CORK POPPING

All right! My first thoughts are that this is waaaaaaaay too short. I especially dislike the hurry of chapters 13 & 14. But this is supposed to be a short story per the project for which it's written (UMSL Creative Writing Master's program application).

Will I expand this into a novel? Quite possibly. I have to finish my master project Desert Trees first. I'm hoping that to be done in 2010, at least that's my resolution.

Aside from the brevity I'm pretty satisfied as someone who hasn't read it all together yet. That's the next step, organizing and polishing. The final result will be republished here.

That's it. Time to dwell on the story as a whole now. Thanks if you've been following along!

LIW&B Prologue

The fat man lay in bed nauseous and short of breath. He was alone in the room as he would prefer it, thinking he was fortunate rather than foul. Other patients had to be considered as well as the faculty. The fat man couldn't smell his own yellow jaundiced skin.

He had been unattended since lunch hours ago. The fat man had been constipated for days so he could wait. But he needed to get up from his bed. Sixteen hours in bed proved too much for even this boorish creature. The mammoth struggled to grab the hanger bar and get a firm grip then struggled more to lift himself high enough to move his waist. He tastes the sizzling sweetness of bourbon in the back of his throat and wishes he had a bottle to guzzle. He always tastes this after such a struggle.

When his feet touch the ground the fat man almost tumbles stupidly to the floor. He catches the guest chair and steadied himself, saving any commotion or shame. The fat man had always been fat but never so obese to be unbalanced. His liver was failing. There wasn't much time left, certainly not much out of pain. The fat man tells himself he knows this, but he still refuses to die. He's too young to die. It seems like just yesterday he had a son.

The fat man realized he's got nowhere to go. If the faculty wasn't checking on him they sure as hell don't want him bothering them. And walking is just too hard. His massive stomach boiled with acid sending shivers and smoke through his veins. He wished he could vomit but he couldn't. The fat man grabbed the guest chair and rested his body on top of the armrests since he couldn't squeeze between them.

The fat closed his eyes and breathed quickly, but soon the breathing slowed. The room went back to complete silence. The only sounds came from the adjoining room. The fat man decided to listen.

It was a family, a father and son and an old aunt or grandmother from what he could tell. He listened hard and damned any passing orderly while he tried. The conversation was intriguing from a world he once dreamed to share.

The father had a mission to care for his son. His life counted in days and the boy had no one else. Enter the old woman that cussed and gristled so loud it brought a smile to the fat man's pea colored cheeks. The fat man wanted badly to hobble next door and meet them all.

The fat man adored the show he was hearing. Tragedy, Comedy, Death, Love all moved with grace and respect, reality presented on a dull, worn platter serving its millionth meal. It was family, defined and glorious, strength in which the fat man never believed.

But he tried to find it. He tried to find it for his son. He cast his infant son into a sea of humanity and gave his best prayer to find a life preserver his father couldn't throw. Dreams of drowned children tormented the fat man forever, but he believed he did the right thing. The fat man believed his child had a better chance of survival with anyone besides himself.

Sitting in the lonely hospital room, the fat man listened to the talk of a family in the room next door. He laughed and cried like any great play. He thought about his past mistakes and the fleeting thievery of time.

The fat man would soon be dead. Hearing the casual speak of family lifted his despair of that haunting afternoon twelve years earlier. If his son found such love the fat man could die content. He wanted to walk over and meet them but he didn't.

Different demons pushed and prodded the fat man. A different road he chose to walk. He sat leaning on the chair in the hospital room, sweating from the effort to stand. The fat man heard his son's name and discarded it as misunderstood, impossible to be the answer to his prayer. His condition improved and he lived a bit longer, but the episode plagued him until the end.

The fat man thought about the child named Happy a lot in his last year. He thought of all that could be kind and gentle and died full of piercing regret.

LIW&B Chapter 15 (Conclusion)

"Rosa, meet Happy," Mel introduced. "He's my son."
Happy took a step toward the old woman and extended his hand. Rosa looked at it rather than shake it heartily. She looked up at his face again and back at Mel. Silence was a rarity for the old ax, but there were dots to connect. Rosa remembered the last time her ex husband left her a voicemail. She had expected disaster.

"You call him 'Daddy'?" Rosa asked the boy, pointing at Mel.
Happy nodded, oblivious to the buzzard's hostile disbelief. "Yeah, he's my dad," Happy confirmed.
Rosa whistled high and shrill, an exclamation of her shock. "Well, I'll be dipped in shit. I can't believe you're still alive either."

Rosa took Happy's hand and gave it a shake. "Pleased to meet ya, Happy. You must be a good kid 'cuz God sure took a liking to ya." Rosa couldn't imagine Mel raising a child.
"You like livin' at the dump?" She asked the boy.
"Oh yes," Happy fervently agreed.
Rosa shook her head trying to picture a kid running around so much garbage and waste.
"Roll me in peanuts and flush me down the can," She said. Happy kept ignorant of her tone.

Rosa turned her chair to Mel and didn't worry about blocking out the boy. Mel was her target of aim.
"All right, Mel," she said, "I don't s'pose you called me down here after all these years just to say 'I told you so'. What's going on here? What do you want?"

A lot of people would shrink away from such a reaction, but Mel knew Rosa was just being herself. Mel proceeded gently, as diplomatic as he could.
"I won't bullshit around Rosa. I'll just cut to it. I'm dyin' of cancer. The doctor says I could go any day now."
Happy looked away from them and out into the hallway. He hated to hear Mel say this out loud. Happy distracted himself with hallway activity to avoid crying openly. Rosa didn't flinch. At her age death rivaled the weather as the subject of conversation.
"What kind of cancer you got?" Rosa inquired.
Mel exhaled and looked to the ceiling trying to recall all the doctor had told him.
"Hell, I don't know," Mel answered. "Every kind I think."
Rosa laughed her old smoky throated laugh and wished she had a cigarette.

"Anyway," Mel continued, "As you can see, I got a son now and he needs someone to watch out for him when I'm gone."
The low croak that begins a growl clicked in his ex wife's neck. Rosa waited to attack the fool.
"Now he doesn't need you to raise him," Mel explained. "I done handled all of that. He cook his own food and make his bed...."
Mel looked up at Happy and finished his sentence, "And he knows to wash up after himself and clean his dishes when he's done with him. Ain't that right?"
Happy brought his attention from a passing gurnee in the hall. He nodded as father wanted, unsure of what was happening. Mel hadn't mentioned Rosa. Mel hadn't mentioned anything.
"I clean up after myself," Happy announced.

"The boy's grown," Mel said. "He's 12 years old. He's been on his own all ready. I just prefer him to be under a friendly roof if I can help it."
"When's he been on his own?" Rosa asked, trying to poke a hole in her ex husband's story. "I thought you raised him."
Mel put his hands up to give him a chance.
"Well, I never quite got any legal guardianship of him when I found him as a baby," Mel explained shamefully. "Almost a year ago, the state came and snatched him up and stuck him in a children's home. I just now got him back."

