Making the Grade
Chapter 8
I wake up the early the next morning. Well, 10:00 on a Saturday morning is early for me. I reach my arms above my head and stretch, allowing a yawn to escape from my lips. I glance in my mirror at my bedhead, satisfied with how messy it looks. I step out of bed, pulling on a pair of pajamas over my briefs and going downstairs shirtless. I’m about to take the turn that leads me down the steps when Mikey skids in front of me, blocking my way.
“You don’t want to go down there,” Mikey warns.
I push him to the side, ordering, “Get out of my way.”
Mikey plants himself in front of me again. He shakes his head. I’m getting angry when I notice his expression, the wrinkles of distress in his forehead and the glitter of worry in his hazel eyes. “Mikes? What’s wrong?”
“Mom and Dad are really mad at you, Gerard. Just sneak out the window, come back once they’re cooled off,” Mikey suggests.
I sigh, replying, “Mikey, that’s stupid. I have to face them sometime, don’t I?”
I move past him, but he falls to the floor grabs onto the ankle of my pants, begging, “Gerard, please don’t go down there!”
“Let me go!” I bark, shaking my leg to rid it of his grip. He looks hurt, so I kneel down to his level and comfort, “Mikes, I can do this. You’re going to have to trust me. I can handle this.”
I head down the steps, glancing back to see Mikey staring at me, his eyes full of woe. I scoff. Really, what’s he so nervous over? This is my parents, for Christ sake’s, the dad who wears overalls to barbeques and the mom who would pet my hair when I was sick.
I see no sign of my parents until I enter the kitchen. My mother is sitting at the table, her head in her hands, weeping. My father is standing over her, his large hands on her shoulders and rubbing them in an effort to soothe her.
“Mom? What’s wrong?” I ask.
My dad looks up, and suddenly, his dark eyes move from sympathetic to furious. “You… little shit!” he hisses.
“What?” I question.
He gestures at the table, where I see the cake I made. There’s a huge glob of cake missing from the center in the shape of a fist. A lump rises in my throat as I realize that my father has cake frosting on the side of his hand. “Do you think this shit is fucking funny? Do you… you think you’re cute?” he demands.
“No,” I answer truthfully.
“You must, surely, think you’re hilarious to have the balls to pull shit like this, Gerard,” my father insists. “I mean, to… to pretend you’re gay? That’s fucked up.”
“I…. I am gay,” I admit, the lump getting bigger.
“Don’t you say that,” he whispers hoarsely. He takes a step towards me.
“I’m gay,” I repeat.
My dad punches me in the eye. Every nerve in my face feels as though it was aflame, and I immediately fall to the floor, rolling around in pain. I gaze up at him through one already swollen eye, to see that the motherfucker is smirking. I start to crawl away from him, but he grabs me by the ankles, yanking me back towards him. He grabs the back of my shirt and lifts my chest off of the ground, smacking the back of my head and then dropping my upper torso.
My mother’s wails ring through my ears as my dad proceeds to beat me. Everything goes white, but I can still feel every single kick.
The next thing I know, I see Mikey prying my dad and I apart.
“Stop it!” Mikey cries, putting all of his body weight against our father.
My father raises a hand to hit Mikey, and I lose it.
I grab one of the chairs and smack my dad on the knee, sending him writhing on the ground in pain. “Don’t you fucking touch him! If you touch one hair on his head, I’ll break every bone in your fucking body!”
My mom sobs, “Please boys, just stop fighting!”
“We’re going. I will not be in the same house as that abusive asshole,” I declare. I grab Mikey’s hand, ordering, “Let’s go, Mikey.”
Mikey stands still. I tug on his wrist, urging, “Come on, Mikes, I’m going.”
Mikey stares down. He removes his glasses to let some tears fall out of his eyes, and then replaces them. He wipes his face and turns to me, responding softly, “I’m staying.”
“After all that?!” I demand. “Mikey, he just tried to hit you!”
“I know,” Mikey replies. “But…. Fuck, Gee, this is our family. You can’t just leave them behind.”
“Don’t go, Gerard,” my mother weeps.
“Are you going to ditch him?” I question, kicking my father’s side.
My mom bows her head, the tears answering my question. I throw my chair to the side, claiming, “Fuck you. Fuck all of you. I’m going; I’m not staying here. Not now, not ever.”
I go upstairs, gather some things, and leave with the full duffel bag. Mikey and my parents stay put in the kitchen. I tell them, “I hope you’re happy.” With that, I leave, walking into the breezy morning.
I go through my phone, thinking of people I could call. I don’t really have many friends. I’d call Ray, but his phone is currently broken. I’d call Bob, too, but I don’t have his number.
I walk to the square, sitting on the bench and letting out a sigh of defeat. What the Hell am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go? I’m a new kid with two friends.
I look over to notice a baby in a carriage. If I were little, I could just drop myself off at someone’s doorstep and be adopted. I’m seriously contemplating this idea when I notice a contact I’d just added yesterday.
