Play The Field.

It should have been a normal day. It was the last day of school before the Christmas holidays and Frank and I spent most of the day devouring candy canes and thinking of ways to catch Santa in the act of delivering presents. When we got home, stomachs full of complimentary chocolate, we parted our separate ways. I had wanted Frank to come over but he said his mom wanted him home to celebrate Christmas early.

I should have known something was up. Linda barely ever left the house and when she did, she didn't look to be in any mood to celebrate. Even when she smiled, the corners of her mouth stayed down in a permanent frown. She was quite ugly, although Gerard and Joey used other descriptive words to describe her.

"What a miserable cunt," Gerard said when I walked through the front door. Looking back over my shoulder, I could see Linda quickly ushering Frank inside. Her hair was frizzy and stuck out like the mane of a lion.

"What's that mean?" I asked. Gerard shook his head, chuckling. Beside him, Joey snickered as well. Mom had let Gerard stay home for the day, even though I had to go. I didn't think it was fair but apparently, older brothers had privileges I didn't. I was barely in the door for five minutes before Mom asked if I wanted to go to the YMCA to play some indoor soccer. The words had barely left her mouth before I had changed into my shorts and bright yellow shirt from my summer team. I was full of energy and starving to play soccer; it had been weeks since I'd been able to play. I'd tried to run a drill inside but after I smashed the window of the microwave, Mom had kiboshed that idea.

The group playing at the YMCA consisted of twenty kids who ranged from age five to age ten. I didn't like having to constantly vary my playing style, depending on who else was on the field but nonetheless, it felt amazing to get rid of so much pent up energy. Gerard and Joey had come with and were sitting on the bleachers, giggling together. I knew that they were probably making comments about the women watching their kids play. Gerard had gotten quite rude but I tried to ignore him. He hadn't been mean to me since smashing my face into the door so I just tried not to listen to him.

For two hours, I ran back and forth down the gym, snatching the ball any chance I got and driving toward the net. Usually, I was a better team player but I just wanted to run. One of the boys on the opposite team, a burly nine year old I had never seen before, seemed to have a personal vendetta against me. Every time I went near him, even if I didn't have the ball, he'd elbow me in the ribs or shove me. It got increasingly bad as the time ticked away but I used the same method I did with my brother; I just tried to ignore him.

The two hours were almost up when he threw me to the ground. Less than thirty seconds remained and I had the ball, propelling it forward with my feet as I ducked around the defense men. We weren't counting goals but nonetheless, I wanted the last one. The goalie was straight-faced, ready to grab it, when the boy appeared out of nowhere. His stubby fingers grabbed the front of my shirt and he yanked as hard as he could, easily uprooting me and slamming me to the ground. All the breath in my body left in one swoosh, leaving me clutching my chest and gasping. To this day, I think that it is one of the most painful experiences one could ever go through. My chest refused to contract and I curled into the fetal position, tears rolling down my face. I could hear my mom yelling my name but I couldn't answer her. Above her voice though, I could hear Gerard scream at the top of his lungs.

"You motherfucker!" As I turned, I saw him leap on top of the boy, slamming him into the ground and bringing his fist back. Mom arrived just in time, grabbing Gerard's wrist and yanking him up despite his protests. Joey lingered in the background, odd little smirk on his face. Everyone in the room was staring at me and I knew I was turning red as Mom picked me up. Although the kid was just sitting up and looked like he was in pain, he couldn't resist some parting words.

"That's what little punks get."

It wasn't the last time I'd hear those words. By the time we reached the car in the massive parking lot, I was able to breath again, although my entire chest still hurt. Gerard and Joey both sat in the back with me, allowing me to lean on them.

"Thank you Gee," I said when I could talk above a whisper. Despite the fact I used his pet name, he smiled and rubbed my head gently.

"No problem Mikes. That's what I'm here for."

Dad had just gotten home from work when we got back and he checked me over to make sure I hadn't cracked a rib or anything. Once we established that I didn't need to go to the hospital, I laid on the couch and watched cartoons until they turned into the news. Even then, I didn't leave the couch. Instead, I just laid there and thought. I didn't understand what I had done to make the other boy angry. We had both been playing soccer after all; was he just mad that I had been playing better than him?

I didn't have long to ponder. Over the noise of the television, I became aware of a noise at the front door. It sounded like scratching and I thought that it might have been a stray cat. Getting up with the intention of scaring it away, I opened the door and lost my breath all over again.

Frank was lying on the step, shivering. His bare hands were clutching the doorstep and I realized he must have been trying to get the attention of someone in our house. His black hair covered his face but I could hear his sobs.

"Mikey, help me," he whispered, straining to pull himself up into the entryway. For only a brief second, I could see his eyes. He was terrified.

Then he was unconscious and I was screaming.

***

We had barely sat down in the waiting room when the doctor called us in, looking at Frank with no emotion. Mom had broken the speed limit the entire way to the hospital while I sat in the back seat, trying to wake Frank up. It had been impossible to see the extent of his injuries until we got into the garishly lit waiting room. Frank was only wearing pajamas and the top was covered in blood that had dripped from his split lip. His ankle was swollen and twisted at an angle that made me sick. Only me and Mom had gone with; Dad had stayed behind with Joey and Gerard.

Frank still hadn't woken up when he was laid down on the hospital bed, looking so incredibly small. As soon as the doctor touched his ankle however, he bolted awake, screaming before his eyes even opened.

"It hurts!" His arm flailed out and I took his hand, holding it tightly as the doctor continued to poke and prod. When he moved onto Frank's lip, he stayed quiet, squeezing my hand so tightly I lost circulation. After scribbling some stuff down on his clipboard, the doctor wiped the blood from Frank's face and turned to my mother. Even though they were speaking quietly, I could still hear them.

"Is this your child?"

"No. He lives across the street but he showed up on our doorstep like this." The doctor nodded and turned back to Frank, smiling.

"How did this happen?" he asked him, kneeling beside the bed so that they were on the same level.

"I fell down the stairs," Frank whispered. I couldn't help but find this unusual; Frank didn't have any stairs that I could remember. Maybe he had meant the basement stairs? The doctor nodded again and patted him on the head.

"I know it hurts a lot, but you should be fine. Your ankle is just twisted, so it'll hurt for a few days but as long as you don't walk on it too much, you'll be okay. I'm going to give you a cold pack and that should make the swelling go down a little bit, okay?" Smiling, he gestured for my mother to follow him out into the main room. As soon as the curtain closed behind them, I climbed up beside Frank and let him cry on me. His fingers clutched at my jacket and I could see that his fingernails had been bitten right down to the quick.

He didn't speak and neither did I. I just held him. It was a mechanism I employed many more times.