Rosa considered this and didn't like the way it smelled.
"How'd you get him back?"
Mel watched the old fox, speechless, searching for a quick answer in his cancerous crumbling brain. Rosa interpreted the silence.
"You tryin' to stick me with a fugitive?" She accused.
"No, no," Mel lathered, "Don't be silly, this boy ain't no fugitive. The state just had its hands full. They didn't know what to do with him. So they," Mel paused, trying to think of something realistic, "They just decided to send him back home." Mel held his lip tight knowing he failed.
"Mel Stotch!" Rosa harped, "How dare you lie to my face! You know damn well the state didn't up and change its mind and send the boy back. That shit never works like that in the courts. If you don't tell me the truth I ain't helping you one bit."
"OK," Mel surrendered, "Yeah, you're right. He's a fugitive. He ran away from the place and came home to me."
Rosa looked at Happy who had come forward to be closer to his father's bed, a sight she never expected to see in her lifetime.
"He just got home yesterday and now I'm dying," Mel finished. "I don't want him going back to that goddamn hole! You're the only person I know that might be able to take him in. If you can't, I'll pack him a bag and buy him a map. I'll tell him how to catch a train."

The old man would have preferred his son not hear his plans shouted in such a manner. This brutish delivery completely opposed Mel's care and deceptive smile. But he laid it all out on the floor. It was his only chance to get what he thought would be the best for his son.

Rosa watched her dying ex husband, still as bullish and tricky as he was stupid. Had she been asked the favor over the phone she would've declined with a vicious verbal thrashing. Sitting in her wheelchair, weak and short on time herself, she saw this unimaginable boy who loved his father who she had the opportunity to help. If a bullish, stupid, asinine could be a part of something so virtuous and driven she saw no reason why she shouldn't do the same.

"I could use a hand around the house," She admitted. "But I'm older than you, Mel. My sand is running out right behind yours. You sure bouncin' him from grave to grave is the right thing to do? Tell me this ain't some half assed plan you cocked after they pumped ya full of morphine."

"It ain't that," Mel said with a grin. He knew his son had a home.
"And I ain't just droppin' a bill in your lap neither," Mel pushed. "I'm leavin' my yard to you and all I got saved over the years."
"Oh Jesus Christ Mel, the last thing I want is that nasty shithole! And how much cash could you possibly have saved?" Rosa couldn't hide the disgust.
Mel smiled defiantly and momentarily forgot his pain in his victory. Now was his time to say 'I told you so'.
"I got almost fifty thousand in the bank, forty nine thousand and change. I ain't spent shit on nothin' except food, booze and cigars since we got divorced." Mel waited for the retreat.
Rosa looked at him wide eyed, bags of skin sagging and slanted.
"Mel Stotch! I can't believe all that money's honest!"
"Well it is," Mel assured. "And if it wasn't honest would you turn it away?"
"Hell no!" Rosa shrieked, "I'd just put it in the freezer instead of the bank."

Rosa looked up at Happy. The boy was rubbing a loving paw over his father's shriveled head.
"I never dreamed this morning that I'd have a kid livin' with me by the end of the day." Rosa reached out and tugged Happy's arm. "Kid, you ready to come live with an old woman instead of an old man for a switch?"
Happy looked down at her, smiling instinctively to a friendly voice. He didn't know how to reply. This was the first he had heard of such an arrangement. He was relieved when Rosa shot back at Mel with another question, veering away from the subject.

"Wait a minute, Mel." Rosa sounded disenchanted, "How'm I s'posed to take control of this money? And I still don't want the damn junkyard."
"I'll need to sign it over to you I guess," Mel thought. "I'll write up a will. And don't you have a nephew or somebody that needs a job? Just give the yard to them."

Rosa closed her eyes and shook her head. The fool hadn't covered all the details as usual.
"Mel, you can't just 'sign it over to me'. On what, a hospital bib? You're gonna need a lawyer to settle all that. Have you got a lawyer ready to deal with all this?"
Mel thought of the unpleasant experience in Byron Mittle's office. He still stung from the memory.
"No," Mel insisted, "No goddamn lawyers! I'm leavin' this world without seeing another one!"
Rosa hung her head and groaned in disappointment. "Mel, you goddamn fool! This ain't somethin' to hold your breath 'til you get your way about. You got no choice. Without a lawyer you're gonna die and leave everything to the state. That what happens when you got no next of kin."
Mel bared his teeth at the old woman. She loved ramming facts down his throat.
"Your precious dump will be plowed over with asphault and the highway expanded. That's what'll happen without a lawyer!" Rosa declared.

"Dad, what about my cats?" Happy asked, nervous at the news of the highway.
"Don't worry about the cats," Mel fended, "She don't know what she's talking about. The dump ain't goin' nowhere."
"I know what I'm talkin' about," Rosa countered. "And you know I'm right!"
Mel swiped his hand in a gesture to wave her off, but he knew she was right.

"Goddammit woman," Mel cussed. "Why do you got to make everything so hard?"
Rosa threw up her drooping arms, "How is this my fault? I was ready to take the boy without the money. I don't know nothin' about no cats or give a damn about the dump. That's all your problems."

Mel scowled at her again knowing she was right. He was the only one that needed a lawyer. The money and the property were only his loss. Mel frowned and bent his hairless eyebrows, the burning of his organ decay reaching through the painkiller. He didn't have long. The old man couldn't tolerate the thought of a lawyer any more than he could tolerate the thought of losing the fruits of a lifetime of labor. He had to think of a solution. He had plan some other way.

The room stayed quiet except for the beeps of the heart monitor. Rosa cracked her knuckles while Happy fidgeted nervously. Mel laughed out loud when the idea came to him.
"I got it Rosa!" Mel trumpeted. "I'll marry ya!"
The old man beamed as if he just cured his own cancer.

"What?" Rosa howled. "You can't be serious, Mel. I actually sat here and watched you pull that out of your ass."
"What do you mean?" Mel argued, "It's a great idea! You'll be my wife and next of kin. You'll get everything! You just don't want to take my last name so the state can't track Happy back to you. But there'll be a legal marriage license that entitles you to my property. And it don't take no damn lawyers!"

Rosa only looked at him, giving him a silent message he knew well. Same old shit different decade.
"OK, how are we gonna get married? That's a helluva lot more complicated than having a lawyer type up a will."
"Not at all," Mel answered, "It's $25 for a marriage license. We can grab a chaplain here in the hospital. We can get the same fella that'll read me my last rites! We can do it tomorrow right here by my bed!"
Rosa continued looking at him, quietly repulsed.
"What's the problem?" Mel pleaded, "You got nothin' to lose!"
"No I ain't got nothin' to lose!" Rosa snapped. "But just 'cuz you're almost dead and didn't plan shit til the last minute don't make your plans so perfect and smart! Just 'cuz I'm eighty eight years old don't mean I'm gonna get hitched without thinkin' it through!"
Rosa looked around the room, at Happy, then back at Mel.
"Did you even talk to your boy about any of this? He don't seem like he knows anything you're talking about," Rosa scolded. "He don't know nothin' about coming to live with me."

