Read Online Only Son by Kevin O'Brien - Free Book Online Page A

“accident-prone.”
    Despite such gloomy credentials, many of his friends’ parents welcomed him into their homes—for supper or to spend the night. He’d learned early on not to confide in anyone; yet for survival, he sought out and won several friends. He was safe in their homes—away from his father.
    He couldn’t predict what the old man would do. Days, even weeks could go by, and his father wouldn’t touch him, then suddenly, he’d just explode. The assaults always managed to catch Carl unprepared and vulnerable. Carl decided to build himself up—like that skinny weasel in the Charles Atlas ads on the back of his comic books. Then he’d be strong enough to defend himself. Carl exercised, and checked out books from the library on bodybuilding. His efforts boosted his athletic status at school. He held the record for chin-ups in his seventh grade class, but he was still no match for his father.
    On the frame to his closet doorway, Carl had penciled a line at six feet, two inches—his father’s height. He marked off his growth every week. When he entered high school, he stood just three inches short of his father’s line, and he became the freshman team’s first-string quarterback.
    Carl was often mentioned in the town newspaper’s sports pages; once there was even a whole article written about him, predicting a great future for him on the varsity team. Walter Jorgenson wasn’t mentioned in the story. As one of the town’s “leading citizens,” he’d become accustomed to seeing his name in the newspaper. But he’d gotten another sales job and stopped devoting so much time to civic projects. He hated the new mayor. And he seemed to hate Carl, too, because now he was the only Jorgenson who got written up by the local press.
    â€œSo how’s the football star tonight? Drop any more passes?”
    Suppertime at the Jorgenson household was always a semi-formal occasion: candlelight, tablecloth, and polite conversation amid the clanking of silverware. Carl was not expected to talk. It was unusual for his father to address him at the dinner table—unless something was about to happen. And Carl felt it coming. “I’m the quarterback, Dad,” he answered quietly. “I’m the one who does the passing.”
    â€œMust have a classload of fairies if they made you quarterback,” the old man grumbled.
    â€œWe’ve won eight out of nine games so far this season,” Carl pointed out.
    â€œIs the roast beef all right, honey?” Carl’s mother asked, looking at her husband. She fidgeted with her pearl necklace.
    He wasn’t eating. With his fork, he idly pushed the food around his plate. “Huh, thinks he’s a big man just because he got his name in the newspaper a couple of times.” He tossed his head in Carl’s direction. “Football hero. He’s not worth a damn around here. Sits around on his ass all day.”
    Carl took a deep breath. “Mom,” he murmured. “Can I please be excused?”
    â€œExcuse you?” his father said. “Why? For being so worthless? For being a lazy, good-for-nothing—”
    â€œShut up,” Carl growled. His whole body tingled as he talked back to his father for the first time.
    â€œWhat did you just say to me?” The old man reached over to grab him by the hair.
    Carl knocked his hand away. “Cut it out!”
    His father got up. “Why, you little shit—”
    â€œNo, Walter, don’t,” Carl’s mother was saying.
    Carl jumped up and backed away. With a clinched fist, his father swung at him, but Carl dodged it. He was getting too fast for the old man; didn’t have all that extra weight to slow him down. Cursing, his father got redder in the face with each failed swing until he managed to connect, cuffing Carl on the side of the head.
    Carl had gotten tagged worse during football scrimmages;