me to my dad’s house again. They told me to stop, but I kept running…until I clipped my knee on one of the wooden crates that filled the warehouse. The sharp pain caused my knee to buckle and I tumbled to the ground. I knew I was done for. I couldn’t get away now. I couldn't even get up. The pain in the knee only made it worse.

When they got to me, I was crying even harder and whimpering, fearing that they’d kick me while I was down…like my dad did. I closed my eyes, waiting for the blow.

“C’mon, kid…” One of them tried to pull me up by my arm, grabbing my wrist, but I let out a yelp and he dropped me in alarm. “What?” He asked, cautious.

I didn’t answer, I glared up at him with my last remaining strength. My breaths came out ragged.

He made another move to pull me up. I pulled myself away from his touch. “Don’t touch me!” I demanded.

He looked shocked at my tone and glanced down at my knee. He looked at his partner and knelt down beside me, gradually touching my knee. I yelped again and slid away from him. “I said, don’t touch me!”

“I think you popped you’re knee out of place, buddy.” He grimaced. “Does it hurt a lot?”

I bared down my teeth as a throbbing pain started to set in. “No. I'm just peachy.” His faux concern only fueled my hatred.

He looked up at his partner, who just stared back at him before pulling out a walkie talkie.

He began to explain to someone else my condition and their situation. An unclear voice answered. Static filled the air.

The man looked back at me. “Is your name Phoenix Envy?”

I glared at him, fear spreading throughout my body. I hesitated. “No,” I lied.

He looked skeptical and replied “Yes,” into the black device.

“I said no!” I yelled. “I don’t want to go back there! I said no!”

His partner looked astonished. “So that is your name…but you don’t want to go back home?”

I didn’t answer. I just grimaced at the pain that was shooting from my knee into the rest of my body.

The policeman with the walkie-talkie looked worried. “We need an ambulance out here, pronto.”

“RO24, an ambulance is being sent right away.” The static voice answered.

When they arrived, I was shaking harder than I ever had before. I’d never liked doctors and I certainly didn’t like them in the state I was in, hung over from the high last night, shook over Mikey’s death, and beaten, sore, and unable to walk by myself.

Two other police arrived and zipped Mikey up in a body bag.

I, however, was given a wet rag to scream into as one of the medical squad doctors prepared to pop my knee back into place. I was too concentrated about the pain that I didn’t noticed them roll up my pant leg to pop it back into place. In that position, they could see quite a few of the blows id’ received to my legs when Dad kicked me. After that, they gave me a small dose of morphine to kill the pain and told me I’d be able to resume normal activities like walking and running with in six months.

A month later, after the incident, Christine and me were both removed from our house and placed here. One year after that, Dad is sent to prison.

…And years later…here I am: A failure just like my dad, a murderer just like Al Capone, and dead…just like Jade and Mikey.