F.O.D., chapter 2
[i]"Something's on my mind
It's been for quite some time
This time I'm on to you..." [i]
I woke up early in a cold sweat panting. I relaxed to find myself in the same jail cell as last night. I laid back down staring at the ceiling thinking of lyrics once again. A few hours later a skinny police officer brought me some cheerios and water for breakfast. I gladly took it since I hadn't eaten for over a day. I looked over to see the officer still staring at me.
"What the hell are you looking at!?" I demanded.
"Oh nothing... I've just never seen anyone eat that fast before." He answered.
I looked down at my bowl to find that there were only a few stray cheerios still in the bottom.
"Here I'll go get you some more."
The skinny officer left and came back a few minutes later with a new bowl of cheerios. He exchanged bowls with me and walked off. I finished off the rest of my cheerios and walked over to the small sink with a mirror hanging just above it. I stood there staring at my scrawny frame, stringy brown hair and emerald green eyes. My hair wasn't long enough to be a shag but not short enough to be a buzz cut. I splashed water onto my face to help wake myself up. I quickly washed my hair and went and sat back down on the bed pulling my grubby but dry shirt back on. There was some blood stains on it from last night but nothing too bad. The skinny officer came back to my cell.
"Your father George is here to pick you up and both of you are going to have a meeting with the police chief before you are allowed to go." He said.
"He's not my father." I growled back.
"Alright well I was told to take you to the office."
I got up from the bed and followed the skinny officer through the narrow hallway to the office I had just been in the night before. I opened the door to stare into one of the most hated faces in my life. From his long, stringy, greasy hair to his unkept beard and big fat pot belly. He always had the ripe smell of rum and other alcoholic drinks on his breath. Not having a choice I sat down beside him never making eye contact.
"Yyya see- the boy is ssso ashamed hhhe can't even look at me straight in my ffface." He stammered wavering side to side in his chair.
"Well we have seen him one too many times. It is not normal for a 12 year old boy to be in the police station even once not to mention six times in the past 2 months."
"Dddoncha worry iiI'll put him straighhht." I could see him gingerly fingering his black leather belt.
"Don't worry we have already planned his punishment. We have phoned Starbuck Military School and they have agreed to take him."
"Dddat ain't no boarding school iiis it?"
"Yes it is which means that he will not be staying at home."
"Nnno dddat ain't gonna wwwork."
"And why is that Mr. Cobalt?"
"Iiit just ain't."
"It's because if I go he won't have anyone to go sell any of his fucking drugs for him."
Everyone just stared in shock at me for a few seconds. They had partly forgotten I was there due to the fact I hadn't spoken a word since I sat down. George shot
Me a warning look meaning that I was in for it once we got home.
"Thhhe boy don't know wwwhat he's talking bout... Mmmusta got hit too hard in ddda head."
"Well either way we will get to the bottom of this. In the meantime he is going to Starbucks Military School, however, there is no rule stating that he cannot come home on weekends. But, if we run into another serious problem more permanent arrangements will be made. Now you are dismissed." As he stated his last conclusion he stared straight at me expecting me to know what he meant. George grabbed me by the collar and pulled me toward the door. We walked out into the parking lot and he shoved me into the back seat of his car and locked the door. He stumbled over to the driver's side and got in slamming the door behind him.
"Well..?" he sputtered turning to face me.
"Well what!" I glared back at him.
"Where's the fucking money!?"
"I don't have it."
""Wwhat the fu—Wwwhy not!?"
"Because the fucking cops hauled me away."
"You uuseless piece of shit... Hhhhow the hell am I ssssupposed to have my rum tttonight."
"Why should I fucking care!?"
George shoved the keys into the ignition and stomped down on the gas. We swerved in and out of traffic; every now and then driving on the wrong side of the road.
"What the fuck are you doing!?" I yelled at George.
