Pork Read online

Steven woke at dawn in a state of anxiety. The same thought played in his mind over and over again: What if Pork’s pa had found her sleeping out in the open? He hardly slept all night and had seriously considered returning to her in the early hours of the morning. If it weren’t for his momma and the man she had brought home making guttural sounds in the hall, he would have left.

  His momma was awake when he came out of the kitchen. He had made some sandwiches since everything he had bought for Pork burned up in the fire last night.

  “Why are you up so early?” she asked, blowing cigarette smoke toward the ceiling.

  “I have to do something at school.”

  “Yeah?” She pulled in another lungful of nicotine and blew it out before adding, “What?”

  “Homework.”

  “I see. You didn’t come home until late last night. Where were you?”

  Steven wondered how she knew that since she didn’t come home with the man until three in the morning. Was it a rhetorical question? The spies informed her of his whereabouts, no doubt.

  “I was working at Bob’s. He sent Fenton to school to come get me. They needed help washing cars.” It wasn’t entirely a lie.

  “You know, I met Bob at the bar last night. He told me what a fine young worker you are. But then, he also told me you left before six.”

  “I was, uh…”

  “Don’t lie to me, boy!” His momma glared at him, tossing her cigarette into the ashtray.

  “I was in the woods.”

  “Yeah, Ferguson told me he saw you where the tree house burned down. Said something about you yelling about a girl.”

  Steven’s heart almost stopped. He wondered if Ferguson was the spy. Did he set the place on fire and wait for Steven to get there in order to report back to his momma? Was she happy the house was gone?

  “Yeah, I go there from time to time.”

  “Why?” His momma’s eyes narrowed inquisitively. He shrugged. It wasn’t something she didn’t already know. Ferguson would have told her everything. “What were you yelling about? Ferguson said you were being weird about a girl.”

  Steven’s heart was beating wildly and he searched frantically for a way to explain about Pork. “I don’t know. I had some stuff in the tree house. Maybe I was saying something about that.”

  “Were you with that girl…” His momma’s eyebrows scrunched up before she continued, “Sandy. That’s the name. Was she in the tree house?”

  “No. She wasn’t. I can’t remember what I said last night.”

  “Fine, let me refresh your memory. According to Ferguson, you said there was a girl in the burning tree house. You were screaming ‘pork’ before you bolted from his grip and got all weird. So, if it wasn’t Sandy, who the hell was it, and what’s pork got to do with it?”

  Steven licked his lips. It didn’t sound like she knew about Pork, so he had to be careful with what he said next. If he wasn’t, he’d incur his momma’s wrath, or worse, put Pork in harm’s way. Either way, he didn’t enjoy being questioned.

  “I don’t know what Ferguson told you, momma. But it wasn’t Sandy and there was no girl in there. You know I had a guitar, right?” She nodded. “I named it ‘pork’ and it was destroyed in the fire. I probably babbled about that.” His momma sighed and looked at him from head to toe.

  “See what happens when you don’t buy things through legitimate means?” His momma’s eyebrows shot up. “I knew you stole my groceries from the kitchen to buy that guitar. And it’s such a strange name for an instrument.” Her eyebrows came together and Steven’s stomach did a somersault. He didn’t care about the accusation. He was just happy his momma believed what he said. “What else did you keep in there?”

  “Nothing important. Just some junk.”

  “How did you find the tree house?”

  Steven was surprised by his momma’s interest, but this was hardly the time to question it. His tummy was tied in a knot from anxiety over Pork’s safety. He had to check up on her before he headed to school, and there wasn’t much time left.

  “I stumbled on it about three years ago,” he said.

  His momma sat on the couch, her mouth agape.

  “Three years and you never told me.” His momma paused, and Steven stared at his feet. “You know who built it?” Steven looked up at her. “Your pa. Just before he left us.”

  The information hit him like a blow to the head. He didn’t know what to think. How come he’d never suspected it? Steven paddled his memory backward to the day when he first found the tree house. Were there traces of his pa’s existence he had missed? Did pa sleep on the dingy mattress he got rid of? Would his momma commission spies to destroy a house built by the man she hated most? He wondered how his momma’s revelation had left so many questions unanswered. A dull ache began at the base of his skull. He slung his backpack over one shoulder and left, leaving his momma alone.

