Readers, a couple of things before you start. It's long, if you're looking for something short and sweet, move on. Next there is a depiction of sexual assault. Also know there are some gruesome scenes within the story. That's it, if you still want to read it, I hope you enjoy it.
Revenge A Dish Best Served Cold
When I think back to my childhood there were two completely different and distinct parts of it. The first part, what I consider the good part, was when my mother was alive. My sister and I were nurtured and loved by our mother, Esme.
My mother was small with dark features and dark hair. I genetically inherited her Hispanic appearance. As a child I was smaller than the other kids my age. Since we lived in a white rural area I was different. And, as often happens, the odd kid was picked on.
Early on, because of my mother's nurturing, I lacked the necessary skills to defend myself. The aggressiveness of the other kids at school surprised me and I had no built in resources to protect myself.
My father was very different from my mother. Where my mother was petite, dark skinned, with a constant smile, and a pleasant attitude, my father was pretty much the opposite.
Red faced, raw boned, angular and bad tempered, Eldridge, my father, had a partially successful moving and hauling business. He put in long hours and based on our living situation could not have possibly made much money. But, somehow the business survived. And it was a good thing it did. My father was so unpleasant, he couldn't have possibly kept a job as an employee.
His one weakness was Esme, my mother. Under her protective wing, Charity, my sister, and I escaped his ill temper. He pretty much left us alone.
Whenever, Eldridge, my father, would begin to direct his abuse my way, my mother would reassure me all was safe.
"Ben, do not worry, Mama will take care of you."
And she did. For a while.
Sadly and abruptly my mother died three weeks after my tenth birthday. The doctors told us she'd had an undiagnosed congenital heart problem. Mercifully it was quick and painless.
For my sister and I the pain of her death would last a long time. This I came to think of as the bad part of my childhood. Not only did my mother cook, clean, and take care of the house, her emotional support of us was even more important.
Household chores fell to Charity, and I. There was no family discussion on how we'd all have to pitch in. My father expected us to cook, clean, and tend to all the household chores.
When my mother was alive her natural good nature eased the sharp edges of my father's temper. Without her, his unpleasantness blossomed, both physically and verbally. And without question I was the main focus of these attacks.
The only positive that came out of all this was I learned to defend myself. I also developed reflexes to avoid the whip-like strikes from Eldridge's open or closed fists.
After eighth grade we all were funneled into the local public high school. I was still small for my age and dark complected. Once again I was the subject of the upper class boys' bullying. Normally I ignored the verbal insults and occasional shoves.
But this time it was different.
There was a family that lived on the good side of town, last name Combs. There was a girl, Shasta Combs, that was in my grade. She had a couple of older brothers and they had a bunch of buddies. Their family was wealthier than most, certainly more than us.
Charity and I were walking to the bus stop this particular day and the older Combs kid, Donnie, decided to pick on me.
There was a group of them in Donnie Combs' car. Donnie pulled the car over into the bus lane and then they all got out. Donnie, Ricky Combs, Shasta, and a couple of other kids.
Donnie began teasing us about our financial situation and the cheap clothing we were wearing.
Charity whispered to me, "Just ignore them, they'll go away."
I did as my sister suggested and we kept walking. The insults were getting more graphic and the shoving a bit harder. I'd grown used to this type of abuse from my father and I'd grown numb to the minor physical attack.
But then the direction of Combs' attention shifted to Charity.
I've described myself as small, I might be called wiry. I'd inherited my mothers small physique and her dark hair and complexion.
Charity was tall and lean like my father, but over the last year had sprouted breasts. This became Donnie's focus.
"Your sister's got some nice titties." Combs taunted, "give us a look and we'll leave you alone."
"Just keep walking," Charity quietly said to me.
And we did for a few more steps. Abruptly Combs grabbed at Charity's breast and ripped her shirt. Charity yelled and pulled away. The rest of Combs' group howled in amusement.
I quickly reacted. As Charity pulled away from Donnie, I spun around and smacked him across the face just as my father had done to me so many times.