Both father and son looked embarrassed. Happy took his father's hands to show his support. Mel looked at Happy, shamed and wanting an excuse.
"Happy knows I'm doing what's best for him. Ain't that right, Happy? You know I'm only gonna do you right."
Happy stated his loyalty. "Yeah, Dad, I'll go where you want me to," Happy still remained cautious, "But can you tell me about this lady first?"
Rosa burst into laughter, the first time in a long time for the aged bird.
"Look Mel, tell the kid who I am and what your plans are," she instructed. "And if he's still OK to come live with me, I'll marry ya and take everything you got."
Rosa backed her chair away to give them more space.

Mel looked at his son and felt in awe. He couldn't have been more proud had the boy been from his own blood. Mel reached out a withered, dying hand and took his son's arm. He pulled it close to him and used the other dying hand to stroke it while he spoke.
"I'm sorry Happy," Mel said, "I don't mean to be runnin' around behind your back tellin' your business to everyone but you. But I ain't got much time. I got to take care of you first and tell you about it later."
"That's OK, Dad," Happy assured. "I know better."

"Rosa here is my ex wife," Mel informed. "We never had no kids of our own. You'll be the first for both of us. You mind her like you would me. It'll be a good roof over your head."
Tears clung to the corners of his son's eyes, ready to spill like a broken levee.
"Can I stay here until you die?" Happy asked.
"Oh sure," Mel squeezed his hand to calm the boy. "I wouldn't have it any other way. My son stays by my side 'til the end. Don't let anyone tell you different, Happy."

Happy smiled politely at his father, battling emotion he thought his father didn't want to see. Mel saw the struggle and insisted it stop. He patted his sunken chest and called for his boy.
"Come on and hug your daddy," Mel said. "Just lie down here next to me and give me a hug."
Happy bent and maneuvered slowly beside his father in bed. Tears began to flow and he covered his face in his father's shoulder as he hugged him. The struggle was over. Happy wept conveniently as his father had designed.

"Dad," Happy asked with a wavering voice, "What am I gonna do when I grow up?"
"Well," Mel soothed, "That's no big deal. That ain't nothin' to worry about or lose any sleep over." He rubbed his son's back hoping to relieve some fear in the future.
"You'll just get a job and start workin'. Then you'll find a wife and have a kid. Then you'll figure out a way to get out of workin', something that brings in some money but doesn't keep you occupied more than a couple hours a day. Then you just live. Hopefully, your wife and kid are still with ya at that point."
Mel patted his son's back and scratched his bald head.

"Get the chaplain in here," Rosa called out into the hallway, pressing her beeper for a nurse. "I need to get hitched before I feel like gettin' divorced again."

LIW&B Chapter 15 (continued more)

"Why in god's name would Mel Stotch be callin' me from a hospital?" Rosa crowed. A nurse stood behind her pushing her wheel chair. The nurse smiled politely in spite of the hoary shrew. "I couldn't believe you of all people was in the hospital. I figured ya died years ago and I missed it in the paper." Her scowl was permanent and intended no harm.

"Come in, Rosa," Mel beckoned. "I'm glad you came. And I'm glad you're still alive too."

The nurse pushed Rosa's chair beside the bed. Happy stepped out of the way to make room. Once bedside, the nurse gave Rosa a pager and told her which buttons to press when she needed another nurse to leave. Rosa stared at the tall, bald teenager with the chummy glow. She was staring at him when Mel broke the ice.

"Rosa, meet Happy," Mel introduced. "He's my son."
Happy took a step toward the old woman and extended his hand. Rosa looked at it rather than shake it heartily. She looked up at his face again and back at Mel. Silence was a rarity for the old ax, but there were dots to connect. Rosa remembered the last time her ex husband left her a voicemail. She had expected disaster.

LIW&B Chapter 15 (continued)

Mel spared the details when his son came back inside. He had a final parental mission to find care for his boy after he was gone. He would sooner give him a bag of money and tell him to put up his thumb than to send him back to being a ward of the state. He made a phone call from his deathbed and hoped it would be the answer he needed.

Then the dying man spent time with his son. They talked about their time apart but mostly of their time together. Happy told Mel about his required therapy sessions three times a week and how the counselors always tried to make Mel sound so abusive. They seemed to care about him but they wouldn't listen to what he had to say. He told Mel about Counselor Rob and that he was the only one from whom Happy sensed any real love.

Happy told his father that for all the education, counseling, and supervision the center provides, the missing piece was any genuine love. Happy felt more love in the garbage truck with his memories than he received in eight months of state care. Mel thought it better to change the subject. His time was too short for regret.

Then Happy laughed at some of his father's old stories and longed for some of his pancakes. Mel told him about some of the truck drivers and his cats, anything light, anything pleasant. There were a lot of bad memories to leave behind, dark thoughts that Mel didn't want to admit.

The old man remained staggered that Happy arrived in the trailer when he did. Even on his deathbed, he refused any gratitude to any benevolent spirits or force. If he was to credit such an omnipresent force with his son's return he also had to blame it for his son's departure. Mel chose to ignore such discussion altogether and stick with the perspective through which he was trained to see. The cranky bastard let himself turn soft and ignore his bitter edge. He wanted to leave his boy with better memories than that. He firmly believed he had less than a week and he had been right about everything so far.

Mel kept his fear quiet and in the back of his mind. This fear was the arrival of child welfare agents tracking them down and stealing the boy like pirates. He didn't have much time left and now he had taken the risk of planning it out with his son. He told Happy he would fight them but he had no such strength. All his powers boiled down to a loud cuss and a cough. Mel would be more defenseless than he was the first time if the state decided to hunt them down. Mel understood their only hope to be his voicemail to an unanswered phone call. He listened to Happy talk and refused to acknowledge the panic.

A voice filled the room, more ancient and accusing than his own. His phone call answered, his fear subsided. Mel sat up in bed and braced himself for battle. Happy stopped talking and followed his father's stare to the door.

"Why in god's name would Mel Stotch be callin' me from a hospital?" Rosa crowed. A nurse stood behind her pushing her wheel chair. The nurse smiled politely in spite of the hoary shrew. "I couldn't believe it that you of anyone was in the hospital. I figured ya died years ago and I missed it in the paper." Her scowl was permanent and intended no harm.

"Come in, Rosa," Mel beckoned. "I'm glad you came. And I'm glad you're still alive too."

All right, pizza has been ordered. This will chapter will finish tomorrow, possible the entire story.

