By Wes Leigh
This is a work of fiction intended solely for the
entertainment of my readers; any resemblance to any real people or places is
purely coincidental. Readers who would like to chat are encouraged to contact me
at weston.leigh@protonmail.com.
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When I come
downstairs after changing out of my school clothes, my parents don't say
anything to me. "Monty is waiting for you in the barn," Poppa informs me. His
voice is calm, quiet. I don't know what that means. Did Monty tell them what
happened? I didn't ask him to keep it a secret, but I would be so embarrassed
if they learned why I fought Clayton. Momma gives me a quick hug, strokes my
cheek, then ushers me outside to start work.
While we're
training the horses, Monty also doesn't talk about the fight. We spend the
entire time leading the horses around in their halters, getting them
comfortable with voice commands. I'm glad we aren't talking about what happened
at school. I really don't want to discuss it.
When Carson gets
home, he doesn't say a word while he's teaching me new core exercises for my
back and stomach. I want to ask him if everyone is gossiping about it, but I
don't bring it up. I know how my school operates. Carson has to have heard all
about it, but it will be wildly exaggerated. Did he hear the truth? I'm afraid
to ask, but he doesn't seem to despise me, so I guess he still likes me. Maybe
just because he's my brother and he's gotta love me.
Supper is very
quiet. I stare at my plate, mostly, eating the extra helping of meatloaf Carson
dishes out. I need the protein after my workout.
Poppa and Momma
talk about the price of feeder cattle at auction. We have a few that are old
enough to be sold as feeder steers, but Momma hates the way the animals are
treated once they're bought by the feedlots. She'd rather keep them here on our
farm, fattening them up for market ourselves.
We're farmers, and
we know many of our animals are eventually going to become food on someone's
table. We don't let our emotions get in the way of our business, but Momma
draws the line when it comes to the way big operations like feedlots and
slaughterhouses treat animals before butchering them. Poppa agrees with her,
and with the smart way Poppa runs our farm, we can actually feed and raise
cattle cheaper than the feedlots do, and our animals are cared for a darn sight
better.
I finish my
meatloaf and the extra helping of beans Carson spoons onto my plate. Momma gets
up and walks to the stove, where peach cobbler is cooling. She calls Mattie
over to help her. Peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream melting on top. My
absolute favorite.
Monty tells Poppa
that one of the fillies is showing real promise. He says, depending on how the
rest of the training goes, he'd like to look into giving her advanced training
as a cutting horse. He thinks she has the intelligence and the disposition to
be good at it. It's a risk, because Poppa can sell her at the end of the summer
and make good money for a saddle broke horse, but if he has Monty train her as
a cutting horse, she could bring more. A lot more, depending on how good she
is.
I'm happy that the
conversation is going like it is. No mention of my horrible day and ramming
Clayton's nuts up into his belly. I'm fine with that. I'll spend the three days
of my suspension working with Monty, and when I go back to school, I won't take
shit off the other guys. I meant what I said in the hallway at school. If they
give me any more crap, I'll take another three days suspension until they get
the message.
At least Momma and
Poppa aren't adding punishments on top of my suspension. I just hope the entire
mess is over and done with.
After we finish
eating, Poppa announces, "I'll need to borrow your helper in the morning,
Monty. I asked for a meeting with his principal. We're going in at nine."
My heart leaps into
my throat. Shit! I guess it isn't over after all.
͠
͠ ͠
Poppa walks up the
sidewalk next to me. The school doors are just ahead. I may throw up. I know
I'm going to have to tell everyone the whole fucking story all over again, and
my stomach is churning at the thought.
Poppa didn't say
anything to me while we driving here except that he expects me to tell the
truth. I can't tell if he's upset with me. He seems mad, but not at me. I don't
know what is coming up, but I know Poppa. He doesn't get mad often, but when he
does, it's always for a good reason, and you better not be the one who earned
his fury.
Poppa has a quiet
way of dealing with mistakes people make. He did it to Carson once, when Carson
and his friends brought over a bunch of beer and started drinking while driving
the tractor around. They wrecked it in a ditch, got it stuck, and broke an
axle. Poppa and Carson had a talk out in the barn the next day. I snuck out to
listen. Poppa didn't yell. He just looked at Carson and talked about how much
trust he'd given Carson over the years and all the hopes he had for Carson in
the years to come. He looked Carson in the eye and said, "Trust is something
you've built up with me, day after day, but it doesn't take very long to tear
that trust down. I expect better from you, Son."