At that Combs released Charity and turned aggressively toward me. A look somewhere between surprise and anger on his face..
"You just made the biggest fucking mistake of your life kid," Combs hissed at me.
He came at me. Combs was easily six inches and fifty pounds heavier than me. But I was protecting my sister. We squared off and their group made a rough circle around us. They were excited to see their buddy beat up the small kid.
Combs landed a long looping hook to left cheek. It was a good punch and likely would have knocked down the average kid, but I was used to this kind of treatment and more. Much more from Eldridge.
My reflexes were naturally quick and I'd learned to roll with Eldrdge's punches. When Combs hit me much of the energy behind the punch was not absorbed.
Combs then paused, the expectation was that he'd knocked me down. That didn't happen and as he paused I quickly slid close in and hit him twice, left right. I split his lip with the first punch and hit his eye socket with the other. This enraged the bully.
Eventually his sheer size and strength overcame my defenses but I'd gotten a few good punches in, surprising him. I ended up on the ground with my arms over my head and my legs tucked into my abdomen protecting my balls.
Some teacher came running over and the fight ended. Both Charity and I refused any type of official attention and claimed we were unaware of the identities of the assailants.
I was beat up for sure, but compared to a prime Eldridge beating, I would rank it about a medium. I did notice that Donnie had a pretty serious looking black eye at school the following day.
From then on the Combs' left us alone. Charity even acted friendly to me at school and one time Donnie and I passed each other in the hall and he nodded to me in a half respectful way.
From then on the perception of me at school seemed to change. People left me alone and I developed a small cadre of friends. Certainly nowhere near the popular students. The Combs' kids were firmly in that group. No, I was just average, middle of the road, nearly invisible to the elite strata at our school.
But the reality of my life was not a happy one. We were poor, my father (I'll just call him Eldridge from now on. I didn't think of him in any familial way whatsoever) was abusive and singularly unpleasant.
School was okay, but I wanted out of the entire environment. College was out of the question from a financial standpoint. I was pondering my future halfway through my junior year when all of a sudden I discovered a way out.
The army recruiters had a table set up in the library. They were distributing information about the opportunities in the US Army.
At this point in my life I had no direction, no specific future, and certainly no known path to any type of accomplishment. The opportunity in the army looked like it could change that. If I was accepted, there was a bonus on a six year enlistment. There was also training for a career. This all sounded good, a perfect solution to my situation.
Most importantly it was a way out of my miserable life in east Texas. The only single thing that I'd miss would be my sister Charity. The good news was she had a nice guy as a boyfriend and she'd be graduating this Spring. His family had an automotive business in town and Charity said he'd eventually take over the business.
If there was anything that approached a positive feeling toward high school it was my senior year. I joined the wrestling team and wrestled at the 141 pound classification. I was quick, I had good reflexes, and I never quit. The only thing in my disfavor was my lack of experience. Most of these guys had been wrestling for several years. Even so, I won more matches than I lost.
I also drifted occasionally into the popular group and made it to several of the big senior parties usually with my jock friends from the wrestling team. Surprisingly one of the people who was nice to me was Shasta Combs.
She was solidly in the popular group at school and hung out with a bunch of other good looking senior girls. Shasta had dirty blond hair, a great body, and was good looking. She'd had her share of boyfriends I'd casually observed. At one of the high school parties she told me she was going to college in Austin in the Fall.
"Ben," she asked me, "what are you going to do next year?"
I told her I was planning on joining the army.
"The Army!?" She seemed surprised, "don't you want to go to college? There's supposed to be some great parties." She told me.
I mumbled something and she drifted away to her more interesting and popular friends. I felt like in some way my life decisions didn't measure up to her. I'd like to say I didn't care but my life was peppered with disappointments. This just happened to be another minor one.
I'd met with the Army recruiters and was scheduled to leave July 18th for Fort Jackson South Carolina for ten weeks of basic combat training. More than anything I was looking forward to getting out of my hometown in Texas.
