Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
I flipped to the next sheet.
I was eleven the first time I remember my father kicking me.
My eyes watered. It was one thing when he’d mentioned abuse before, but another to have the image in my mind of a child, so innocent and harmless, being assaulted like that by an adult…by his father, for Christ’s sake. I could see Kyle’s face, all that strength and power, the man so quick to a fight, and it made sense, but so many couldn’t see that vulnerable part of him that had been so hurt.
I didn’t want to read on. I wasn’t eager to see the horror he’d endured, but I didn’t have a choice. If he’d gone through so much at eleven, surely even earlier, then I could get through reading it.
I had dropped a plate after rinsing it off in the sink, as I was about to put it in the dishwasher. Dad had already been in a mood, and he lost it and dragged me into the hall, throwing me against the wall.
Mom was right there, sitting at the kitchen table, eyes downturned. I think I imagined she’d come and help me, but she just let it happen. Like, as he kicked me, everything was totally normal. A part of me thought that was just the way it was, but of course, I knew better, even then. I must’ve because otherwise I would have mentioned it to my friends, or members of the church, or teachers, but I kept it to myself, even though no one told me I needed to. Mom and Dad never had to tell me not to say anything. They must’ve known I wouldn’t by the fact that I never told anyone anything about the things he’d do to Mom. That was just how it was around our house, I’m sure from even before I could remember. I know now that it wasn’t right or healthy, but back then, it was a kid’s idea of a normal home. I just assumed everyone else’s families looked like that. Sure, I’d heard about domestic violence, but I guess in my head, it involved throwing punches or hits. The idea of Dad dragging Mom across the floor by the hair or shoving her face against the edge of the kitchen table would have never really crossed my mind…until I saw it happen.
So many pieces of Kyle started fitting together as his story unfolded.
Innocent, confused, scared.
The only solace I found in reading his words was knowing he wasn’t living with that monster anymore, that he was safe with his uncle.
Again, his wording became incoherent, jumbled scribbles, so I turned to the next page.
I know it’s not real, but some spots still feel tender, like they’ve never really healed all the way. Something else that’s never healed. I don’t know that it can or should. I just know that it would be nice if the injuries had just been on my body.
That was the end of that before I turned to the final piece, a printout sheet of paper.
A hospital bill for $5,200, itemized out for his insurance—a forearm fracture.
Oh, Kyle.
My poor, beautiful Kyle.
I put the sheets to my face as I inhaled, smelling him on them, tears flowing down my cheeks.
I looked a little too quickly back at the address on the bill, some impulse in me wanting to hunt that bastard down and destroy him.
How could he have done that to a kid?
How could he have done that to his family?
And then just as bad, to have turned this town against an innocent boy to keep his own crimes from ever being discovered?
As my heart broke for the kid I knew was in Kyle, I also felt tension because I knew there was no turning back.
23
Kyle
A thousand times I regretted having given those sheets to James.
I’d wanted to tell him, but I wasn’t sure that was the best way.
I should have collected those thoughts together and found a better way to articulate them. He was an English teacher, so surely he was judging the jumbled mess that was even more of a mess than an assignment I might have done for his class.
He wouldn’t be like that, I kept reminding myself.
But allowing myself to be so vulnerable had made me suspicious. He would judge me…think I was exaggerating…or even worse, that I made it all up.
Please believe me.
It had been impossible to convey so much in just a few pages, but even a hundred or a thousand couldn’t have covered every painful memory, every time my heart ached more than my body. Every time I was made to believe it was my fault, or that this was the way the world worked.
I chased those thoughts away.
I would have plenty of time to think on them when I saw James again. In the meantime, I would be appreciative I had Tex, who’d taught me what it really meant to be loved and respected…to be protected.