“Is that so?” Bob gets a weird look in his eyes. I don’t like it. I don’t like him. He’s weird. He looks mean. He makes me nervous. His eyes are too dark and his mustache is too long, hanging over his upper lip.
“I’m going to go find my dad.”
A meaty hand grabs my shoulder and jerks me back. I don’t like it. I don’t like it. His touch hurts my shoulder. Why does he have to hold me so hard?
“Hold on, kid, I’ll help you.”
He steers me in the opposite direction of my dad’s office, the direction I was going before turning around. Bob keeps his hand clamped on myshoulder so hard I can feel the bruise forming under my skin.
“Is the employee lounge this way?” I ask Bob in a quiet voice.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find him.”
I hear him messing with his pants and the belt buckle. I’ve seen some of the guys do this before, adjusting themselves in their pants. I never asked why. I don’t have to do that but maybe it’s because I’m not as big as they are. I try not to look cause Dad said that’s rude and “perverted”—whatever that means.
“I don’t think he’s—.” Bob shoves me into the uneven stacks of logs which hurts my spine. Before I can cry out, he smashes his hand over my mouth to stop any sounds I make and uses his body to pin me in place.
I’m trapped.
I don’t like this feeling. I don’t like not being able to move. I want my dad.
I want my mom!
“I’ve been eyeing you for years,” he says coldly with an evil looking smile while fumbling with his pants. “You’re gonna do what I say, and you’re not going to tell your dad, because otherwise you’ll embarrass him and you know he wouldn’t like that. It’ll be our little secret, kid.”
He removes his hand from my mouth but I don’t have a chance to scream before I’m choking on whatever he shoved inside it.
I’m running back through the weaving paths between logs until I spot my dad’s office. I’m almost there, I’m almost safe. I run with so much fear and force I can’t breath and my lungs hurt. As soon as I reach the door I turn the knob, pull it open, and dart inside tracking mud with me. I’m too upset and scared to worry about that, though.
“Where the fuck have you been?” I’ve never been so glad to hear my dad’s voice, even if he sounds enraged. “I’ve been looking all over for you. You were supposed to stay here. Why can’t you following something so fucking simple? Why couldn’t you listen to me just one time?”
“Dad,” I heave while gasping for air through agonizing pain in my throat, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I thought you forgot about me and I was hungry.” Then I notice the sandwich on his desk. I don’t think I’m hungry anymore,though, I feel sick. My voice sounds weird after…after.
“I had to talk to one of my guys. Did I tell you to stay here for ten minutes and then go snooping? No! I told you to wait here.” His arms are flailing and his voice gets rougher and meaner with each sentence. “You’re useless, Jason. You don’t listen to anything I say. And why the hell are you covered in all this damn mud? Look, it’s all over my office now. You’re going to be the one to clean this up.”
“Dad, This guy found me while I was looking for you. He was mean, he pushed me around.”
Slap.
My dad slapped me. He’s never hit me before.
“I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit. You’re a fucking liar, Jason. You said you didn’t hit that kid at school and you did. You said you’d stay here and you didn’t. Now this? Stop lying, you little shit.”
“I’m not, Dad. I’m not. Really. He held me against the logs and—.”
I’m up against a wall again, only this time it’s my father’s hands fisting the cuff of my shirt and his angry red face that fills my vision. “I don’t want to hear it, Jason. Get some rags out of the closet and start cleaning. I don’t want to hear a peep out of you until it’s done.”
I just stare at him.Why doesn’t he believe me? Why would I lie about what that guy just did to me? Why won’t he listen to me?
“GO.” My father points to the narrow door of the closet with a meaty finger. “Not another word.”
I can’t believe it. Why is it ok for Bob to hurt me and my dad does nothing about it? Why is it ok for myfatherto hurt me? Why am I the one who gets hurt when I’m not even lying? Why do bad things keep happening whenever I speak up and tell the truth?
No one ever believes me.
Mom and Dylan believe me. But maybe Bob was right and they would all be embarrassed by me. Ashamed. I shouldn’t tell anyone what happened ever again. I don’t want to humiliate my family. And who would believe me anyway?
So I get the rags from the closet and the cleaning spray like my father told me to, drop to my hands and knees, and start to clean up the mess.