LIW&B Chapter 15

Happy burst through the trailer door, arms ready for a triumphant return hug to bring both father and son trembling with tears of joy. Mel groaned in pain and brought his son's attention to his horror. The old man was laid out flat on the trailer floor, half in the kitchen with his legs sprawled in the hallway, still and flat as a corpse. Happy screamed and woke the old man from his sickness.

Mel always thought there would be an alarm that would send him scrambling to the doctor. He always thought he would know it was time. Quite often he had considered going to see a doctor, but now he was glad he hadn't. Mel felt it was news best left unsaid, just another thing about which to worry. The time for alarm had passed, changed over to a time for acceptance.

Happy dropped to his knees and shook his father. "Dad! Dad, wake up! I'm home!"
The boy felt frail hands gripping at his arms while Mel managed to lift his granite lids and expose his yellow, bloodshot eyes.
"Happy," His father begged, "Stop shakin' me, please, you're killin' me."

Happy did as he was told. He sat terrified watching his father, lips white and smashed. Mel closed his eyes again and dropped his head back on the floor. A weak, bony hand wiped off his mouth then lay on his chest. He breathed desperately as if he had just pulled his head from a bucket of water, but this withdrew as he came to his senses. He opened his eyes again and looked at the ripped paint on the ceiling when he spoke his son's name again.

"Happy, is that really you?" He asked.
Happy slid forward to cross his line of vision. "Yeah, Dad, it's me, Happy. I came home. I hope you're not mad at me. Are you all right?" He was doing his best not to cry.

Mel looked into his son's eyes, a sight he didn't think he'd see again. The old man hadn't yet been convinced the image was not a hallucination. He could feel his body rotting away and assumed his mind would follow suit. But Mel thought a hallucination would be positive, even euphoric, not the scared child on the brink of tears hovering over him. The decrepit hands reached out to pull his son in for a hug, deciding he needed the embrace whether it was real or not.
"I can't believe you're home," Mel said, alive for the first time in weeks.

Happy squeezed his father like cement, wishing he could never let go. Mel had to beg leniency. The pressure caused his chest to burn and the taste of blood in his throat.
"No, Happy, let me back down," he objected. "Things ain't the same as when you left."

Happy laid his father down. The old man was now dramatically smaller than his son. Mel breathed desperately again as Happy looked around the trailer for the first time. The old man was right. Things had changed. The trailer had never been spic and span, but now it was a complete state of abandon. Mel had been in too much pain to clean the place or even notice. Death keeps no house.

Dust and stains layered every surface. There were objects fallen, furniture tipped, a squatter's campground. There weren't many dishes because he had barely eaten. Nothing digested well except the alcohol which made a component of his bloodstream. Digestion was second to osmosis. Alcohol provided calories and kept him awake.

He fed only on soft bread and canned beans, both easy to chew. He preferred toast but he was too weak to get up twice to cook it. On the rare occasion his bowels would move he would stay on the toilet for hours to restore the strength he lost in the movement. Mel stayed stuck in lonesome recliner most hours of the day. Checks and bills piled in his mailbox outside. Mel was gone and wasn't coming back.

Mel started to explain some of this to his son, but was distracted with parental concern. His vision clouded but the wound shone like a star. He reached up and rubbed Happy's eye, the site where Brian struck him on the first night in the children's home.
"What is this?" Mel asked.
Happy's sorrow turned to shame. He wore a look of guilt and didn't want to answer.
"That happened awhile ago," Happy answered, "At the children's center."
"What happened?" Mel asked, painfully propping himself on his elbows. Simmering anger gave the old man strength.
"I got punched," Happy said. He wanted to lie but he couldn't. He felt the old man would know it wasn't the truth.
"By who?" Mel demanded. His voice returned the angry scratch Happy knew and loved.
"Brian," Happy answered. "He's my dorm mate and friend. But he's not my friend anymore."
Happy didn't want to give more details, but Mel insisted.
"Was this kid beating you up?"
"Yes."
Mel slapped a fragile palm on the floor tiles. "Goddammit! And they said you weren't safe here! Those lousy sons a bitches!"

Mel reached his peak and fell off. He launched into coughing fit he wasn't strong enough to endure. Fortunately, Happy was there to fetch a simple glass of water, an impossible task small enough to ease the fit. Mel was flat on the floor again when he caught his breath. Happy just sat watching and worried.

"I guess ain't shit changed since I came up." Mel spoke to the ceiling again. "Those homes are just zoos with no cages. How's a kid s'posed to make it like that?"
"It wasn't so bad. Just Brian was mean." Happy thought it over, "I guess some other kids got mean too, but not like him."
"Did you do anything back?" Mel strained his neck to lift his head and look at the boy.
Happy looked at his father sternly. "I kept being nice to him, but he kept beating me up," Happy confessed. "So I trapped him like a rat so he couldn't beat anybody up after I left."
Mel looked at his son and smiled for the first time in a long time.
"That sounds like you won," Mel said.

Happy was glad to see his father smile. "Are you mad at me?" he asked.
Mel frowned hearing such a question. "I'm not mad at you at all," He asserted. "Why would you ask me that?"
"I thought you'd be mad I left the children's center," Happy told him. "I thought I was supposed to stay."
Mel felt sick and angry all over again. "I never wanted you to leave, Happy. But I'm too old to fight the law."
The old man beckoned for another hug which Happy dove to give him, but more gently.
"It's a miracle you're back, Son. I never thought I'd see you again." Now both father and son trembled with tears of joy as Happy imagined. Eight months of separation erased.

Mel groaned again, the war inside bringing him back to reality.
"What's going on with you Dad. Can you walk?" Happy wiped his eyes and asked.
"Ooh, I can walk," Mel replied, "But it takes everything I got. I'm fallin' fast Happy. I'm dyin' to tell you truth."
"You're dying!" Happy shrieked. "What can we do?"
"There ain't much we can do. I was gonna crawl around this trailer until I died like a roach, but now I don't wanna do that. I'm sorry this place is such a mess. Hell, I've felt dead for a little while, ever since we talked on the phone. I guess that's when I let go."

Happy looked down at his father, unsure what to say. He just listened and hoped for something bright, upset at such a tarnished return.
"Well," Mel switched gears, "I guess we should get to a hospital. I'm dying, but maybe they can stretch it out awhile." Mel looked at Happy. "I guess I can drive the truck. I'll just have to have a little rest in the cab after we walk out there."

Happy buried his face in Mel's chest, crying lightly. Mel patted him on the back of the head.
"Come on now, Happy, this is a good time. We're together again. That's all that matters."
Happy looked up, red faced. "Is somebody going to take me back to the children's center?"
"Hell no," Mel answered, "You're never going back to that place. I'll hide you in the yard first."
Happy wrapped his arms around his father's neck again, relieved of at least one concern.