I can’t really tell you why I do it. I don’t think, just press the call button and put the phone to my ear. After a few rings, he answers, asking,
“Hello?”
“Frank,” I answer. “It’s Gerard.”
“You don’t want to go down there,” Mikey warns.
I push him to the side, ordering, “Get out of my way.”
Mikey plants himself in front of me again. He shakes his head. I’m getting angry when I notice his expression, the wrinkles of distress in his forehead and the glitter of worry in his hazel eyes. “Mikes? What’s wrong?”
“Mom and Dad are really mad at you, Gerard. Just sneak out the window, come back once they’re cooled off,” Mikey suggests.
I sigh, replying, “Mikey, that’s stupid. I have to face them sometime, don’t I?”
I move past him, but he falls to the floor grabs onto the ankle of my pants, begging, “Gerard, please don’t go down there!”
“Let me go!” I bark, shaking my leg to rid it of his grip. He looks hurt, so I kneel down to his level and comfort, “Mikes, I can do this. You’re going to have to trust me. I can handle this.”
I head down the steps, glancing back to see Mikey staring at me, his eyes full of woe. I scoff. Really, what’s he so nervous over? This is my parents, for Christ sake’s, the dad who wears overalls to barbeques and the mom who would pet my hair when I was sick.
I see no sign of my parents until I enter the kitchen. My mother is sitting at the table, her head in her hands, weeping. My father is standing over her, his large hands on her shoulders and rubbing them in an effort to soothe her.
“Mom? What’s wrong?” I ask.
My dad looks up, and suddenly, his dark eyes move from sympathetic to furious. “You… little shit!” he hisses.
“What?” I question.
He gestures at the table, where I see the cake I made. There’s a huge glob of cake missing from the center in the shape of a fist. A lump rises in my throat as I realize that my father has cake frosting on the side of his hand. “Do you think this shit is fucking funny? Do you… you think you’re cute?” he demands.
“No,” I answer truthfully.
“You must, surely, think you’re hilarious to have the balls to pull shit like this, Gerard,” my father insists. “I mean, to… to pretend you’re gay? That’s fucked up.”
“I…. I am gay,” I admit, the lump getting bigger.
“Don’t you say that,” he whispers hoarsely. He takes a step towards me.
“I’m gay,” I repeat.
My dad punches me in the eye. Every nerve in my face feels as though it was aflame, and I immediately fall to the floor, rolling around in pain. I gaze up at him through one already swollen eye, to see that the motherfucker is smirking. I start to crawl away from him, but he grabs me by the ankles, yanking me back towards him. He grabs the back of my shirt and lifts my chest off of the ground, smacking the back of my head and then dropping my upper torso.
My mother’s wails ring through my ears as my dad proceeds to beat me. Everything goes white, but I can still feel every single kick.
The next thing I know, I see Mikey prying my dad and I apart.
“Stop it!” Mikey cries, putting all of his body weight against our father.
My father raises a hand to hit Mikey, and I lose it.
I grab one of the chairs and smack my dad on the knee, sending him writhing on the ground in pain. “Don’t you fucking touch him! If you touch one hair on his head, I’ll break every bone in your fucking body!”
My mom sobs, “Please boys, just stop fighting!”
“We’re going. I will not be in the same house as that abusive asshole,” I declare. I grab Mikey’s hand, ordering, “Let’s go, Mikey.”
Mikey stands still. I tug on his wrist, urging, “Come on, Mikes, I’m going.”
Mikey stares down. He removes his glasses to let some tears fall out of his eyes, and then replaces them. He wipes his face and turns to me, responding softly, “I’m staying.”
“After all that?!” I demand. “Mikey, he just tried to hit you!”
“I know,” Mikey replies. “But…. Fuck, Gee, this is our family. You can’t just leave them behind.”
“Don’t go, Gerard,” my mother weeps.
“Are you going to ditch him?” I question, kicking my father’s side.
My mom bows her head, the tears answering my question. I throw my chair to the side, claiming, “Fuck you. Fuck all of you. I’m going; I’m not staying here. Not now, not ever.”
I go upstairs, gather some things, and leave with the full duffel bag. Mikey and my parents stay put in the kitchen. I tell them, “I hope you’re happy.” With that, I leave, walking into the breezy morning.
I go through my phone, thinking of people I could call. I don’t really have many friends. I’d call Ray, but his phone is currently broken. I’d call Bob, too, but I don’t have his number.
I walk to the square, sitting on the bench and letting out a sigh of defeat. What the Hell am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go? I’m a new kid with two friends.
I look over to notice a baby in a carriage. If I were little, I could just drop myself off at someone’s doorstep and be adopted. I’m seriously contemplating this idea when I notice a contact I’d just added yesterday.
I can’t really tell you why I do it. I don’t think, just press the call button and put the phone to my ear. After a few rings, he answers, asking,
“Hello?”
“Frank,” I answer. “It’s Gerard.”