  ***

  Having lost so much precious time being interrogated by his momma, Steven jogged to the clearing where the tree house once stood. He was sweating in the cool morning air, afraid of what he might find. The sun threw its first rays of light across the town and sparrows flitted about. When he reached the broken bridge, he ran the final few steps. Pork was washing her face in the creek.

  “Thank God,” he muttered, trying to catch his breath at the same time. “Are you all right?” he asked and she turned abruptly.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Where’s Mildred?” Pork pointed at the ground behind her, and there Mildred was, sitting comfortably in her nest. “Okay. I just came to see if you were all right. I have to go to school now. Did you sleep well?”

  Pork nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll be back later. Here, have this to eat.” He handed her the sandwiches and water. He also gave her a few old sheets, socks, and a hoodie he brought from his momma’s house. The nights were becoming colder with winter approaching and he couldn’t possibly let her sleep in the woods for much longer. It was also dangerous, especially now that the site had been exposed.

  Just before he left, Steven pulled Pork to his chest, and kissed her cheek. As he turned around, he saw the burnt remains in daylight for the first time. The ground was wet where the firemen had sprayed the hose, and the mighty oak had broken in half, leaving only the sad remnants of what had once been his tree house. He shook his head and walked to school.

  The past day had been confusing and emotionally draining for Steven. He had lost his beloved tree house, which, according to his momma, was built by his pa. Although he was devastated by the loss, he was exceedingly thankful that Pork and Mildred had been unharmed. He could build another house, but he couldn’t imagine what he’d have done if Pork got hurt. Now that her safety depended on him, he had to find a way to build a new house for her.

  ***

  Steven longed for the day when he would no longer walk the halls of Halstead High. He’d do as Aunt Therese said and leave this town behind when he became a grown man.

  Today, the same gang stood by the lockers as usual, while Butch and Tommy whispered like lovers. The two smiled widely as Steven walked past.

  “Good morning, Stevie,” Tommy said. Butch looked strangely satisfied, but Steven couldn’t be bothered to wonder why.

  “Or is it?” Butch said with a cunning smile. “Hey Tommy, did you hear about the tree house that burned down last night?”

  Steven stopped and glanced at the two of them. He was on high alert, and the dull throb at the base of his neck gained intensity.

  “Yeah, I hear it was some freak’s hangout spot,” Tommy replied.

  “I wonder who burned it down,” Butch said with a malicious laugh.

  Steven’s lips curled and his hands balled into fists. Rage coursed through his veins, making his body tremble uncontrollably. He lunged toward Butch and threw a punch. This time, Butch was prepared for the attack. He grabbed Steven’s hand and twisted him around, wrapping a beefy arm across his neck while Steven screamed in pain.
/>   “Let go of me, you bastard!”

  “Not so strong now, are you, Stevie?” A few other kids in the hallway paused and stared at the two of them from the sidelines. Butch whispered, “You listen to me, you prick. Don’t you dare cross me again, or you’ll be sorry. Just like you are now.”

  “C’mon, Butch. Let him go,” Tommy said. “We’ll be in trouble if Mrs. Thatcher comes along now.” Having made his point, Butch shoved Steven away. “Go on, punk.” Tommy shooed Steven off.

  As if on cue, Mrs. Thatcher’s heels clicked down the hall and all the kids rushed to their classes. As Butch and Tommy relaxed to pick up their bags from the floor, Steven balled up his fist and punched Butch in the nose. The blow had him seeing stars and he was disoriented for a moment.

  “Aw, shit. Are you all right, Butch?” Tommy asked.

  Determined to make full use of Butch’s moment of delirium, Steven packed in two more punches to his gut and sent Butch to the floor before Mrs. Thatcher even turned the corner. Hearing the commotion in the hallway, a few kids, including Sandy, peered through their classroom doors. Butch was bleeding through his nose and he couldn’t stand up. Tommy and two other kids rushed to haul Steven away, his legs kicking and his mouth spouting curses. Steven tried to break free, but Tommy held his collar as Mrs. Thatcher approached them. Butch was still bleeding on the floor, his back against a locker.