"All right, let's get movin'," Mel said. He felt resurrected even if he was still doomed. "Why don't you go start the truck?" Mel knew his son loved to do this.
Happy got up and grabbed the keys off the kitchen table. His mind conjured a beautiful idea.
"Maybe the doctors will tell you you're not dying! Maybe you're just sick!" Happy dreamed.
"No, I'm dying," Mel corrected, "I can feel it."
Happy lowered his head and continued to the door.
"That reminds me," Mel called from the floor. "We need to stop for booze."

Happy nodded his head to the idea, deaf to the words. His ears still rang from hearing his father so bluntly predict his own death. Happy's mind teetered on a ledge of depression requiring something monumental to pull it back, something incredible and hopeful and loving. He opened the door to the trailer and found the truck buried in a sea of more than 700 purring cats.

The doctors agreed with Mel. He was dying. Cancer had consumed portions of his lungs, pancreas, and muscle tissue. It was too advanced to stop or slow down. The doctor told Mel he could die any day and that he was amazed he lasted as long as he did without medical attention. The doctor described the ravage of his body and remarked on the tenacity of his spirit. He told Mel all of this while Happy sat outside in the lobby.

Mel spared the details when his son came back inside. He had a final parental mission to find care for his boy after he was gone. He would sooner give him a bag of money and tell him to put up his thumb than to send him back to being a ward of the state. He made a phone call from his deathbed and hoped it would be the answer he needed.

LIW&B Chapter 15 (beginning)

Happy burst through his father's door, arms ready for a triumphant return hug to bring both trembling with tears. Mel groaned in pain and brought his son's attention to his horror. His father was laid out flat on the trailer floor, half in the kitchen with his legs sprawled in the hallway, still and flat as a corpse. Happy screamed and woke the old man from his sickness.

Mel always thought there would be an alarm that would send him scrambling to the doctor. He always thought he would know it was time. A lot of times he had considered going to see a doctor, but now he was glad he hadn't. Mel felt it was news best left unsaid, just another thing about which to worry. The time for alarm had passed, changed over to a time for acceptance.

LIW&B Chapter 14

Counselor Rob monitored Happy very closely after his hospitalization. Rob couldn't get over the kid protecting his bully. Rob had been working with troubled kids for over ten years. Brian was as rotten as he had seen, a nightmare to all kids quiet and weak, traits of most neglected children. For such a battered victim like Happy to throw away his only chance to rid himself of his tormentor was beyond the good counselor. Something was up and Rob was determined to unravel the mystery.

Counselor Rob monitored Happy's calls, reviewed his grades, but mostly followed him everywhere. Counselor Rob kept close tabs, even going so far as to time the boy with a notepad. This scrutiny lasted for over a month. It all became a bore. There was nothing to find.

Happy went to class, the cafeteria, and counseling. Sometimes he sat in the common area and stood in the back watching television. He couldn't sit on the couch near the other boys. He was a friend of Brian's and a traitor to the rest of them. Happy didn't watch much television.

Counselor Rob read his file, no violent history. There was betrayal and filth, but no violence. In fact, every medical diagnosis includes a remark about Happy's good nature. How could the boy be involved with a case like Brian Walt?

Rob pitied Brian Walt. He had read his file and understood the evil that had shaped him. Counselor Rob had been at the county children's center since Brian was first admitted at the age of eight years old. If the damage hadn't been irreversible upon his arrival it soon became so after his initial foster assignment. Rob made it his mission to save the boy and he had failed. Therapists agreed Brian was a danger to other kids. Eventually Rob gave up. His mission became to protect the other kids from the bully he lost.

The good counselor even pleaded Happy's case in the beginning. When the residential committee decided to room Happy with Brian upon admittance, counselor Rob objected and did his best to stop it. The committee selected to room the boys together based on Brian's history of disturbances and Happy's size. The idea was that any child rooming with Brian would be subject to some abuse. The best solution was to pair him with the child most physically capable of withstanding such abuse. The fact that Happy was 4 years younger in a world where 4 years is a lifetime had to be an unfortunate afterthought. It was a cold and calculated but based entirely on the reality of the situation.

Counselor Rob argued that Brian must remain in a single room. Rob argued even Brian's therapist recommended it. Times were tight which meant no more single rooms, regardless of a therapist's advice. It was the same bottom line that reminded Rob kids were units. It was a hideous view Rob never felt compelled to accept. But it wasn't a battle he could win. His proposal was rejected. Brian broke Happy's ribs.

Counselor Rob had been on Happy's side. He had sympathy from the start. He was glad to discover Happy was nothing but a scheduled and earnest student. After awhile the monitoring lapsed. Counselor Rob had other problems, other kids to save. Brian was quiet and was still only an episode away from transferring out of his jurisdiction. If Happy didn't want to help himself that was his business. So Counselor Rob dropped the scrutiny, but he continued to monitor the phone calls out of curiosity. They were few and far between and always interesting.

Counselor Rob couldn't figure out this Mel Stotch character. From what he understood he was a crazy old drunk that found the kid in a trash can and took him home. The guy had ran the city dump for twenty years or more. The old man didn't sound like he gave a damn for the boy over the phone. His answers were brief if he said anything. Happy just rambled to a few careless grunts. He sounded comatose when he told Happy he loved him. Judging by his conversation, Mel Stotch didn't give a damn about the boy. This was confirmed with the good counselor as the phone calls became fewer and fewer.

Still, Happy loved Mel Stotch. Regardless of his tone or conversation, Happy was always thrilled to hear the old man was on the phone. Counselor Rob delivered this notice personally each time. He enjoyed the explosion of glee. It was rare in the children's home. For a guy who sounded like Mel Stotch, it was unfounded. That's how counselor Rob felt. He couldn't figure it out.

Then counselor Rob listened to Happy's call with Mel on his twelfth birthday and it started to make sense.

"Hi there, Happy."
"Hi Dad!"
"You know it's your birthday today right?"
"No I don't. Is it my birthday today?"
"Yeah, it sure is!"
"Wow! I can't believe it!"
"Yep, Happy Birthday Happy."

The old man's voice was low but more chipper than counselor Rob had heard before. Rob wore a headset and sat in a Monitoring room, watching the film from the camera in the visitor area where the kids used the phones. The idea of an excited kid talking to his grandpa about his birthday seemed like a Norman Rockwell painting. The reality of the lonely boy in a room alone finding out the day is his birthday was a depression Rob did his best to ignore.

"Look Happy, I'll cut right to the chase. I've been trying to get you out of there and bring you home for some time and well,...." Mel choked and Rob heard a whimper Happy didn't. Mel launched into violent coughing directly and blurred the whimpering sound. At last he caught his breath and finished his cursed honesty.
"I can't ever bring you home, Happy," Mel spilled, "I'm too old and weak and I can't take care of you. The state won't let me. I tried all I can."

Rob sat up from slouching. In the camera, Happy remained still and silent, the splitting of his heart invisible. The camera didn't have the definition to capture his eyes, blank and brimming with tears. It was the truth both father and son had danced around for eight torturous months, months Happy survived with optimism alone. The boy just lost his lifeline. His father's words hammered the nails in the coffin.