That was the last
time Carson drank beer. At least, the last time I heard about it. And Carson
never hung around those guys any more. He started playing football and had a
different bunch of fellows as friends.
I knew then that if
I ever messed up, I could expect Poppa to talk to me, man to man, and let me
know what I'd have to do to earn his respect again. I've been expecting Poppa
to talk to me about what happened in school, but he hasn't said a word yet. I
did hear him tell Momma something strange before we left this morning. He said,
"I want all the facts first, my love."
That's how Poppa
is. He doesn't make rushed judgements.
We reach the doors
of the school and walk inside. The hallways are quiet because the first period
classes are in session. When we enter the main office, the secretary sees us
and says, "They're waiting for you in the conference room, Mr. Greene." She
points at an open door. I can see Principal Atkins sitting at a big table with
papers in front of him. We go in, and I see Clayton sitting at the far end of
the table between two men. I don't know either of them.
Principal Atkins
stands up. "Mr. Greene, I've arranged this meeting at your request so that we
can put this matter to rest. I understand you felt I was a bit too quick in my
decision to suspend Truman for three days, but after you hear all the facts in
this case, I think you'll agree I could have suspended him for a week or more. In
fact, I'm still considering expulsion as an option, depending on how Mr. Gentry
feels."
Atkins gestures at
Clayton and the men sitting next to him. "This is Clayton Gentry, the boy
Truman assaulted. His father, Hubert Gentry."
Poppa nods. "I know
Hubert. I've met with him on a few occasions for bank loans."
My stomach turns a
somersault. I knew Clayton's family was rich, but I didn't know he was the
banker's son.
Atkins continues,
"And this is Marcus Freeman, Mr. Gentry's attorney."
Poppa doesn't even
blink. He pulls out chairs, one for him, one for me, and motions for me to sit
down. Poppa sits next to me and his hand slides onto my knee under the table. He
squeezes my knee, once, reassuringly, and I realize he's got my back.
Atkins opens a
folder on the table in front of him and says, "First of all, I think it would
be helpful if I mention what constitutes physical assault, according to the
laws of this state."
Poppa shakes his
head and interrupts. "No, Mr. Atkins, the first thing I would like you to do is
summarize the school's policy on bullying."
Atkins stutters and
mumbles for a bit, then finally asks, "Why would I do that?"
Poppa calmly
explains, "When I heard what happened, I did a bit of checking on my own. I was
surprised to find out that you didn't do a thorough job checking into the
reason for this fight. That's when I called you and asked for this meeting. We're
not here so you can justify the actions you took yesterday. We're here to
correct a wrong and to see that the school takes the proper action to ensure
that the bullying my son suffered yesterday will not occur again."
Atkins is visibly
upset now. He glances at Mr. Gentry and the lawyer sitting beside him, then
looks back at Poppa.
Poppa doesn't give
any of them time to speak. Poppa looks straight at Principal Atkins and says,
"I know you and your wife are church-goers. Not the church my family and I
attend, but everyone in town knows you're Bible believers. I'm sure you've
heard the instructions the Lord gave to the Israelites in Leviticus 19:15. `Do
not pervert justice. Do not show partiality to the poor or favoritism to the
great, but judge your neighbor fairly.' Mr. Atkins, I believe you ignored this
instruction yesterday. You are in a position of authority, leading this school,
judging these students. You showed favoritism to the son of a wealthy man in
our community, to Mr. Gentry here. You didn't judge the case based on the
facts. Instead, you perverted justice. I'm very disappointed in you, Principal
Atkins, as a God-believing man and as an administrator in our community's
school system. You have much to explain, Principal Atkins, and I want answers
to several questions. Now you've been avoiding my first question, so I'll ask
it again. What is the school's policy on bullying?"
Shit! My father is
brutal, and I'm glad he's on my side!
Principal Atkins
gulps and stands up. He walks to the door of the conference room and asks,
"Janice, would you print out a copy of the bullying policies? Thank you."
Mr. Gentry and his
lawyer are whispering. The lawyer, Mr. Freeman, clears his throat and says, "We
appreciate the Bible lesson, but it's not entirely relevant to the case at
hand."
Poppa looks at the
lawyer and says, "There will be a time in a few minutes when I'll have
questions for the three of you, but I don't need to hear your opinions at this
moment."