He didn't answer, just kept driving. BANG we clipped another car going through a
Red light. We spun out of control and hit a nearby lamppost. Luckily we had just clipped the other car so only our bumper fell off. George threw his car into reverse and then sped off again weaving through traffic. It was a miracle we got home alive. I had taken refuge under the back seat with my head in my knees. We got out of the car and George dragged me up the three sets of stairs to the dump we called home. Our door didn't have a lock or a handle because George broke it off one night coming home. He had an overdose of drugs and alcohol that night so I snuck out and slept in the car.
Now he forced me through the broken door and onto one of the torn up couches in the living room. Our apartment room was very small and was barely fit for all three of us. The kitchen was part of the living room and wasn't anymore than a few counter tops full with empty beer cans and cigarette ashes. There was a small bathroom to the left with a bedroom beside it. Just next to the entrance door was a small closet that served as my room and at one time my little sister's as well. She died on her way home one night; she got caught in crossfire. I was 10 then so she was about 8. Across from the bedroom was a door leading out to a small balcony which had lost its railings due to a fight where George tried hurling it at me as I escaped on the ground below. He pulled out his back doing so and forced me to pay his hospital bill. As George dragged me in my mom just lay on the other couch and watched with amusement as George began to beat me up. He unlatched his leather belt from his wide waist and began whipping me with it. I swallowed my pain and squeezed my eyes tight. I was used to it now and I knew better than to say anything, let alone cry.
Once he was finished he threw me into my closet and pushed a chair against the knob so I couldn't get out. I was lucky that I was short for my age since it was not a very large closet and I had to share it with my acoustic guitar, my blanket and few clothes that I owned. I never actually knew how or why I got my guitar; it's just something I've always had. It came in handy too because when I got away I would take it to a street corner and play for money. I sat in the dark for a bit just trying to swallow the pain. I couldn't cry I just couldn't... It would be like giving up. I grabbed my blanket and pulled it over me as I rested my head on my clothes. I could still feel the throbbing sting of the belt on my back. I grabbed my pocket knife and clasped it in my hand under my small pile of clothes.
"Just in case...." I thought as I drifted into an unkind sleep.
It's been for quite some time
This time I'm on to you..." [i]
I woke up early in a cold sweat panting. I relaxed to find myself in the same jail cell as last night. I laid back down staring at the ceiling thinking of lyrics once again. A few hours later a skinny police officer brought me some cheerios and water for breakfast. I gladly took it since I hadn't eaten for over a day. I looked over to see the officer still staring at me.
"What the hell are you looking at!?" I demanded.
"Oh nothing... I've just never seen anyone eat that fast before." He answered.
I looked down at my bowl to find that there were only a few stray cheerios still in the bottom.
"Here I'll go get you some more."
The skinny officer left and came back a few minutes later with a new bowl of cheerios. He exchanged bowls with me and walked off. I finished off the rest of my cheerios and walked over to the small sink with a mirror hanging just above it. I stood there staring at my scrawny frame, stringy brown hair and emerald green eyes. My hair wasn't long enough to be a shag but not short enough to be a buzz cut. I splashed water onto my face to help wake myself up. I quickly washed my hair and went and sat back down on the bed pulling my grubby but dry shirt back on. There was some blood stains on it from last night but nothing too bad. The skinny officer came back to my cell.
"Your father George is here to pick you up and both of you are going to have a meeting with the police chief before you are allowed to go." He said.
"He's not my father." I growled back.
"Alright well I was told to take you to the office."
I got up from the bed and followed the skinny officer through the narrow hallway to the office I had just been in the night before. I opened the door to stare into one of the most hated faces in my life. From his long, stringy, greasy hair to his unkept beard and big fat pot belly. He always had the ripe smell of rum and other alcoholic drinks on his breath. Not having a choice I sat down beside him never making eye contact.
"Yyya see- the boy is ssso ashamed hhhe can't even look at me straight in my ffface." He stammered wavering side to side in his chair.
"Well we have seen him one too many times. It is not normal for a 12 year old boy to be in the police station even once not to mention six times in the past 2 months."