"Happy?" Mel asked, "You hear me, son?"
Regardless of his pain, the boy answered his father. "Yeah, Dad," his voice quaked with tears, "I heard ya."

The old man held an insanely hopeful notion that the conversation could end without tears. He had made insane, unnatural progress on the front. Mel had eased the boy along without a weeping breakdown for eight months utilizing Happy's good nature as much as he could. It was pure selfishness. Mel was protecting himself. He was afraid if he heard his son cry from the tragic sadness of their loss it could send him into unknown darkness from which he'd never recover. The old man feared hearing his son cries might end his old life.

Mel's son had been stolen. His family was torn apart by outside forces the same as families torn apart from apartheid or war. That was the truth Mel managed to hide. He finally revealed the truth and his son was crying. Mel had to hold back the darkness long enough to soften the blow.

"I love you Happy," Mel's voice quaked like this son. "I'm sorry I can't stop this. I can't do nothin' to bring my son home!"
Mel began openly crying, a pathetic sound of an old man losing control of his pain. Mel whined loud and long, like a wounded hound begging for help. Counselor Rob wiped his eyes in the monitoring room, regretting his opinion of this helpless old man, this father crying for his son.

Happy forgot his own pain at the sound of his father. The boy wiped his eyes and came to his aid.
"It's OK Dad," Happy consoled, "I love you too! We can still be together. Just come to visit! You can see my room! And the cafeteria!"
Brian was forgotten. Loneliness was forgotten. Fear and blood were forgotten. His father hurt. Happy would endure any torment to avoid such an event.

Happy's idea made Mel's pain worse. His spotted face turned red from his shameful lack of effort. The selfish old bastard never bothered to check his visitation rights. He only thought of his own pain. Mel pictured a reunion from opposite sides of a folding table in a room with guards and psychiatrists. He thought it would be worse than no meeting at all. He never asked for Happy to vote.

Hearing Happy on the phone, begging for him to visit, Mel choked on his mistake. The old man was too weak. He couldn't own up to it, not today.
"I don't know, Happy," Mel grabbed control of his tears and cleared his voice. "I need to look into that. I don't think they'll let me come see you. But I'll check. I'll see what I can do." Mel knew he might be lying but wanted it to be the truth.

"That would be the best birthday present!" Happy cheered. It killed the old man a little more.
"Yeah, we'll see Son. We'll see." Counselor Rob heard another whimper Happy missed. Mel was defeated and dying. He wanted to surrender. There was no fight left. He only tried to give Happy some optimism he couldn't give himself.

The call ended soon after the exchange. Happy asked about his cats and dreamed about how great it would be if his father could bring a few along when he came to visit. Mel played along as best as could. His tone improved but didn't make it back to that chipper voice that started the call.

Counselor Rob watched the camera closely when the call disconnected. Happy hung up the phone and stayed in his chair, not moving for minutes. No tears returned, but the joyous voice that consoled his father wasn't represented by the body language. When Happy finally stood, his face shown despair. The episode struck the good counselor. He resumed his scrutiny of the Stotch case with a new heart and cause.

Rob wanted to reunite Happy with his father. He wanted them to have a chance. Rob didn't change his feelings on the quality of the city dump as an environment to raise a child, but if the home had genuine love and the alternative was becoming a unit, the counselor couldn't argue against it. This is why Rob stayed quiet about what he observed when his surveillance of the boy renewed.

Counselor Rob should have alerted someone when he witnessed Happy steal the bottles of syrup from the kitchen pantry. He should have stepped in and stopped the thievery demanding to know where Happy got the key. Instead, Rob watched from the shadows. He couldn't imagine what would do with 15 gallons of syrup. He just kept his mouth shut and took it as a puzzle piece. Rob was a cop on stakeout. He wanted something bigger.

The gentle counselor built quite an array of contract breaches in the weeks following the birthday phone call. Anything he hid could have cost him his job and career. Allowing children to steal and conspire would be a mark on a record that would essentially kick him out of the industry. But Rob felt the cause was just. As events transpired he would also find it inspirational.

Rob followed Happy as the boy appeared to scope out the laundry facility. The kids weren't supposed to be there but it wasn't restricted. There were no escape routes so there was really no danger. Laundry was shipped out to a commercial company for washing so there were no dangerous chemicals or solutions for kids to find. There were just wheeled carts filled with towels, sheets, and uniforms, carts big enough to hide a kid.

Happy sharpened his natural observations. He had purpose. He was putting together a plan. He watched the custodians push the carts through the building to the loading dock beside his beloved line of dumpsters. He memorized the days and times the laundry moved. Happy saw the Laundry truck pull up and take the load. There was no inspection process. No one supervised any of it. It would be very easy to hitch a ride in a cart and be loaded into the truck.

Counselor Rob peeked around a corner and watched Happy take the carts away from the laundry room and wheel them to empty classrooms or closets in the area. The laundry room was deserted except for after meals and on laundry pickup days. It was an hour before lights out on a day with no pickup. Rob could have lost his job for not stopping the boy at that moment, but he hadn't figured it out. He needed more evidence of a crime.

Happy left one cart in the laundry room. The boy looked around and counselor Rob barely turned the corner in time to avoid it. He dared to peak around again when he heard the laundry cart hit the floor.

Happy emptied the laundry cart. He intentionally kept the cart full of kitchen towels and now emptied them on floor. He lifted the cart back upright and moved for a cabinet that holds towel and sheet reserves. Happy opened the cabinet and retrieved the bottles of syrup. Rob hadn't seen him stash them in here. Even the good counselor has to sleep.

Happy emptied one bottle of syrup in the bottom of the laundry cart. He picked up a third of the towels and threw them back in on top of the pool of syrup. Happy then grabbed another bottle and emptied it on top of the towels. After this came another third of the laundry. Happy finished off the last bottle of syrup and pile of laundry with a final layer.

That was it. Happy went back to his room without further action, dropping the empty syrup bottles in the trash on the way. Counselor Rob checked the laundry room after Happy left and found nothing else peculiar aside from the moved carts and syrup covered towels. During his search, Rob missed the conversation between Happy and Brian back in their dorm room. He missed the starting pistol of the race.

Happy walked into the room, consumed with excitement. He was able to conceal it, but only after some pacing in the hallway. The burning even took his mind of his defeated father. Happy exhaled deeply and straightened his lips before entering the room.

Brian lay on his bed, hands behind his greasy curls, bent ham hock arms pointing elbows at different poles of the room. He didn't look at Happy when he walked in, but acknowledged him by clearing his throat. Happy hadn't started a conversation with him once in the months since the attack. When Happy walked to his bunk and started talking, Brian sat up ready for a fight.

"What do you want?" Brian asked defensively.
"I want to talk to you," Happy answered, unsure how to start.
"About what?"
Happy paused and answered, "About escaping."