The lawyer isn't
listening. "My. Greene, you do realize that Mr. Gentry has been very patient
and understanding in this matter, don't you? He is well within his rights to
press charges against your son for assault. Your son can be charged, arrested,
and potentially jailed, and Mr. Gentry can sue you for civil damages. You could
lose your farm and your livelihood. This is a very serious matter, sir."
Poppa nods. "I
agree. A very serious matter." Poppa turns in his seat and looks back out into
the office. I turn too, to see what Poppa is looking at. I see Carson and other
guys on the football team. They're standing in the office with four boys from
my PE class. That's when I realize that the four boys, the guys from my class,
all have big brothers who play football with Carson. The older guys all have
serious, almost angry, expressions on their faces. They push their little
brothers forward, into the conference room.
"What is going on
here?" Principal Atkins asks. "Why aren't you boys in class?"
Carson pulls out
the chair on the other side of me and sits down. "These boys were all in PE
with Clayton and Truman yesterday. They know what happened. We talked to them last
night and found out what caused the fight between Truman and Clayton, but you
didn't ask the right questions, Principal Atkins. They all want to explain a
few things to you today." Carson pats me on the shoulder with one hand, smiling
grimly at me. He looks back at the boys from my class and asks, "Who wants to
go first?"
One of the
footballers pushes his little brother forward. It's the kid who told everyone
Clayton should pork me in the ass. The boy looks miserable to be here, but his
big brother has one hand on the boy's neck and gives him a hard squeeze. The
boy grimaces, dips down a little to avoid his brother's grip, and says, "It all
started when we were running laps. Clayton got a little excited watching one of
the girls running on the track, and I guess he got, ummm,
a little bit of an erection."
I glance at
Clayton. He's grinning like he's proud of himself. I roll my eyes.
The boy continues
his story. "Clayton said Truman was staring at his, ummm,
boner and that Truman was perving on him. Clayton told us all to watch
ourselves, because Truman was obviously a gay creep. We were all nervous around
Truman in the showers. Clayton accused him to his face of being a perv. Truman
didn't deny it. He just ran out of the showers and got dressed. We thought that
would be the end of it, but Clayton said we can't let him get away with staring
at us every day. Clayton convinced us to catch Truman in the halls after lunch,
and that's when Truman kneed Clayton in the balls and told the rest of us he'd
punch us if we kept talking about him being gay."
Poppa looks at the
boy. I can see Poppa thinking about everything the boy said. There are times
when I think Poppa can read my mind, so I know better than to lie or tell him
half-truths. Poppa stares at the boy and asks, "You said Clayton accused Truman
of being a perv in the showers. What exactly did Clayton say?"
The boy swallows
nervously. "I don't remember everything. I think Clayton said something to Truman
about how he wanted to see his, ummm, penis, when
they were jogging, and so Truman could get a good look at it if he wanted."
"That's just locker
room talk," Mr. Freeman observes. "Boys say those kinds of things all the time,
but it doesn't constitute bullying."
Poppa turns around
and looks at Mr. Freeman. "I didn't ask for you to be here, Mr. Freeman, but
I'm glad you are, because I'm going to have a question for you in a few
minutes." Poppa turns back to the now-sweating boy and asks, "What did Truman
say and do when Clayton offered him a chance to look at Clayton's penis?"
The boy blinks
slowly and says, "He turned around and ignored Clayton."
"What happened
next, son?" Poppa asks.
"Clayton kind of
pushed up against Truman, and one of us made a joke about how Truman wanted
Clayton to, ummm, do sex stuff with him there in the
shower."
Poppa looks
carefully at the boy. I'm wishing with all my might that Poppa would ask him
who suggested that Clayton pork my ass, because I know this little weasel is
the one who said it, but instead Poppa asks, "What happened next?"
The boy sighs in
relief. "Truman didn't like Clayton pushing up against him, so he left and got
dressed."
Poppa nods. "In the
halls after lunch, when you and Clayton and the other boys surrounded Truman ...
what did Clayton say to Truman, as best you can remember, son?"
The boy glances at
Clayton. Clayton isn't so pleased with himself now, and he's beginning to look
nervous too. The boy says, "Clayton warned Truman that he better stop staring
at our ... at our junk."
Poppa nods,
waiting.
The boy continues. "Clayton
was standing really close to Truman, pushing him back against the wall. Truman
shoved him away. Clayton came back up to Truman, even closer, and said Truman
had better keep his hands to himself if he didn't want to get smashed."
