Page 93 of Aaron's Patience

“Thanks, man.”

We played for a while, both of us getting our turns at winning round after round.

“Aw, man!” Carter shouted, shoving me when he lost the last round. It was meant to be playful but it hurt like hell.

“Ouch!” I squealed, my hand going to my side.

Carter looked at me in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I lied.

“It was just a playful push. It didn’t hurt that much,” he explained, his eyes looking at the hand that still rested against my rib.

“It’s no big deal, man.”

But Carter was smart. “Lemme see.” He pushed my hand away, lifting my shirt, revealing the large purple and yellow bruise that was a few days old.

“What’s this?”

“Nothing, I fell at school.”

Carter didn’t bother waiting for me to explain. He was already running out of the room yelling for his mom and dad. I chased after him, calling his name, telling him to leave it alone. I didn’t need anymore trouble, but he refused to listen.

“Son, what’s the matter?” Uncle Robert emerged from the living room, looking concerned.

“Look!” Carter shouted, grabbing my arm and lifting my shirt to reveal the bruise to all four adults and my younger cousins. Everyone now stood in the foyer.

My aunt gasped and out of the corner of my eye I saw my mother drop her head.

I snatched my arm out of Carter’s grip, quickly lowering my shirt to cover the bruise, but it was too late.

“You son of a bitch!” Uncle Robert shouted, grabbing my father by his shirt.

Chaos broke out as both men began shouting at one another.

“I should’ve never trusted you!” Robert yelled. “You said it was one time. You’d lost your temper one time. That it’d never happen again!”

Tears sprang to my eyes as I begged and pleaded for my uncle and father to stop fighting.

“And you!” Uncle Robert rounded on my mother. “What kind of mother lets that happen to her son?”

“Robert, stop it!” Aunt Deborah admonished, but he was relentless.

“I’m calling the police!”

“No!” my mother shouted. “Deborah, do something. He didn’t mean it,” she pleaded, lying to cover for my father yet again.

Tears were streaming down my face and my throat hurt from yelling at them both to stop.

“I’m calling the judge in the morning!” Robert insisted. “He will be removed from your custody immediately. Jesse, you want to be used as a punching bag, that’s on you, but I will not allow my nephew to be treated this way by that…that buffoon!”

“Buffoon?” my father shrieked, going after Uncle Robert again.

I watched as my father missed and nearly landed on his face, stumbling into the railing of the staircase instead. He’d been drinking even before we arrived at my Aunt and Uncle’s.

“I always knew you’d end up a failure, but to take your shortcomings out on a defenseless child is sick!” Uncle Robert continued.

“Jason, let’s just go,” my mother insisted, grabbing my father’s arm.