Brian's voice dropped to a whisper instinctively.
"You're gonna escape? No fucking way."
"I am gonna escape," Happy defied. "I already figured it out."
"How?"
"Hiding out in a laundry cart, getting shipped away by truck."

Brian looked at him full of suspicion. It sounded too good to be true.
"Bullshit, how do you know about the laundry?"
"I've been watching them," Happy confessed. "I been watching them for weeks."
Happy sat on the bunk next to Brian who hesitated before making room.
"The laundry gets put in carts and sits in the laundry room until the cleaning trucks come to pick it up," Happy explained. "The custodians push the carts out there, but no checks anything. No checks the laundry room at all."
Brian eyeballed him heavily. He was starting to believe.
"Why are you asking me to go?" Brian had to know. It was the million dollar question. Happy had a million dollar answer.
"I didn't think about telling you at first," Happy lied. "But I figure you'll be the first to tell if I turn up missing. I don't care if you escape or not. I just need you to keep quiet about it."

Brian wanted to escape more than anything, but what was simple observation to Happy was invisible to Brian. Brian was too busy watching the other kids. He assumed he was watched too closely to sneak off to places like the laundry room and he was right. Even kids not expecting to be watched wouldn't approach escape with the same nonchalance as Happy. The taboo alluded him. It was difficult for Brian to trust him and impossible without a threat.

"Look, Freak," Brian started, "If you're lying about this or I get in trouble.."
"This isn't a lie," Happy interrupted.
"If you're lying to me Freak," Brian interrupted back, "I'll kill you."
Happy sat silent and threatened.
"If I'm gonna get in trouble and go to Juvy Hall, you'll be dead."
Happy gave the brute a moment to breathe before addressing his fears.
"I'm not lying," Happy said shaking his head. "I wouldn't tell you at all if I didn't have to."

Desperation and surrender were acceptable reasons to believe. Brian nodded his head slowly.
"Keep talking, when can we do this?"
"Tonight," Happy assured, "We'll sneak out at midnight."

At midnight, the children's center was a chamber. Security guards sat at a desk in the front lobby and monitored the exits until 7am. The halls were empty aside from an insomniac floor counselor. Rob didn't have insomnia, just a reason to sleep lightly. Having his room close to Brian's, he heard the boys' footsteps as muffled as they tried to be. Rob followed them to the laundry room finding it much easier to hide after lights off. Rob heard their conversation and started to figure it out.

"Oh no!" Happy exclaimed when they entered the laundry room.
"What?" Brian asked, looking around. He had never seen the place.
"There's only one cart! There's supposed to be a lot of carts in here! Tomorrow's a pick up day!" Happy kept his lie as honest as possible. "We need at least two carts for both of us to sneak out. We can't both fit in one!"

Brian assessed the situation. Now that he saw the laundry room he knew Happy was serious. He agreed with the quality of the plan. He was close to escape and nothing would get in his way.
"Once one of us turns up missing, counselor Rob will lock us down so tight we'll never be able to sneak up here again," Brian rationalized. "So only one of us is gonna be able to escape."
He turned to Happy with the familiar look of evil that had completely resurfaced.
"Sorry, Keeper," Brian growled. "But I'm too close to Juvy Hall and jail. I'm gettin' out of here and you're stayin' behind."

"No way Brian!" Happy disputed and feigned anger. "This is my idea! I'm leaving!"
Happy was getting loud and threatening Brian's escape. Brian punched Happy in the mouth hard enough to send him to the ground. Rob held himself back from interfering. The plan had become clear.
Brian got on his knees and breathed his foul menace in Happy's ear.
"I'm leavin', Happy. That's all there is to it. If you try to stop me I'll beat you to death right here. I'm going to jail anyway if I stay here. Don't fuck with me, Happy. Just get out of here and go back to the dorm."

Happy felt it was convincing enough to just hold his bleeding lip and nod. He got up and hurried out of the laundry room without comment, exactly as he'd planned. Counselor Rob stayed to watch Brian. He watched Brian frown as he discovered the sticky syrup on the towels.

Brian moved slowly and groaned but he climbed in the laundry cart and began to cover himself. The towels were heavy and hard to separate with the setting adhesion of the sap. Brian was slightly repulsed, but figured jail was worse than some dirty towels and eventually made it underneath enough layers to keep hidden. He found a comfortable position to breathe and waited. Brian sat still and silent, patiently waiting for his pickup and delivery to freedom as the syrup dried and sealed.

Counselor Rob waited an hour before leaving the laundry room. By that time it was after 2 am. He didn't know how long Brian would stay there, but the next morning was not a pick up day. Roll call in the morning assembly was in 5 and a half hours. Rob had that long to let this con play out before he had to expose it.

Happy set Brian up in a way that required Brian's own temper and violence to make the set up work. The only part of the plan Rob misunderstood was Happy's motivation. He saw Happy's charade as simple revenge for the beatings he sustained. He would later see it as a distraction Happy needed to hide in the dumpster. Indeed, Happy's plan served all of these ends, but neither was the reason behind his drive. Revenge had no part of the reason nor the boy's nature.

Once Happy knew he was leaving he thought about Brian. He thought about the next boy to be housed with the storm. He still had sympathy for someone with such anger although he had stopped trying to help. Like the good counselor, to who he still felt horrible about lying, Happy figured if he couldn't help Brian he could help his next victim.

Happy wanted to handle Brian his own way, not as punishment for the bully's evil deeds. He wanted Brian to condemn himself, escape into his own trap, and see clearly how even he has consequences from his bullish behavior. Happy wanted Brian to think about what he had done. If Brian changed his ways he could still be forgiven. If the bully decided not to change, the next kid would still be safe. Happy was leaving and he couldn't leave this rat to be mean to somebody else. Above all, he wouldn't react with violence.

Counselor Rob went back to their dorm room and found Happy rolled over under his blanket. He suspected the boy wasn't sleeping but didn't stand idle to check. He didn't want to give himself away just yet.

Rob walked to his room and sat on his bed trying to determine the best path of action. The sun came up as he pondered his options. He hadn't heard Brian return dripping syrup. The good counselor stood up and walked out of the room, deciding only to accept his silver platter. Happy gave him what he wanted and he would take it.

It was an hour before morning roll call when Rob stepped back into the laundry room. He walked to the laundry cart and looked down on the stained towels. Everything appeared peaceful and inert. Rob considered pushing the cart down to the faculty lounge which would be bustling with counselors and administrators this time of morning. He could call the group to come watch as he peeled towels away to show his evidence. Rob decided against this. He thought it would be too boastful and petty. Settled, he reached down and began peeling towels away just to see the evidence for himself. He smiled when a shape started to shift beneath the mess.

"Who's in there?" Counselor Rob asked the hump of towels. He began yanking handfuls of gummy towels out rapidly when he didn't get an answer. "Who is that?" he asked again.

