and she was planning to become an actress before her life ended tragically at the age of nineteen (half true: Shirley Tomlinson was blond and almost unbearably beautiful, but at the time of the accident she was engaged to her high school sweetheart and studying to be a veterinarian at Indiana University in Bloomington); and so on.
“Tomlinson always seemed a lot older than thirteen,” Timmy said to PK as he drove west on San Vicente Boulevard. At Ocean Avenue he turned right and they followed a long line of cars down Channel Road to the Pacific Coast Highway. “For one thing he had a beard, plus hesmoked like a fiend and he already knew how to drive. I remember one Saturday we saw him cruising through Westwood in his uncle’s raggedy old pickup. He was sittin’ real low in the seat like a pachuco, and he was wearing biker shades like the ones Brando wore in The Wild One. ” Timmy laughed and caught Burk’s eye in the rearview. “You remember that, Ray?”
Burk nodded, he seemed disoriented for a moment as his memory jumped backward, past that day to another day, to a cool clear autumn afternoon in 1953. He remembered walking into a room he shared with his brother and finding him facedown on his bed, crying.
“Some new kid at school smacked him around,” Burk’s father told him over dinner. “He busted up his lip and gave him a shiner.”
“Why?” Burk asked.
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me.”
“There wasn’t any reason,” Gene told Burk later in the darkness of their bedroom. “I was just going over my math homework with Carla Powers and he walked up and slugged me in the face.”
“What’d you do?”
“I tried to grab his arms but he punched me again.”
“Did you fight back?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“I was afraid he’d hurt me.”
“He did hurt you, Gene. Look at your face.”
The next day, Friday, between fourth and fifth periods, Clay Tomlinson pulled Gene behind the metal shop and doubled him over with a right hand under his heart. Gene instantly lost his breath, and tears oozed out of his eyes as he desperately tried to gulp air. A crowd quickly gathered and someone shouted “Fight him, Gene!” but, later, all Gene could remember was that split second of pain after the bell rang and Tomlinson’s final blow glanced off his cheekbone, sending him to his knees.
Silence weighted the air that afternoon while Burk and his older brother rode their bikes home from school. Finally, at a stoplight,Burk pointed to the discolored lump that was growing next to Gene’s ear. “Are you gonna let him beat you up every day, Gene?”
“Eventually he’ll lay off.”
“How do you know?”
“He will. As soon as he sees I won’t fight back he’ll lose interest.”
They sat for a while without speaking. Several cars and a bus passed by, the gray exhaust curling in front of their faces. Suddenly Burk stood up on his pedals and peeled off to his right. Over his shoulder he yelled, “I don’t want a coward for an older brother, Gene. That’s not fair.”
It rained in Los Angeles the following Monday, so Burk’s father took the day off to watch the Brooklyn Dodgers play the New York Yankees in the fifth game of the World Series. With the score tied three all and Duke Snider at the plate in the sixth inning, the phone rang. When he picked up the receiver, a voice he didn’t recognize said, “Is this Gene Burk’s father?”
“Yes it is.”
“This is Mr. Lockridge, the principal at Emerson Junior High School. Your son has been injured.”
Nathan Burk’s mind went blank for a moment. “What happened?”
“We’re not sure. Either he fell or he was pushed out of the boys’ rest room on the second floor of the classroom building. The ambulance has just arrived.” Through the other end of the receiver, Burk’s father could hear the radio account of the World Series playing in Lockridge’s office. Snider took a called third strike and Lockridge said,
“Tomlinson always seemed a lot older than thirteen,” Timmy said to PK as he drove west on San Vicente Boulevard. At Ocean Avenue he turned right and they followed a long line of cars down Channel Road to the Pacific Coast Highway. “For one thing he had a beard, plus hesmoked like a fiend and he already knew how to drive. I remember one Saturday we saw him cruising through Westwood in his uncle’s raggedy old pickup. He was sittin’ real low in the seat like a pachuco, and he was wearing biker shades like the ones Brando wore in The Wild One. ” Timmy laughed and caught Burk’s eye in the rearview. “You remember that, Ray?”
Burk nodded, he seemed disoriented for a moment as his memory jumped backward, past that day to another day, to a cool clear autumn afternoon in 1953. He remembered walking into a room he shared with his brother and finding him facedown on his bed, crying.
“Some new kid at school smacked him around,” Burk’s father told him over dinner. “He busted up his lip and gave him a shiner.”
“Why?” Burk asked.
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me.”
“There wasn’t any reason,” Gene told Burk later in the darkness of their bedroom. “I was just going over my math homework with Carla Powers and he walked up and slugged me in the face.”
“What’d you do?”
“I tried to grab his arms but he punched me again.”
“Did you fight back?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“I was afraid he’d hurt me.”
“He did hurt you, Gene. Look at your face.”
The next day, Friday, between fourth and fifth periods, Clay Tomlinson pulled Gene behind the metal shop and doubled him over with a right hand under his heart. Gene instantly lost his breath, and tears oozed out of his eyes as he desperately tried to gulp air. A crowd quickly gathered and someone shouted “Fight him, Gene!” but, later, all Gene could remember was that split second of pain after the bell rang and Tomlinson’s final blow glanced off his cheekbone, sending him to his knees.
Silence weighted the air that afternoon while Burk and his older brother rode their bikes home from school. Finally, at a stoplight,Burk pointed to the discolored lump that was growing next to Gene’s ear. “Are you gonna let him beat you up every day, Gene?”
“Eventually he’ll lay off.”
“How do you know?”
“He will. As soon as he sees I won’t fight back he’ll lose interest.”
They sat for a while without speaking. Several cars and a bus passed by, the gray exhaust curling in front of their faces. Suddenly Burk stood up on his pedals and peeled off to his right. Over his shoulder he yelled, “I don’t want a coward for an older brother, Gene. That’s not fair.”
It rained in Los Angeles the following Monday, so Burk’s father took the day off to watch the Brooklyn Dodgers play the New York Yankees in the fifth game of the World Series. With the score tied three all and Duke Snider at the plate in the sixth inning, the phone rang. When he picked up the receiver, a voice he didn’t recognize said, “Is this Gene Burk’s father?”
“Yes it is.”
“This is Mr. Lockridge, the principal at Emerson Junior High School. Your son has been injured.”
Nathan Burk’s mind went blank for a moment. “What happened?”
“We’re not sure. Either he fell or he was pushed out of the boys’ rest room on the second floor of the classroom building. The ambulance has just arrived.” Through the other end of the receiver, Burk’s father could hear the radio account of the World Series playing in Lockridge’s office. Snider took a called third strike and Lockridge said,
Similar Books
![In The Still of the Night [The Protectors 2] (Siren Publishing Classic)](https://fs.dianahicksbooks.com/607646/thumbs/152x264/in-the-still-of-the-night-the-protectors-2-siren-publishing-classic.jpg)
