The Brat Pack

Early Wednesday morning, April 11, 1984. The Bender Household, Shermer, Illinois.

The first time Bender ran away was three hours after his family had moved from Chicago. It had been a windy day; he snuck out his bedroom window in a jean jacket and took off. His hair was longer then.

He hugged himself tightly as he walked, keeping his head down. The wind stung where it connected with his skin. Something along the sidewalk caught his eye and as he neared it he realized it was a five dollar bill, half-buried beneath some leaves. He grabbed it and shoved it in his pocket, continuing on.

He stopped at the first diner he came across and went inside, teeth chattering. He approached a waitress behind the counter and asked her for a cup of hot chocolate, setting the bill in front of her. She looked at him sadly and made him a cup, telling him to keep the change. Then she hurried to the back and used the payphone to dial the police.

They turned up when Bender was halfway through with his drink, an officer sitting on either side of him. They questioned him with friendly smiles but he stayed quiet, his father's words echoing in his head – never trust the police.

When he finished, Bender quietly confessed to them he didn't know his address. One of officers put a few bills on the counter and they led him out to their car, putting him in the back. They drove around for half an hour, Bender pointing out some of the different places he passed. Eventually they found his neighborhood and then his street. When they did, Bender began to cry in the back.

One officer stayed in the car with Bender while the other went to speak to his father. Dale Bender calmly, and with a smile, explained that his son was simply upset about having to move and apologized for any inconvenience he had caused. That smile stayed plastered on his face until the officers were gone. When they were, Dale marched his son out back and picked up a decent sized tree branch, taking Bender inside and beating him with it. Dale told Bender that if the cops ever showed up like that again, it'd be to take his dead body to the morgue.

Later that night, after Bender had finished crying, he took the screen out of his window in case he ever had to make a quick getaway. The following week he would cut his hair and use the five dollar bill to buy two packs of cigarettes off some kid; it was the first time he ever smoked.


Bender stares over at the window, the five year old memory still fresh in his mind. He reaches down and grabs up the watch next to his bed, groaning when he sees there's not enough time to go back to sleep. He drops the watch and plops back down onto his pillows, pulling his blankets up to his chin and curling up underneath them. He stays like that for a few minutes, watching the sun begin to rise outside, before he tosses the blankets off with a huff. He shivers as he sits up, his room filled with chilly morning air, and heads over to the closet, picking up some clothes from the floor and sniffing them to see if they're clean. He makes a mental note to do laundry soon as he crawls across his bed and into his en suite, or as Craig likes to call it, his "en shit."


Bender steps out of his boxers and into the hot water of the shower, sighing despite himself. The bathroom is small and certainly nothing to brag about; one toilet, one sink, one cracked mirror above said sink, a tiny shower stall built into the corner, one small towel rack, and no windows with a dim, flickering light to boot. It's shit but Bender guesses that's what he deserves – shit for being a piece of shit.

Bender quickly washes his hair and body and gets out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist. He goes over to the sink and stares at himself in the mirror, grimacing at the dark circles under his eyes. He pulls the mirror open to reveal a medicine cabinet, grabbing a dull razor and some shaving cream. He shaves his face and finishes toweling off, looking himself over in the mirror before he pulls his clothes on and heads for the kitchen.

Bender stops when he sees his mother cooking at the stove and takes a deep breath, forcing a smile as he walks into the room. "Morning, Ma," he says, making her jump.

She turns around and watches him silently, her brown bangs falling in her dark eyes. Bender clears his throat and heads to the fridge, pulling out the carton of orange juice, his mother's eyes following him the entire time. A loud bang makes them both jump as Dale Bender emerges from the other bedroom, a cigar hanging between his lips. His eyes train on Bender, who swallows the lump in his throat and closes the fridge, his hands shaking.

Karen Bender makes a squeaking noise and turns back to the stove, paying attention to her burning pancakes. Dale walks up to his son and snatches the carton from his hands, slamming it down on the counter. He blows smoke into his son's face and crosses his arms, licking his large lips.

"The fuck you been, boy?" his father asks, his voice low, dangerous.

Bender swallows again and searches his father's face. He can't lie. The man isn't an idiot, and he's always one step ahead of Bender. Bender knows it already: he's fucked.

"You hear me? I said where you been?" Dale snaps, his wife quickly handing him a glass. He shoots her a look and pours out the orange juice, more slopping over the side of the cup than in it.

"Quincy," Bender says, his mouth getting dry. He clears his throat again. "I went to Quincy."

Dale drops onto one of the bar stools, taking another drag of his cigar. He seems too big to fit on it; Bender has been waiting for the day one snaps underneath his fat ass.

"What were you doing in Quincy?" his father asks.

Lie, Bender thinks. Lie. It's the only chance you've got.

"I went to a party."

His father takes another drag, then a sip of his juice, smacking his lips. "I never been to no party that starts at eight o'clock in the fucking morning, Johnny boy."

Bender licks his lips and shrugs. "It's a two hour ride," he says, regretting it when his father looks at him. "We went, we hung out, we partied. Some big fucking house belonging to some bitch. Her rich folks were outta town, she let us hit it up."

Another drag. "Yeah? Who'd you go with?" his father asks.

"Some kids I met at the store. They lent me a lighter, invited me with them."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The next thing Bender knows, he's being cracked across the face by his father. "Don't you fucking lie to me, boy!" his father yells in his face.

Bender rubs his cheek and looks at his father, his breathing picking up from anger.

"I ain't lying! The fuck I gotta lie for, huh?"

"Watch it, boy. You're in deep enough shit as it is." His father points to the phone. "I got a call from the school at work saying you never showed up. Bunch of pricks talking to me like I don't know how to raise my kid, telling me you got detention now because of this, like I don't get it."

Bender swallows again and stares at his father, unsure what to say. An apology will get his ass beat. So will not saying anything at all. Bender opens his mouth to respond when his father narrows his eyes, turning Bender's head and grabbing at his ear, pulling it.

"What is that in your ear?" he asks, letting go and staring at Bender.

Bender's hand drifts up and touches the earring Claire gave him. Shit.

He shrugs and his father's face turns red. "You some fag now, huh?" he asks, grabbing at the collar of Bender's shirt and yanking him close. "You some fag now!" he yells.

"No, Dad, I'm not!" Bender yells back, but he knows it's too late.

"I won't tolerate that shit, do you hear me boy? I won't tolerate no gay shit going on in this house or I swear to God I'll pound your ass."

"I bet the little fag gets it pounded every night, anyway," his mother jokes.

Bender's father turns his head, very slowly, to look at his wife. He lets Bender go and Bender backs up against the fridge, his heart beating a million miles an hour. They all stare at one another before his father throws his hand out and cracks his mother across the face, sending her stumbling back a couple steps.

"Who the fuck asked you, bitch?!" his father snarls, and Bender knows his chance is now or never.

He dashes across the kitchen and into his bedroom, shutting the door and sticking a chair underneath the handle. He pulls his boots on as fast as he can, struggling to get his jackets on. He can hear his father still screaming in the kitchen and his mother crying as he shoves open the window and climbs through it, taking off down the street just like he did four years ago. As he runs, his hand drifts up to touch the earring Claire gave him.

And he realizes he misses her now more than ever.