Chapter 16

Dad didn't say much on the short drive home. I just sat and thought. Now, at least, I understood what had Carol all worked up. One, the fight with Al had hurt my reputation. To the majority who hadn't had a clear view of the action, it looked as though I had run away, rather than the truth that I had shown Al mercy. When Al bragged that he'd kicked my ass and I hadn't bothered to correct the impression, most people assumed it was true. Aggravating the other two erroneous conclusions was the fact that I was bigger than Al. Two, I had a large vocabulary, and I was willing to use it. That immediately made my masculinity suspect. Three, in the lunchroom when I had abruptly halted our argument, Carol assumed that he had intimidated me rather than that I was trying to avoid the attention of the lunchroom ladies.

So when I flipped him off, he concluded that someone who was lower than worm shit was challenging him. He couldn't let that stand and keep his reputation as a tough guy, could he? Then, of course, when I fled and then hid behind my friends, that annoyed him even more. He was eleven or twelve; he didn't necessarily consider that my actions were the only ones that made sense given the odds against me. I was an effeminate coward and needed to be shown my place.

Tonight's fight ought to do wonders for your reputation, at least, thought Ursus.

I suppose I should be willing to tell whoever asks what happened.

It probably wouldn't hurt, and it might keep the young savages off your back and out of your way.

Do you think the loss of face will inspire Carol and his buddies, and Don, to attack me again?

Do you think they're that crazy?

You're the one with centuries of experience. I'm asking you.

Well, a basic principle is never to do one's enemy a small hurt. But we put a big hurt on those guys. Let's hope they're afraid of you now.

Hope?

One thing I've learned is that individual humans are contrary and unpredictable. Mobs tend to follow certain patterns. Individuals, however, can do things for reasons that are hard to guess or understand.

Dad pulled into the garage, and we got out. "Damn, there's blood all over the seat," Dad said. Oops. Neither of us had thought to put something down. "I'll have to get that out before it sets."

As soon as I walked in the back door, Mom said, "How badly are you hurt?" Dad started collected cleaning supplies.

"I'm scraped up in a lot of places, and I'm probably bruised all over, but everything seems to work."

She looked at Dad. "Why in hell didn't you call? I was worried sick."

"Where was I supposed to find a phone?"

She noted what he was doing. "What are you looking for?"

"I need to get blood out of the car seat."

The kids started gathering around. Mary started to bawl. Apparently, someone had given her a ride home. "I didn't want to leave you behind, but you told me to, and I was so scared that they were going to hurt you..." and so on. Hearing Mary, Susan started to cry, too. It looked like Charlie might start in next.

"I'm all right, everybody." I opened my arms, and Mary rushed in for a hug. "You did the right thing," I said.

"Don't get blood all over your sister," Mom said.

I ignored Mom for a couple of seconds and then pushed Mary away gently. "Sorry, Mary, you better go soak your shirt."

"Go into the bathroom and take off your clothes," said Mom. "I want to see how badly you're injured."

"I can take care of it myself," I said.

"I want to take a look at you."

"Please, Mom, let me do it. It's embarrassing."

"I've seen your bare ass a million times since you were born."

"Please."

"Have it your way, you little shit." She headed for the laundry room. "Wait a second." She came back carrying an armful of clean rags. "Put these down so you don't get blood all over the bathroom."

I noticed Dad escaping into the garage as I escaped into the small bathroom. I put down the rags and took off my clothing. I doubted if any of it was salvageable, even as play clothes. I climbed into the shower and started cleaning out my scrapes. Given the speed I had been going when I wiped out, the scrapes weren't that deep. I assumed I had the protection spell to thank for that.

I was indeed bruised all over as well as scraped. The soap stung. Ursus encourage me to scrub well and get out all of the grit. The water had a red tinge as it swirled down the drain.

Using a rag that happened to be an old towel, I dried off and dug the first-aid supplies out from under the sink. Given that the family had five kids, we had lots of patching material. I put antibiotic salve over everything that bled, and then bandaged myself up, using gauze for the bigger wounds.

I hadn't brought any clean clothes in with me. "Would someone go get my pajamas, please," I called. Mom shoved my pajamas through the crack. I pulled the bottoms on.

"Let me take a look at you before you finish getting dressed." I opened up the door, and she inspected me. "Pull up the legs." She shook her head. "I heard you beat the hell out of the boys who did this."

"Yes."

"Good. The little bastards deserved it. Your supper is staying warm in the oven." She took a look at the floor. "Damn it! Those were school clothes."

Dad was already at the table eating. I had a seat and Mom put a pork chop, scalloped potatoes, and stewed tomatoes in from of me. As I ate, I again told the story in full detail, leaving out only Ursus and the magic parts. Everyone was at the table listening. Dad told what he saw, and then Mary.

"What in hell do the cops think they're doing?" said Mom. "You were clearly defending yourself."

"They didn't believe my story."

"It sounds damn improbable, but if you say that's the way it happened, I believe you." Thank Bog, Mom believed me. She knew how much I hated lies. I had been that way as far back as I could remember. We had long ago reached the understanding that if she wanted me to keep up my practice of never lying to her, she had to respect my limits when I told her that I didn't want to talk about something. I got up and hugged her. She looked surprised, but pleased.

"Why didn't you tell me those boys were laying for you?"

"I didn't want you to tell me I couldn't go to Kirsten's anymore."

She shook her head. "I--" She interrupted herself and looked thoughtful. "I guess I might've done that. I worry a lot about you kids."

Talking about Kirsten reminded me. "I should give Kirsten a call. I'm sure her dad told her I was all right, but she probably would appreciate hearing it from me."

"Go ahead." That time she used her approving tone of voice rather than the uninterpretable tone that was her norm.

"Hello, Mr. Kennedy, this is Arthur Powyr. May I speak to Kirsten, please?"

"I'm afraid not, Arthur."

"Oh. I guess you've already told her that I'm OK. I just thought she might like to hear it from me."

"That's a kind thought. Arthur, you seem like a nice boy, but you've been in two fights over the last few days, and one of them was a bloody mess. I believe you're living a life that's too dangerous for my daughter's safety."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I am forbidding her to see you outside of school. In any case, she is very young to have a boyfriend."