Growing Like a Tree

We crossed paths at school initially. I was eight years old, a big fan of basketball and new to the community, so I spent a lot of time by myself. I wasn’t very good at making friends quickly. I had been on my way to practice my jump shot on the outdoor basketball court at the back of the school. That was the first time I saw him. He was caught up in a difficult situation. He was in a corner, his back up against the chain-link fence that separated school property from some random empty lot. Three older kids hemmed him in. At first, I wasn’t sure what was happening – not until I got close enough. He was taking fist after fist to his stomach and his face… without making a sound! All he did was try to block the punches. I froze, shocked! Then I came to my senses and ran towards them. “Hey!” I shouted. The three taller kids looked back at me, looked at him, then took off running after aiming a farewell kick at his legs. They left him doubled over and wheezing on the gravelly asphalt. When he looked up and saw me, his eyes widened, and a look of pure terror flashed across his face. Before I could blink, he was right behind the bullies, running as though he thought I was a teacher, scraping his bag off the ground and ducking away like one of the guilty. I didn’t understand why he ran. I saw him around the school compound afterwards – always at a distance. He never gave any hint that he recognized me. He walked with his eyes on the ground and didn’t acknowledged anyone. He was known in our class and around the community for having a violent temper. I found that out by listening to what other kids said about him when he left school alone every afternoon. He was capable of erupting in violence at anyone, even teachers, if he felt that they were insulting him. He got in trouble at school a lot because of it. Whenever he fought, they said he seemed possessed. Chase Vermont. His eyes were a talking point. Bright blue and heavy lidded, they stood out because his skin was the colour of dark cocoa, and his hair was jet black. They said he was either demon-spawn, or a full-fledged demon. Why else would an eight-year-old be so vicious and have such a foul mouth? His parents were well respected members of the community, polite and cultured people. Neither of them exhibited any behaviour even remotely like his ─ at least not in public... I knew that his father at least, acted differently in private. I saw, by accident, the violent side of Mr. Vermont a little after that incident at school. When I met his mother, I felt like she also had a public face and a private one, but I never found out for sure.