Mr. Gentry
interrupts. "I've heard enough. Obviously, Clayton isn't entirely innocent in
this matter. But let me remind everyone here that there's big difference
between words and actions. Clayton may have made a few inappropriate comments
to Truman, but Truman is the one who attacked Clayton. You all heard what this
boy just said. Truman shoved Clayton in the hallway. Clayton responded to that
shove with angry words, and Truman retaliated by kneeing Clayton in the groin. That's
assault, Mr. Greene. Your son assaulted mine, and I'm of half a mind to call
the police and press charges."
Poppa looks at me. "Is
that true, Son? Did you touch Clayton first?"
I think back to the
hallway. The angry words. The shove. The knee to his balls.
I back up a few
hours. To the shower. The mocking and jeering. Clayton approaching me with his
dick half hard.
I focus on that
moment. My emotions. My frustrations. Why was I so upset?
My mind finally
accepts the memory I blocked out. I see Clayton's chubbed
up cock slowly approaching my hip. The tip touches me. He pulls back and a
silvery string of sticky liquid connects us together. He looks down and sees
it, and he leers at me, pushes forward again, and rubs the end of his cock on
my hip, smearing it around.
I look up at Poppa.
There are tears in my eyes. "No," I say, shaking my head slowly. "No, Poppa. I
didn't touch him first. He touched me first. With his cock. In the shower. He
pushed his cock into my hip and rubbed against me."
Poppa pats my knee
under the table. Carson slides his hand onto my neck and squeezes me gently.
I turn to Principal
Atkins and say, "You're always holding those special assemblies in the gym
where you have people tell us that no one has the right to do sex stuff with us
if we don't want them to. You tell us it's wrong and it's against the law. Well,
Principal Atkins, Clayton Gentry sexually assaulted me in the shower. Isn't
that what you call it? Because first he made sexual comments about how I must
be gay since I wanted to see his cock, but he didn't stop there. He touched me
with his cock and rubbed himself against me while he was getting an erection. The
other boys thought it was funny and encouraged him to rape me."
Atkins doesn't know
what to say. He stares at me in shock and asks, "Why didn't you tell me this
yesterday?"
I shake my head in
disgust. "Because you never asked. You talked to Clayton. You talked to his
friends. You got their side of the story without checking to see if they were
lying or telling the truth. You never talked to ME. You never asked me why I kneed him in the balls. I've never caused a day of trouble
in school, Mr. Atkins, not until yesterday, and you never looked for a reason
why. You just decided to suspend me for three days without bothering to find
out what really happened."
Poppa releases his
grip on my knee and places both his hands on the table. He looks hard at
Principal Atkins, then turns to stare at Mr. Gentry and Mr. Freeman. Poppa
raises both eyebrows and says, "Now I think we've reached the point where I ask
you gentleman a few questions I've been saving until now. Here they are. Do you
three realize how patient and understanding I've been in this matter? Do you
understand that I can sue this school system for negligence in the protection
of my son against bullies? Do you understand that I am well within my rights to
press charges against Clayton Gentry for sexual assault? Are you aware that
Clayton can be charged, arrested, and potentially jailed, and that his father
can be sued for civil damages? Mr. Gentry, you could lose your bank. Do you
understand that?" Poppa pauses and sighs. "This is a very serious matter,
gentlemen. Do we all agree on that point?"
Principal Atkins
stares at the papers in front of him.
Mr. Gentry glares
at Clayton, sitting next to him, and Clayton looks like he wants to run for his
life.
Mr. Freeman, the attorney,
doesn't know what to say. I bet that doesn't happen to him very often.
I hold my head high.
I'm Truman Nathaniel Greene. My Poppa is CJ Greene. We don't start trouble with
other people, but we don't let the other guys push us around. And that includes
the people in charge. Principals and teachers and bank presidents and their
fancy lawyers. My brother is Carson Greene. He's got my back, and you better
not mess with any of the Greene men. Not if you know what's good for you.
͠
͠ ͠
The other boys all
had a chance to tell Principal Atkins what they saw. There was nothing new. They
all simply confirmed what the first boy said. Then the adults sent all of us
boys out of the room while they talked. Except for Clayton. He stayed seated next
to his dad and their lawyer.
Carson and I are
waiting to hear what they've decided. Carson is sitting next to me on a bench
in the hallway. He doesn't go back to class but waits with me. He has his arm
around my shoulder, and I'm leaning against him. He's holding me like Monty did
yesterday.
Monty was right. Even cowboys need a hug every now and then.
The office door
opens and my dad comes out. He squats down in front of me and asks, "Truman, do
you want to press criminal charges against Clayton for what he did to you in
the shower?"
