Growing Like a Tree

CH-6

I asked him once, about that summer vacation that became talk of the town. I worked up the courage to do it because I felt that we were close enough for him not to hit me if I asked. If he did decide to slug me, I had already decided not to hold any grudges about it.

                “Did you really start swearing at your dad in the hotel that time?” I questioned. We were hanging out in his hideout. He was pretty vocal about his hatred for his “so-called family”. That was how he classed them when we were alone together.

                His eyes got this faraway look in them, then he ripped up a tuft of grass poking up through the floor near his hand. He brought his eyes up to meet mine. Then he made this face, like he had somehow been wronged. That was the look he always wore when he talked about his father.

 I remember waiting, holding my breath, wondering what he would say ─ if anything. He drew his legs up to his chest then leaned forward, almost curling himself into a ball. That image of him curled up got fixed in my mind.

                “Yeah…” he said softly. “Ha!” Then his eyes narrowed, and his mouth twisted with disgust. “He slapped me! In front of everyone! And after ─” He hissed and picked angrily at the stubs of the tuft of grass he ripped up just seconds before.

                “…I’m gonna kill him one day!” he spat, and attacked the stubs again, hurling away the bits of chaff he had gathered in his palm.

                I decided not to fish for more information. I wasn’t too keen on being on the receiving end of the fury he was directing at that sorry tuft of grass. Once I asked why he got so offended when his cousin made fun of him for being adopted, and when he refused to answer I tried to push him into doing it. He took a swing at me that would have knocked me out if I hadn’t dodged it in time.

He had confided in me that his father “slapped him around” really often and he hated it. He talked a lot about being punished whenever he got in trouble, and he got in trouble a lot! He always shook his head and muttered over and over that it was horrible, and he didn’t want to face punishment if he didn’t have to. My asking that question about that vacation was how our talk about killing his father began.

                At first, I saw it as just another fantasy. Chase was great at making up plots, scheming to get away with breaking rules without being caught, and I loved the thrill of being privy to the tricks behind his subtle crimes. Most of what we schemed up were ways to get Bradley and his crew in trouble at school or with their parents. Our plans were always a massive success, and most of the time, our connection to the pranks went unnoticed. When Chase said he was going to kill David Vermont, I imagined it was just an extreme prank that we were planning – even as Chase told me that he knew where his father kept his gun, and exactly how he could make the murder seem like a suicide.