dropped his eyes to his penis to emphasize
his meaning. The other Mexican was out of the water, standing beside Alex.
Their postures held threats of violence. It puzzled Alex, for he’d done
nothing to them. He shook his head, smiled to show he was friendly, and went
back to his shower, quickly washing off the brown laundry soap that burned his
skin.
They were drying off when the nurse left the
room. Alex had already forgotten the momentary episode in the shower, so he
never expected or saw the punch. It was a flashing pain, exploding lights in
his eyes. He felt his feet go out on the wet floor as his rump hit the tiles
and his head snapped back into the wall.
He was sitting naked on the floor, one hand
to his mouth, blood seeping through his fingers. My father just died and they
won’t leave me alone, he thought.
“Don’t rat on us,” one
Mexican hissed.
Alex frowned; it would never enter his mind
to snitch. The ethos of boys’ homes included that rule, though it was
often ignored by the smaller boys.
But fury was welling up in him. He held up
the hand with the blood.
“Tell ‘em you fell down,”
one of the Mexicans said.
“Why’d you hit me?” Alex
asked. “I didn’t do anything to you.”
“I’ll show you.”
“Show me
what?”
“What you want, your ass kicked good .”
Alex came up in an explosion, surprising them
enough so that they didn’t move. They tensed for a direct attack, but
instead he sprang to a shelf where jars of saline sat in a row. He snatched
one, whirled, and half swung, half hurled the bottle. The distance was only
three feet, but he had telegraphed the attack and the Mexican ducked, so the
heavy missile missed by inches. It shattered against a wall. Alex grabbed
another.
“Man, cool it… don’t get us
busted!”
The older boys had split apart, half wary and
half afraid, ready to duck. Alex faked a throw, the Mexican ducked, and then
Alex let go. Again he missed, but he ran to the desk and snatched up a letter
opener.
The door flew open and the black nurse rushed
in, two men in blue shirts and gray pants at her heels, their heavy keyrings
jangling as they moved. One man wrapped his arms around Alex, lifting the boy
off his feet and hauling him backward. “Ho, boy, dammit!” the man
said. “Knock this shit off.”
The second man interposed himself between
Alex and the Mexicans, spreading his arms as if to hold them back, but it was
unnecessary.
“Get him out of here,” the nurse
said, nodding toward Alex. Blood was dripping from his nose to his chest. The
man carried him in the same grip out of the room. Alex wanted to cry in mortification.
Twenty minutes later the bleeding had stopped
and he was dressed in faded, unpressed green khakis. The shirtsleeves hung to
his fingertips, and his pants were both rolled up at the bottom and folded
at the waist beneath the web belt. The man and the nurse asked him what
had happened, but he hung his head and pressed his lips together. They knew he
hadn’t started the fight because of the odds against him, the difference
in size and age as well as numbers. The men wanted to lock all three of them in
“seclusion”. but the nurse made both sides
swear that the fight was over, and then she decided to let the matter drop. She
outranked both of the men.
“He can go,” the nurse said,
patting the boy’s head. “Take it easy, kid.” She smiled, her
good white teeth contrasting with the mahogany of her skin.
One man had already disappeared; the other
got off his perch on a table and motioned to Alex. “Time to go to
bed,” he said.
Still shivering slightly, his energy spent
from the fight, Alex followed the man. He was afraid of this place, having
heard wild stories in the military schools and boarding homes; it was the
threat the housemothers always used. The man led him down enclosed stairs,
along a narrow corridor where the concrete walls shone dully from light
striking enamel, then through a steel door that the man
his meaning. The other Mexican was out of the water, standing beside Alex.
Their postures held threats of violence. It puzzled Alex, for he’d done
nothing to them. He shook his head, smiled to show he was friendly, and went
back to his shower, quickly washing off the brown laundry soap that burned his
skin.
They were drying off when the nurse left the
room. Alex had already forgotten the momentary episode in the shower, so he
never expected or saw the punch. It was a flashing pain, exploding lights in
his eyes. He felt his feet go out on the wet floor as his rump hit the tiles
and his head snapped back into the wall.
He was sitting naked on the floor, one hand
to his mouth, blood seeping through his fingers. My father just died and they
won’t leave me alone, he thought.
“Don’t rat on us,” one
Mexican hissed.
Alex frowned; it would never enter his mind
to snitch. The ethos of boys’ homes included that rule, though it was
often ignored by the smaller boys.
But fury was welling up in him. He held up
the hand with the blood.
“Tell ‘em you fell down,”
one of the Mexicans said.
“Why’d you hit me?” Alex
asked. “I didn’t do anything to you.”
“I’ll show you.”
“Show me
what?”
“What you want, your ass kicked good .”
Alex came up in an explosion, surprising them
enough so that they didn’t move. They tensed for a direct attack, but
instead he sprang to a shelf where jars of saline sat in a row. He snatched
one, whirled, and half swung, half hurled the bottle. The distance was only
three feet, but he had telegraphed the attack and the Mexican ducked, so the
heavy missile missed by inches. It shattered against a wall. Alex grabbed
another.
“Man, cool it… don’t get us
busted!”
The older boys had split apart, half wary and
half afraid, ready to duck. Alex faked a throw, the Mexican ducked, and then
Alex let go. Again he missed, but he ran to the desk and snatched up a letter
opener.
The door flew open and the black nurse rushed
in, two men in blue shirts and gray pants at her heels, their heavy keyrings
jangling as they moved. One man wrapped his arms around Alex, lifting the boy
off his feet and hauling him backward. “Ho, boy, dammit!” the man
said. “Knock this shit off.”
The second man interposed himself between
Alex and the Mexicans, spreading his arms as if to hold them back, but it was
unnecessary.
“Get him out of here,” the nurse
said, nodding toward Alex. Blood was dripping from his nose to his chest. The
man carried him in the same grip out of the room. Alex wanted to cry in mortification.
Twenty minutes later the bleeding had stopped
and he was dressed in faded, unpressed green khakis. The shirtsleeves hung to
his fingertips, and his pants were both rolled up at the bottom and folded
at the waist beneath the web belt. The man and the nurse asked him what
had happened, but he hung his head and pressed his lips together. They knew he
hadn’t started the fight because of the odds against him, the difference
in size and age as well as numbers. The men wanted to lock all three of them in
“seclusion”. but the nurse made both sides
swear that the fight was over, and then she decided to let the matter drop. She
outranked both of the men.
“He can go,” the nurse said,
patting the boy’s head. “Take it easy, kid.” She smiled, her
good white teeth contrasting with the mahogany of her skin.
One man had already disappeared; the other
got off his perch on a table and motioned to Alex. “Time to go to
bed,” he said.
Still shivering slightly, his energy spent
from the fight, Alex followed the man. He was afraid of this place, having
heard wild stories in the military schools and boarding homes; it was the
threat the housemothers always used. The man led him down enclosed stairs,
along a narrow corridor where the concrete walls shone dully from light
striking enamel, then through a steel door that the man
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