I think about it. Think
long and hard. Then I decide I don't want to do that. I feel like I've won the
fight in every way, so I say, "No, Poppa. I don't, but I trust you to decide
what's best. Would you take care of it for me?"
Poppa nods his head
and says, "Sure thing, Son." He stands up, glances back at me, and says, "I
couldn't be prouder of you, Truman." Then he heads back into the office.
Carson doesn't say
anything, but hugs me tight against his side. I want to ask him if he thinks I
made the right decision, but I'm starting to think I'm old enough to stick with
whatever decisions I make. It's part of my new, wild side. I knee a guy in the
balls, then I live with the fallout.
Thirty minutes
later, Poppa comes out again.
"Your suspension
has been lifted, Truman. You can go back to school, starting tomorrow, if you
want. Or you can take the rest of the school year off. You can stay at home and
help Monty train the horses, but you'll still have to do your schoolwork and
turn in assignments and take tests. Momma and I will help you do it all from
home."
"I'll help you
too," Carson says. He looks at Poppa and adds, "I can pick up his assignments
every day and turn them in when he's finished."
Poppa nods. "We'll
work out the details later, if that's what you want to do, Truman."
It doesn't take me long
to decide. Working with Monty instead of dealing with these jerks? Easy choice.
"I want to stay home, Poppa."
"Okay, Son." Poppa
looks at Carson. "And you're going to send an acceptance letter to State for
that football scholarship this fall."
Carson sighs. "Poppa,
we've talked about this. I want to go, but I can't. You need me to work the
farm."
Poppa shakes his
head. "I can hire someone to do your work, Carson. After Monty finishes
training the horses, I'll offer him a long-term position. He'll teach Truman
how to train horses, then Truman can teach him how to do all your chores."
I laugh and get
excited at the thought of Monty being my assistant.
Carson isn't
convinced. "We can't afford that, Poppa."
Poppa gives us both
a lop-sided grin. "We can now, boys. Mr. Gentry has decided to give us a very
generous loan at zero percent interest." Poppa grins. "From his own personal
account."
Carson is confused,
then he gets what Poppa is saying. "Gentry is paying us to forget about what
his little creep of a son did?"
Poppa stops
grinning and squats down in front of us, looking eye to eye with me. "Truman, some
people might feel bad about this. They might feel like you were hurt by what
those boys did, and it wouldn't be right to ignore it and do nothing. Other
people might say Gentry is paying us to let his son off the hook. I don't want
you to see it that way, and if you do, I'll go right back in there and tell
them the deal is off."
I look down at my
lap and ask, "Is Clayton sorry for what he did?"
Poppa shrugs. "I
think he realizes now that he's in serious trouble. That's probably the only
reason he's sorry. But sometimes that's what it takes to get your shit
together."
I look up at Poppa
and grin. He doesn't usually cuss like that.
Poppa takes my hand
and squeezes it. "To be honest, Truman, I think your knee taught him more than
his father can ever teach him."
We all laugh.
I ask, "Is Mr. Gentry
trying to keep us from charging Clayton with a crime?"
Poppa nods.
"But the money will
help a lot, won't it?"
Poppa nods again. "It
certainly will. But we don't need it. God will provide, son. He always
provides."
I say, "Maybe this
is how God is providing for us, Poppa." I scoot out of Carson's arms and put my
hands on each of Poppa's shoulders and give him a gentle squeeze. "Aren't you
always telling us that God knows how to make a masterpiece from our messes?"
Poppa begins to
smile and his eyes seems to sparkle with the beginning of tears. He nods at me,
so I continue. "Poppa, I know Clayton and the other boys weren't listening to
God when they were such jerks to me. And God didn't tell me to smash Clayton's
balls. When Principal Atkins suspended me, he wasn't listening to God either.
But Poppa, look how everything is working out now. Somehow, God is making
everything work out for our good, just like you've always said it will if we trust
him. That's why I'm thinking this is God providing for us. Carson can go to
college now, and that's a good thing, right?"
Poppa looks like
he's going to cry. He pulls me into his chest and hugs me. "You have been
listening, haven't you, Truman? We may not like how we got to where we are, but
we can accept this gift from God and use it for the good of our family."
"That's what I want
to do, Poppa," I say, hugging his neck as hard as I can.
I feel my brother's
strong arms wrapping around me and Poppa, tightening around us both. I'm squished
between them, but I don't mind at all.
The end of BROKEN, Chapter Eight