Abandoned

Julie Daseking

Tompkins 1

April 24, 2015

Abandoned

Ben burrows under the blankets on his bed and whispers quick prayers, hoping God can hear him. He feels the throbbing punch of his heart in his left cheek, and his right arm aches as he presses the bruises against the cold sheets. The clock flips to 12:00 am, and Ben crinkles his brow and shut his eyes in an attempt make his bedroom disappear. He hears the front door bounce off the wall in the entryway as his father’s girlfriend, Jeanette, slips inside, trying not to wake anyone. Ben feels the tension in his muscles beginning to fizz into the air like steam off a hot grill doused with ice water, and he allows himself to take a deep breath. He knows that as long as she’s here, his dad won’t come near him. He’ll be safe. His heart begins to slow to a resting pace, and the throbbing in his head lessens as well. Eyes pressed shut, his mind wanders to happier thoughts as he attempts to forget the pain searing through his body. He thinks of his Mom, who has been dead for over four years now. He was only three when she lost her two year battle with lung cancer, and his father hasn’t been the same since. Ben imagines her in his bedroom, singing to him as he falls asleep. Instead, he hears the rusty hinges creak on his door and he peeks out from under the covers to see Jeanette tiptoe in.

“Ben, are you awake?” she asks.

“Yes,” he murmurs back from under the blanket.

“What are you doing beneath the covers?”

“Nothing...I’m cold.”

“Ben...you’ll suffocate under there,” Jeanette chuckles as she pulls the covers off of his face. She lets out a sharp, quiet gasp when she sees the indigo tinge of the swollen skin around his left eye.

“What happened?” Jeanette exclaims. Ben hears the floorboards creak under his father’s lead feet as his dad creeps closer to listen to their conversation through the open door. Ben’s heart begins to pound against his chest like a fly against a window.

“I...I was...bored...” he starts.

“And?”

“And I tried to...to play catch with myself, but...I missed.” Ben gazes nervously into her face, watching her expression to determine if she believes him. Her eyebrows scrunch down and wrinkle her nose as she ponders, “Ok,” her voice is perspicuously questioning in tone, and Ben prepares to bolster his fabricated tale.

“Let’s get some ice on that. I’ll be right back,” she finishes her thought and slips out of the bedroom. In the other room, he can hear the mattress springs squeak as his dad climbs back into bed again. He obviously thinks Jeanette believes Ben as well.

Jeanette returns a few minutes later with a bag of frozen peas, which she gently lays on Ben’s eye. He winces as the freezing surface presses against the bruise.

“There we go, leave that on for fifteen minutes, then I’ll come back and put it in the freezer” she coos as she strokes his cheek. Ben’s lips draw into a smile. It feels good to have someone take care of him.

“I’ve never heard of a kid giving himself a black eye before...were you here when it happened?” she asks Ben’s father casually, carefully masking the suspicion in her voice.

“No, he was inside all evening, plus it was dark.”

“Uh huh. So...you didn’t notice that his face was bruised?”

“No... he’s fine... I mean, he was in his room.”

“Craig, what really happened? I can tell you’re both lying to me,” she flicks the frustrated words at him.

“I don’t know what happened! Now. Drop. It.” His voice begins to boil with anger, and his words pound into Jeanette’s ears like stone waves. Suddenly, her light-hearted suspicion transforms into astonished fear. She has an idea of what’s really happened, but she wills with all her heart for it to be untrue. Nextdoor, Ben lies attentive in his bed, straining to hear the words through his bedroom wall. Sweat pools on his brow and makes his hands hot and numb with apprehension.

“Craig, did...did you beat him?” her voice quivers with disbelief.

“He’s an evil little troublemaker, he deserves it,” his words are icy and dangerous as he tries to keep his emotions from boiling over.

Ben hears her scoff in disgust, then stomp briskly down the hall to his room. Jeanette bends down and whispers in his ear, “Honey, I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.” Then, she takes the peas and shuts his door. The clock reads 12:10, and Ben finally succumbs to sleep.

“BEN! Get in here, NOW!” Craig roars from the living room. It’s 3:13 am, and Ben’s eyes flare open, interrupting his slumber. He scampers to his father, his heart throbbing in his chest, his whole body tingling with fear and anticipation, and his blood running hot through his veins.

“What did you say to her?”

“To who, Dad?”

“Jeanette! She’s gone! It’s your fault, you BRAT!”

She’s gone? Jeanette was the only person who could help me, how could she leave me? She said I didn’t deserve this. She was the only person who cared! his internal voice wails in despair at the realization.

Suddenly, Ben is ripped from his thoughts to see his father’s fist whizzing towards his head. His body folds under the force, and the room blurs into blackness as he topples onto the floor. And that was the last time his father hit him, the last time anyone hit him in fact. The breath Ben took as he braced himself for impact was the last breath his lungs ever drew in. His father’s furious fist the last thing he ever saw. Horror and the agony of abandonment the last emotions to ever plague his heart and mind. They found him the next morning, broken, bruised, and sprawled across the living room floor.