Play The Field.

The New Year began with absolute chaos. The perfection of Christmas was forgotten only three days later, when Linda Iero came back home from wherever she had been. Frank and I had been sitting on the living room floor, idly playing with our action figures, when we both heard a car come to a stop outside. Sitting up and peeking out the window, I could see that a beige sedan had pulled into the driveway opposite; Frank's driveway. When Frank looked as well, I could see his eyes light up as he recognized the walking skeleton stepping out of the passenger seat.

"Mommy!" he shrieked and before I had even risen to my feet, he was dashing out the door barefoot and in his pajamas. Across the road, as the car backed out of the driveway, Linda just looked at him wearily, wincing as he tackled her legs. I obviously couldn't hear what they were saying but the conversation didn't seem to be going well; Frank's tiny hands were balled up into fists at his sides and Linda was running a hand through her frizzy hair, which looked awfully thin. Eventually, as they continued to talk, I could tell that she was yelling at him; even through the window, I could hear the muted tone of her voice.

Then she hit him.

The moment seemed to happen in slow motion. I didn't even comprehend at first that anything was going to happen; indeed, I barely noticed that Linda had raised her right hand to about the height of her head. But then it came crashing down, sailing into the side of Frank's face and snapping his head towards my direction. Flecks of blood flew from his lip and landed on the snow. I must have been screaming, although I couldn't hear the noise coming from my mouth; to my mind, the world had gone completely silent. Frank fell to the ground, which was when my mom came into the living room, drawn by the screams I hadn't known existed.

"Mikey? Darling, what's wrong?" she asked and all I could do was point across the road, where Frank was lying in the snow, bawling his eyes out. Linda, on the other hand, was already heading inside, seemingly oblivious to how horrific her actions were.

"Stay here," she said firmly, stepping into her boots and stomping across the street. Despite what she had said, I moved from the window to the open front door, watching as she scooped Frank up into her arms and brought him back across the road. Frank was still bawling hysterically and when she stepped through the front door, I could see that his lip had completely split, leaving blood to trickle down his chin and onto his new pajamas.

"Mikey, stay here with Frank," she commanded, setting him gently on the floor beside me before heading off into the kitchen. Moments later, I could hear her on the telephone with someone and I turned my attention to Frank. He was still sobbing, leaning against the couch with his head in his hands.

"Frankie, please don't cry," I said, pulling him close to me. "Its okay."

"No it isn't." His words were almost lost in my shoulder and I really didn't know how to respond. He was right, of course. It wasn't okay, not in the slightest; it wasn't okay that such a wonderful boy was getting hurt and it definitely wasn't okay that it was his own mother that was the one doing all the hurting. It completely defied the very definition of okay... and there was absolutely nothing that I could do about it.

When she was done on the telephone, Mom came back in with a bottle of peroxide and some cotton balls. She made me hold Frank tightly as she dabbed at his torn lip, making him whimper. Even I winced a bit as the wound hissed.

"Frank, I called Child Services," she said slowly as she continued to gently wipe at the cut. "They're going to come and ask you a few questions. Is that okay?" He nodded slowly, although I could see the doubt in his eyes.

"They're not going to take me away from Mom, are they?" he asked quietly and my mom only sighed, her eyes filled with sadness.

"I don't know Frank," she finally answered, replacing the cap on the bottle of peroxide. "I just don't know."

Looking back, it is obvious that Mom did know... or at least had a large suspicion. She knew what was going to come out of her phone call. Child Services came and interviewed Frank, me and my mom. I merely told them the truth; that I had seen Frank's mom hit him. That was it. While they interviewed my mom in the kitchen, Frank and I sat on the couch, listening. After about ten minutes of being silent, Frank reached over and entwined his tiny fingers with mine. I looked down at them, smiled and leaned my head on his shoulder. After awhile, my eyes drifted shut and I fell asleep.

When I woke up, Frank was gone. It was the last time I'd see him for nearly two months.