"Dddoncha worry iiI'll put him straighhht." I could see him gingerly fingering his black leather belt.
"Don't worry we have already planned his punishment. We have phoned Starbuck Military School and they have agreed to take him."
"Dddat ain't no boarding school iiis it?"
"Yes it is which means that he will not be staying at home."
"Nnno dddat ain't gonna wwwork."
"And why is that Mr. Cobalt?"
"Iiit just ain't."
"It's because if I go he won't have anyone to go sell any of his fucking drugs for him."
Everyone just stared in shock at me for a few seconds. They had partly forgotten I was there due to the fact I hadn't spoken a word since I sat down. George shot
Me a warning look meaning that I was in for it once we got home.
"Thhhe boy don't know wwwhat he's talking bout... Mmmusta got hit too hard in ddda head."
"Well either way we will get to the bottom of this. In the meantime he is going to Starbucks Military School, however, there is no rule stating that he cannot come home on weekends. But, if we run into another serious problem more permanent arrangements will be made. Now you are dismissed." As he stated his last conclusion he stared straight at me expecting me to know what he meant. George grabbed me by the collar and pulled me toward the door. We walked out into the parking lot and he shoved me into the back seat of his car and locked the door. He stumbled over to the driver's side and got in slamming the door behind him.
"Well..?" he sputtered turning to face me.
"Well what!" I glared back at him.
"Where's the fucking money!?"
"I don't have it."
""Wwhat the fu—Wwwhy not!?"
"Because the fucking cops hauled me away."
"You uuseless piece of shit... Hhhhow the hell am I ssssupposed to have my rum tttonight."
"Why should I fucking care!?"
George shoved the keys into the ignition and stomped down on the gas. We swerved in and out of traffic; every now and then driving on the wrong side of the road.
"What the fuck are you doing!?" I yelled at George.
He didn't answer, just kept driving. BANG we clipped another car going through a
Red light. We spun out of control and hit a nearby lamppost. Luckily we had just clipped the other car so only our bumper fell off. George threw his car into reverse and then sped off again weaving through traffic. It was a miracle we got home alive. I had taken refuge under the back seat with my head in my knees. We got out of the car and George dragged me up the three sets of stairs to the dump we called home. Our door didn't have a lock or a handle because George broke it off one night coming home. He had an overdose of drugs and alcohol that night so I snuck out and slept in the car.
Now he forced me through the broken door and onto one of the torn up couches in the living room. Our apartment room was very small and was barely fit for all three of us. The kitchen was part of the living room and wasn't anymore than a few counter tops full with empty beer cans and cigarette ashes. There was a small bathroom to the left with a bedroom beside it. Just next to the entrance door was a small closet that served as my room and at one time my little sister's as well. She died on her way home one night; she got caught in crossfire. I was 10 then so she was about 8. Across from the bedroom was a door leading out to a small balcony which had lost its railings due to a fight where George tried hurling it at me as I escaped on the ground below. He pulled out his back doing so and forced me to pay his hospital bill. As George dragged me in my mom just lay on the other couch and watched with amusement as George began to beat me up. He unlatched his leather belt from his wide waist and began whipping me with it. I swallowed my pain and squeezed my eyes tight. I was used to it now and I knew better than to say anything, let alone cry.
Once he was finished he threw me into my closet and pushed a chair against the knob so I couldn't get out. I was lucky that I was short for my age since it was not a very large closet and I had to share it with my acoustic guitar, my blanket and few clothes that I owned. I never actually knew how or why I got my guitar; it's just something I've always had. It came in handy too because when I got away I would take it to a street corner and play for money. I sat in the dark for a bit just trying to swallow the pain. I couldn't cry I just couldn't... It would be like giving up. I grabbed my blanket and pulled it over me as I rested my head on my clothes. I could still feel the throbbing sting of the belt on my back. I grabbed my pocket knife and clasped it in my hand under my small pile of clothes.
"Just in case...." I thought as I drifted into an unkind sleep.
