Page 3 of Deserter

I shifted and tapped my fingers against the orange material covering the chair. I could hear the neighbor kids laughing over something and would’ve given anything to join them.

“That’s the trouble with everyone… always wanting to follow the rules. You think we followed rules when we were over there facing the goddamned Vi?t C?ng?” He roused himself from his stupor to ask.

“No, sir.”

“You’re goddamned right we didn’t. We were brothers, but here, it’s every man for himself. This country ain’t done one thing for me. So, I don’t fight for them anymore. I found a true brotherhood—one that makes its own rules. When you meet them, you’ll understand. You’re almost a man now, James. What are you—fourteen… fifteen?”

“I’m eight… sir.” I watched him think about that for a minute before looking over at me again.

“No shit? Well, it’s time you learned to be a man. No more of this comic bullshit. Superheroes don’t exist, you hear me?” His voice shot up, and I nodded nervously.

My ma said we had to walk on eggshells around him, but I wasn’t sure how that would help. It’d just make a mess and give him something else to be angry about.

At night, she and I would sit in my room while he was out with his new brothers. Ma would clutch her rosary beads and say her Hail Marys, along with the litany of Mary.

I recited along with her,“Virgin most wise, pray for us. Virgin rightly praised, pray for us. Virgin rightly renowned, pray for us. Virgin most powerful, pray for us.”

In my head though, I pleaded for the Blessed Mother to strike Donald Quinn down and make things go back to the way they were before.

Mary never seemed to hear my prayers though. Maybe because I wasn’t the one holding the beads.

My father would come home late and I’d hear the anger in his voice as he talked to my ma in their bedroom. She’d stay quiet until the bed started squeaking. That was when he must’ve hurt her the most and she would cry and beg for mercy.

The first time I heard it, I tried to go help her, but the door was locked. When I began pounding on it, my ma screamed for me to go to my room. She told me later that I was too young to worry about her, but I saw the bruises on her neck and chest.

She tried to hide them with her housecoat or long scarves that she’d tie around her hair, but I knew they were there, and it made me hate my father even more.

I would never care for him even if he said a million trillion Hail Marys for hurting my ma. My neighbor, Susan, said that there were some sins that even the Lord couldn’t forgive, and she was right.

Donald Quinn was going to burn in the fires of Hell; I just wished it would happen soon.

He went silent again, and I watched as his chest rose and fell before checking the clock on the wall. My shoulders relaxed, and I exhaled softly.

So far, he’d only slapped me around a few times and only when he was drinking the other stuff. Yesterday, I’d taken the bottles and hidden them under a loose floorboard in my closet. If he couldn’t find them, then he couldn’t hurt me and Ma.

I quietly retrieved my comic book from under the sofa and crept down the hall to my room. Most kids my age were thrilled when the weekend rolled around.

Not me.

I just tried to survive it.

* * *

“Are you sure what I’m wearing is okay, Don?” Ma asked again before smoothing down the collar of her blue gingham dress in the front seat. I hovered over the bench seat from the back, just excited to be allowed out of the house.

“Jesus Christ, Mary, I said what you were wearing was fine. Remember, these men are my brothers now. I don’t want either one of you doing anything to embarrass me. Stick with me and keep your mouths shut, got it?”

We agreed and my old man stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and began messing with the knobs on the radio. The old Rambler wagon bounced as we left the pavement and traveled down a dirt road.

The wagon squeaked and jerked with every rough patch we hit, causing my teeth to click together. We drove for what felt like hours before emerging at the bottom of the canyon.

A warped wooden sign greeted us as we approached.Welcome to the Wagon Wheel Motel: Where guests are family.

We began passing men and women along both sides of the road. When we pulled up outside the motel, a group of men in leather vests turned toward the vehicle with smirks.

“What do we have here? Prospect brought his pussy wagon to the gathering,” one joked as he walked around the vehicle.

Ma’s knuckles were white from squeezing the door handle. “Don?” she asked hesitantly. “What do we do?”

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