Back Alley Boys

Zak

Once everyone had left I retreated to my room as usual. The up close and personal effects of a divorce in the making was not a scene I wanted to see tonight. None of the boys knew. My parents acted like their usual selves as soon as anyone entered the house. Social image was everything on this side of the tracks, and divorce was an ugly appearance in the eyes of the middle aged football mums. 

School wasn't going to be fun tomorrow. With the rat coming in, all hell would break loose. It wasn't just us that had a thing against those guys, everyone on this side of the tracks look down on people like them in some way. To be honest, they probably never did anything to us. Everyone in this neighbourhood just has their heads so far up their arses that anyone with less of an income than them can basically sod off. And those guys were obviously just jealous.  They had nothing to be jealous of though. I hated it over here. I was raised with a silver spoon in my mouth yet I still hated it. I didn't hate my friends, my friends were great, I hated the expectations that were put on us to not fail in the eyes of our fathers, mothers, principals and the watch-full eyes of the neighbourhood gossips. 

I was labelled as the jock, and to be fair I was. I enjoyed sport, I played it, I was the captain of most of the teams. That didn't mean I wanted to get a scholarship in it and do it for the rest of my life like my Father did. What if I wanted to be a photographer like Otto? Or some scientist like Caleb? Or even a sewer rat that oiled up bikes for a living like Harley... at least he didn't have any expectations put on him.

My room was making me claustrophobic, and it was too dark to walk to the park. That park was deadly at this time of night. The most stabbings happened at that park between downtowners and uptowners than anywhere else in this place. I had left my new books downstairs and desperately needed to sort them out before tomorrow.

Taking in a deep breath I opened the door and began my descent down the stairs. The second I hit the bottom steps I could hear the muffle of angry whispers coming from Mums office. I walked slowly and as quiet as possible down the hall so I could get my books from the front entrance table. 

"He is going to that college whether you like it or not! I got him a scholarship for football! He will go there and he will enjoy it." My fathers voice blared through the door. What was he on about?

"He may be going there whether I like it or not, but what about him. What if he doesn't want to go there Pierce! It is his life not yours!" My mum was always there for me. But I still know that she expects me to do many things. She may be defending me against the sport scholarship choice, but that was only because she wanted me to be some big shot business man.

"He will be going there. I went there and his grandfather went there. He will not embarrass this family. He has a gift. He may think it's a hobby but it is much more than that. It is a lifestyle that he will uphold and pass down to his own sons."

"You are so archaic Pierce. This is not some Alpha bloodline. This is not the royal crown you are passing down. This is your son, and he has the right to a life that he wants."

"Fine! We will ask him then. Let's go." 

Oh crap! Grabbing the books I race up the stairs and jump into my bed. They enter just as I get the light off.

"He's sleeping Pierce. Leave him be." My mother warns.

"Well he can get the hell up then." Suddenly I feel arms shaking me. I stay still, faking sleep.

Then his arms are around me and he is throwing me to the ground. "I said get the hell up boy."

I scramble away and attempt to stand up but he comes towards me and I go into my reflex of curling up. Peaking out I see my mum has jumped in front of me. That causes me to stand up and push her away as his slap comes forward, hitting me across the face. I just stand there. Don't show emotion. He wants his tough son, then fine. I stand there and look up at him, a stone expression on my face. The slap hurt, but he doesn't need to know that. 

In most situations like this you might expect the mother to be screaming or crying to protect her child too. But no. My mother was not an emotional woman. Yes she stood in front of me, but that was only to show dominance to my father. Looking to the side I could now tell she was angry at me for pushing her aside and breaking that demeanour of in control power. She simply stood at the side with a blank look staring at me as if I was in the wrong just like my father was. All I had done was sleep. It was their fight, that happened to be about me, that had caused this. They didn't even know I heard.

"You are going to the college of my choice on a football scholarship. You will be starting there once this year is over. Your position is secured."

"Farther, I..." Slap.

"Father, just listen..." Slap

"I want to go to..." Slap

"Yes Father." He turns on his heel and walks out of the room. My mother following behind as if she's attached by a thread.

The books could wait. I wanted to sleep.

The next morning my face was throbbing. Standing up I walked to the mirror in my bathroom and wasn't even shocked when I turned on the light and saw my reflection. I was used to it.

Deep purple and green bruising covered the left side of my face. Grabbing the concealer that a girl had left here once, I began covering my face. It didn't cover it completely, but it made it look more like a bruise I could have gotten in football practice or something.

Grabbing my unsorted books, I threw them all in my bag and went downstairs. My Dad sat at the kitchen counter reading an old news clipping about his glory days. As I poured cereal he acted as if nothing had happened. 

Turning to walk out the door for school he stopped me in my tracks as he said, "Have a good day at school Zackary. Beat up that new kid won't you? The downtowner. Show him his place."

"Yes sir." I mumbled before heading out the door to face a new year.