  “What in God’s name is happening here?” Mrs. Thatcher asked, horrified.

  “Stevie punched Butch,” Tommy said.

  She took one look at Butch and took Steven’s collar in her hand.

  “Both of you. My office. Now!” she said.

  ***

  The next few minutes went by in a haze. Steven couldn’t quite recall the specifics, but he vaguely remembered the questions, the accusations, the finger-pointing, the first aid, the phone calls, and finally the arrival of his momma and Butch’s father. He had never been a troublemaker at school, and his momma had never been called in before on his account. Not even when her face first appeared in the papers, when the name-calling and jeering was at its worst.

  “We’re sorry to trouble you, Judge Watterson. We know how very busy you must be, but there’s a pressing matter that needs to be discussed,” Mrs. Thatcher said when they were seated in her office.

  “Of course, Mrs. Thatcher. I’m glad you called. I want to be a part of my son’s development. If he’s done something wrong, I want to be able to fix it right away,” Steven heard Judge Watterson say. The man looked just as sharp as he had when he came by Bob’s a few weeks ago. He was strangely calm for a parent who had just had his son punched by a boy younger and much smaller than him.

  Steven’s momma stared at Mrs. Thatcher’s desk for lack of a better view in the small office. There weren’t any photographs of loved ones or souvenirs on it. Not even the customary paperweight. The table was organized much like the woman herself. But at present, there was something disturbing about the neatness.

  “We appreciate your concern, Judge.” Mrs. Thatcher turned to Steven’s momma next. “Mrs. Walthurst, I’m sorry to say that Steven punched Judge Watterson’s son. As you can see, Butch is bleeding and will most likely need medical attention. Butch has also brought to our attention that this is not the first time an incident of this sort has happened involving Steven.” Steven stared at the desk just like his momma did. The only difference was that Steven had an angry scowl on his face. “Mrs. Walthurst, do you understand the severity of the situation?”

  Steven’s momma jerked and looked at Mrs. Thatcher as if she had been shot.

  “Of course I understand the severity of the situation,” she spat. “Now, why don’t you tell me what the hell happened before my son hit him. I think that would explain why it happened in the first place.”

  If ever Steven was proud of his momma before, he couldn’t remember. But in Mrs. Thatcher’s office that day, she definitely did him proud.

  Mrs. Thatcher linked her fingers on her desk and leaned forward. “Mrs. Walthurst, while I appreciate you trying to get to the root of the issue, I must point out that violence is not the way to settle differences of opinion, or anything else, for that matter. We do not tolerate such behavior at Halstead High.”

  The judge smirked, looking quite satisfied with her tart response.

  “Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m an idiot, Mrs. Thatcher. Nobody tolerates violence, and it’s certainly not how I intend to raise my son. Scheming, conniving, and violent ways are not ours,” his momma said, shooting a sharp look at the judge. He offered her a smile laced with pity and turned to face Mrs. Thatcher. Steven’s momma ignored him and continued, “Now, is someone here going to tell me what the hell happened?”

  “Butch, would you like to tell Mrs. Walthurst what happened?” Mrs. Thatcher directed the question to him.

  “Yes, Mrs. Thatcher. Frankly, I have no idea. One minute I was having a friendly chat with my buddy Tommy, when suddenly, Stevie here lunged at me and started punching,” Butch said regretfully, a wad of bloody cotton stuck in his nose.

  “Liar!” Steven screamed, almost springing from his chair.

  Butch gave a fine performance of cowering at his thunderous voice. “See what I mean?” Butch said.

  “He set my pa’s tree house on fire!” Steven roared.

  “Son, this is a wild accusation you’re hurling at my son. Now, if you have proof of him burning down the tree house, that’s a different matter altogether. Do you have any such proof?” Judge Watterson looked at Steven.

  “Ask him.” Steven pointed a steady finger at Butch. “He was the one laughing about what he’d done with Tommy.”

