Read Online (2012) Blood on Blood by Frank Zafiro - Free Book Online
Authors: Frank Zafiro
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boy.”
“Jesus, Dad. I, uh, I came as soon as I heard.”
“Wha…whatcha got cookin’ since you got out? Got anything good in the pipeline?”
He seizes up a little right after he says it, gritting his teeth so bad I can hear them grind. His facial skin is tight and thin. I can almost see his jaw muscles.
“Don’t talk too much, ‘kay, Dad?”
The loud moaning keeps up. Somebody else joins the chorus, jabbering away down on the other end of the big open room.
“I’m gonna get you in a room. This is bullshit.”
“Ain’t worth it, boy.” His eyes are still squeezed shut but his face relaxes a little. “No time for that.”
He opens his eyes and takes my forearm. His grip is feeble, like an old woman’s. He’s staring at me hard and opens his mouth to speak but can’t get it out. He tries to squeeze my arm harder.
“Dad, look. Just rest. I’m here and I’ll stay as long as you want me.”
“You were always my boy, my best blood, my best hope,” he rasps. “At least you tried, huh? Don’t take no shit, Jerz. Don’t be so shittin’ soft.” He tries to swallow but can’t seem to do it. “Fuck’em. Fuck’em all. It’s you against everybody. Don’t trust nobody.” The last only comes out as a whisper and he points at the cup of water on the bed table.
I hold it to his lips and half of it dribbles down his chin as he tries to sip some.
“Dad, listen, I got a lot of things going on right now. Got some money already and more coming in. Nobody fucks with me, Dad. Believe that.”
“Pussy….,” he whispers. “Sometimes you’re just a little pussy. Be hard all the time.” He tries squeezing my arm again and I barely feel it. I look at him and understand. I remember all the times he’s told me that. Over and over again. For years. Tryin’ to make me tough. Get me ready for the world he knew - and the one I would know.
Out of nowhere, twenty or so years ago comes flashing back into my head. I’m watching the whole thing like it’s a video or something. It’s hotter than hell and he’s sweatin’ like a prizefighter. His wife beater tee shirt is stuck to him and he slams his beer can down on the counter. He was always a big guy and back then he was built too. Lean, hard and ready to rock and roll. Then you add meaner than a fuckin’ rattlesnake on top of all that and you got something to worry about.
We’re at the old house and he’s pushing me all over the kitchen. It’s late and he’s all drunked up. Shoving and bouncing me around the room. Jabbing me in the chest and cuffing me like a grizzly bear who doesn’t want to kill right away. I’m twelve, maybe. He grabs a heavy metal ladle out of the sink and smacks me a good one with it.
“Hit me, you little fuckin’ girl. You pussy. Gonna toughen your candy ass up a little. I’ll show you how to be a man, you little bastard.” He corners me and I get whapped again, right on the ear. “Don’t let me fuck with you like that. Aw, you gonna cry on me now? I said HIT ME!”
His long ago yell echoes in my head and I blink. Blink again and then I’m back in this pale green dying room. It smells like death in here no matter how much they spray. Like cheap perfume on a slut.
He whispers something I don’t understand.
I lean in closer and he’s got a tear coming down his bony cheek. He smacks his lips twice and tries again.
I look at the tile floor quickly and push everything down, down and away.
“I tried with you.” His voice is wavering.
“Dad you did fine, what are you talking ‘bout?”
“Not your fault, you just don’t have it in you.”
“Dad, you’re wrong about that.”
“You’re still my boy, though.”
“Yeah, well okay, I know, I know. You’re always my dad and there ain’t nothing changin’ that, either.”
“Mick.” He says and frowns, or tries to.
“No, Dad, it’s me. It’s Jerz and I’m here for you.”
His head goes sideways on me, but his eyes are still open.
“Your
“Jesus, Dad. I, uh, I came as soon as I heard.”
“Wha…whatcha got cookin’ since you got out? Got anything good in the pipeline?”
He seizes up a little right after he says it, gritting his teeth so bad I can hear them grind. His facial skin is tight and thin. I can almost see his jaw muscles.
“Don’t talk too much, ‘kay, Dad?”
The loud moaning keeps up. Somebody else joins the chorus, jabbering away down on the other end of the big open room.
“I’m gonna get you in a room. This is bullshit.”
“Ain’t worth it, boy.” His eyes are still squeezed shut but his face relaxes a little. “No time for that.”
He opens his eyes and takes my forearm. His grip is feeble, like an old woman’s. He’s staring at me hard and opens his mouth to speak but can’t get it out. He tries to squeeze my arm harder.
“Dad, look. Just rest. I’m here and I’ll stay as long as you want me.”
“You were always my boy, my best blood, my best hope,” he rasps. “At least you tried, huh? Don’t take no shit, Jerz. Don’t be so shittin’ soft.” He tries to swallow but can’t seem to do it. “Fuck’em. Fuck’em all. It’s you against everybody. Don’t trust nobody.” The last only comes out as a whisper and he points at the cup of water on the bed table.
I hold it to his lips and half of it dribbles down his chin as he tries to sip some.
“Dad, listen, I got a lot of things going on right now. Got some money already and more coming in. Nobody fucks with me, Dad. Believe that.”
“Pussy….,” he whispers. “Sometimes you’re just a little pussy. Be hard all the time.” He tries squeezing my arm again and I barely feel it. I look at him and understand. I remember all the times he’s told me that. Over and over again. For years. Tryin’ to make me tough. Get me ready for the world he knew - and the one I would know.
Out of nowhere, twenty or so years ago comes flashing back into my head. I’m watching the whole thing like it’s a video or something. It’s hotter than hell and he’s sweatin’ like a prizefighter. His wife beater tee shirt is stuck to him and he slams his beer can down on the counter. He was always a big guy and back then he was built too. Lean, hard and ready to rock and roll. Then you add meaner than a fuckin’ rattlesnake on top of all that and you got something to worry about.
We’re at the old house and he’s pushing me all over the kitchen. It’s late and he’s all drunked up. Shoving and bouncing me around the room. Jabbing me in the chest and cuffing me like a grizzly bear who doesn’t want to kill right away. I’m twelve, maybe. He grabs a heavy metal ladle out of the sink and smacks me a good one with it.
“Hit me, you little fuckin’ girl. You pussy. Gonna toughen your candy ass up a little. I’ll show you how to be a man, you little bastard.” He corners me and I get whapped again, right on the ear. “Don’t let me fuck with you like that. Aw, you gonna cry on me now? I said HIT ME!”
His long ago yell echoes in my head and I blink. Blink again and then I’m back in this pale green dying room. It smells like death in here no matter how much they spray. Like cheap perfume on a slut.
He whispers something I don’t understand.
I lean in closer and he’s got a tear coming down his bony cheek. He smacks his lips twice and tries again.
I look at the tile floor quickly and push everything down, down and away.
“I tried with you.” His voice is wavering.
“Dad you did fine, what are you talking ‘bout?”
“Not your fault, you just don’t have it in you.”
“Dad, you’re wrong about that.”
“You’re still my boy, though.”
“Yeah, well okay, I know, I know. You’re always my dad and there ain’t nothing changin’ that, either.”
“Mick.” He says and frowns, or tries to.
“No, Dad, it’s me. It’s Jerz and I’m here for you.”
His head goes sideways on me, but his eyes are still open.
“Your
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