  “Did you?” the judge asked his son.

  “Dad, I don’t know what he’s talking about. I swear. Tommy and I were talking about the tree house that burned down last night, yes. But we were wondering how it caught fire. Stevie must have completely misunderstood our conversation.”

  “Liar!” Steven shouted again.

  “Enough,” Mrs. Thatcher said finally. “I’ve heard enough from both of you.” She looked at Steven’s momma. “Mrs. Walthurst, I’m willing to let this go, but not if it happens again. After all, this is not the first time he has punched Butch.”

  “Yeah, the first time he insulted my momma, so I gave it to him good!” Steven spat.

  Steven’s momma closed her eyes. Mrs. Thatcher removed the glasses from the bridge of her nose and placed them on her desk with a sigh. “I don’t think Steven recognizes this behavior as unacceptable, Mrs. Walthurst. I have no choice now but to send him to detention so he can think about what he’s done.”

  Steven’s momma sneered and shook her head as Steven glared at Mrs. Thatcher.

  “Well, if that is all, I’d like my son back in class where he can make better use of his time. The nose will heal just fine, I think. My son’s a tough kid,” Judge Watterson said, smiling at his son. “Thank you for your invaluable time, Mrs. Thatcher.”

  “My pleasure, Judge Watterson.” The elderly woman beamed and rose with him. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. We’ll let you know if there’s anything else.” Then, looking at Butch, “Butch, you may go to class.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Thatcher,” Butch said with a polite smile.

  Judge Watterson briefly paused and glanced at Steven’s momma. “Mrs. Walthurst, I’m very sorry about your husband’s tree house. Or is it ex-husband? Either way, I am sorry,” he said, his voice thick with pity.

  “And oh, we’re very grateful for the generous donation you made to Halstead High at the summer ball, Judge Watterson,” Mrs. Thatcher added as she accompanied them to the door. “We have great plans for the school, and your contribution will ensure that our students get the best education.”

  “The pleasure’s all mine. Anything I can do to help.” With that, father and son left.

  Steven and his momma gritted their teeth and rose to leave, but Mrs. Thatcher stopped them. “Mrs. Walthurst, may I speak with you in private, please?�
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  Steven’s momma looked at her and nodded at her son before sitting down again. Steven sulked out of the room alone, closing the door behind him.

  “Mrs. Walthurst,” Mrs. Thatcher began when they were seated again. “Steven has problems controlling his temper. Now, I understand that high school can be quite challenging, especially with everything that’s been going on in his life lately. But he has to learn to control his emotions, and that will not be possible without your guidance.”

  “I understand, Mrs. Thatcher, and I appreciate your concern. I’ll talk to my son. If there’s nothing else, I really have to get going. I need to get some sleep. I work late.”

  “There is something else, Mrs. Walthurst.” Mrs. Thatcher rose from her desk and sauntered to the window, staring out briefly. When she faced Steven’s momma again, there was kindness in her eyes. “Steven is a loner. He doesn’t have any friends. He has trouble communicating with other kids and rarely joins school activities. And now this.”

  “That’s not true,” Steven’s momma said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Steven’s got a friend. Her name’s Sandy. She came by the house the other day,” she said defiantly.

  “After years of going to school, he has one friend. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?” Mrs. Thatcher cocked her head. Steven’s momma dropped her gaze and stared at the chipped paint on her nails. “Mrs. Walthurst, Steven’s grades are poor. He scores well in math consistently, but comes close to failing all other subjects. My teachers tell me he pays attention in class and finishes all his homework, but he stares blankly at the questions during tests.” Steven’s momma blinked a few times, not quite understanding. “We’d really like to help him, Mrs. Walthurst, but we need to know what the problem is first.” The elderly woman looked at Steven’s momma compassionately before she added, “Perhaps you’d like to consider sending Steven for counseling. I happen to know someone very good. She has helped a lot of students improve their grades tremendously.”

  “You mean like a psychiatrist?” Steven’s momma whispered despondently. Mrs. Thatcher sighed and nodded. “You’re saying my son is crazy?”