Brian never answered. He couldn't fight or flee. He had laid in the syrup covered cloth for hours. He was stuck and trapped like a rat. His round speckled face looked up at Counselor Rob, helpless and angry, in the center of the big plastic cart.

It was an image that would've brought fond memories for Mel Stotch, memories of his beautiful, resourceful son. He would've recognized Brian as he recognized those rats stuck in the box full of syrup when Happy was just four years old. Counselor Rob stared down at the rat with a smirk, a rat who once was a king.

"Brian," Rob asked, "Why didn't you answer me?"
Brian knew he was caught and what it all meant. "Fuck you," he spit back.
Rob just shook his head, calm and victorious.
"This violates your probation Brian," he advised, "for the very last time."

The commotion was contagious. Once word of Brian's botched escape hit the rumor mill, it spread quickly. At the morning assembly, it was all the talk. The smell of escape incited restlessness in the boys. No one could focus or talk about school. The head administrator finally restored enough order to hold roll call close to an hour late. The trash trucks had come and gone.

When there was no answer for Happy Stotch, counselor Rob was able to deflect criticism as he was busy discovering Brian. Rob remained silent about all he knew, only admitting that he went to the laundry room for some fresh towels and found the stowaway. He had taken Brian straight to the administration office as is the procedure for such a find. Happy had been in his room with Brian at light out. That was his last scheduled opportunity to check.

By the time a search started for Happy, the boy was riding in the back of a trash truck, poking his head out of a plastic bag to check if they had reached the highway. An odor of rot and filth welcomed him home early. Happy pumped his fists and cheered his freedom. He was going home.

The children's center wouldn't contact the police until well into the afternoon. The residential committee is stringent about avoiding bad press. A call to the police could just as easily be a call to the local newspaper. After hours of scanning the premises, the maintenance and security crews cleared every foot of the property. Counselor Rob was called to dig up his file history and look for ideas. It would be the next day when an officer was finally dispatched to the city dump. That call would prove fruitless as no one was home. And Mel Stotch would never return.

LIW&B Chapter 13

There were three events that fed Happy's decision to escape, thundering ultimates connecting all the daily memories and pain. Happy lived with a number of aspersions as should be expected when someone changes from a person to a statistic. He lost some comforts but he could adapt. Three specific traumas worked in succession and broke the boy, sending him running after only eight months.

The problems revolved around Brian, or "King" as he insisted Happy call him. Brian was the king of the Motte county children's residential center and wanted to be called such. Happy could think of no reason not to call someone what they wanted to be called and complied with no debate. This passive nature forged a delicate friendship between the two roommates.

Brian's lunchtime arrangement forced a bond, a Stockholm syndrome that made Happy sympathetic and respectful of his jailer. Brian and Happy would sit at their table alone in the cafeteria watching the other kids. The other kids always seemed to be having fun to Brian, at least more fun than he was having. He hated them. Both Happy and his counselor knew this but only Happy knew how much.

"Look at that Reynolds kid wearing that gay sweater. I should tear it off him and kick his ass. I was in his reading group. He's a fuckin' dork."
"Did you hear Kyle Pladett's parents are in prison? Yeah, his dad robbed a gas station and his mom's a whore. He must be a total freak."
"I hate floor counselor Rob. I can kick his ass and he knows it. Just because he's in his 30's doesn't mean shit. He's a super pussy."

Happy addressed the comments directly when expected and said nothing when he wasn't. Happy was nothing but agreeable. Brian was disarmed of reasons to dislike Happy and allowed him to become his sole confidant. It was dangerous friendship. Happy was held to a new standard, a new height from which only he could fall.

Happy looked forward to the cafeteria and cherished his time there. Aside from the garbage trucks he watched from his window, the cafeteria was the only part of the children's center that reminded Happy of home. A lot of baloney lunches and hamburger dinners were served, just like home. Happy saw the 5 gallon bottles of syrup on the kitchen shelves behind the counter during breakfast and thought of the enormous pancakes Mel could cover. The cafeteria was a source of comfort to the boy he couldn't miss. Happy would inhale the sounds and smells and daydream of home. Brian could grumble and curse every kid in the place. Happy only appeared to listen.

Happy tried to make the best of things. He didn't know any other way. Happy became the straight man, the quiet man, to Brian's angry cuss. Sometimes Happy would suggest something positive to which Brian would scold him and snicker. Happy didn't learn and sometimes it would annoy his ticking roommate. He might get a slap or a shove, but nothing like the night of their first meeting. Happy had earned some leeway with his bully. He had proven he lacked the attitude Brian so bitterly loathed .

Happy tried to kill Brian with kindness, but the boy wouldn't die. Brian only rested, went through a cooling phase as any serial killer, and waited for the urge to return, the urge to humiliate and abuse. The urge returned in the cafeteria at lunch time two months after Happy arrived and started the domino effect that led to Happy's escape.

An unsuspecting boy named Wallace Belton made the mistake of being in the lunch line before Brian the King on the day the urge returned. The King watched Wally like a hawk, every move and step, scrutinizing for any lapse, any reason to banish the subject from his kingdom. Wally knew the King's reputation and felt his breath on the back of his neck. He took every care to step lively and not to slouch. Wally did an excellent job and the King got tired of waiting. Finally, Brian kicked Wally's foot as he took a step, sending him stumbling to the floor. Brian stood laughing while Happy came from behind and knelt to help Wally pick up his food.

"What are you doin' Keeper?" Brian yelled at Happy. Brian never used the name Happy, only Keeper, Faggot, or Freak. "Don't help this geek. He needs to learn how to walk."

Happy ignored this and placed Wally's tray back on the counter. This undoing of his evil deed drove Brian into rage, but if he hurt his friend he hurt himself. Brian felt Happy was weak and naive. He wouldn't blame Happy for trying to help. He would blame Wally for needing it.

"Get up, Geek!" Brian yelled at Wally. He pushed Happy out his way and towered over the fallen boy. "Get up while you still can!"

Lunch servers heard Brian's booming commands. A woman in an apron was already hurrying to get a counselor. Both Brian and Wally knew this. For Brian it meant the time to act was running out. For Wally, it meant help was on the way. Wally felt safe to react without fear. Wally got to his feet and spoke his mind while everyone was watching.

"You're such an asshole, Brian," Wally stated.
Brian's eyes widened. He hadn't expected a fight. Brian looked around and saw all eyes were on them. Even kids sitting and eating had stopped and began to gather. A whistle blew in the distance as counselors were running to the scene. Brian stepped forward and grabbed Wally by the shirt to pull him close.
"You call me 'King'," Brian snarled. "I'm the king here. Call me Brian again and you're a dead man."
Footsteps could be heard running, rushing, frantically trying to stop what was happening. It was only a matter of seconds before it was over. Wally heard the steps and wanted to finish big.
"You're the king," Wally said loudly, still gripped in Brian's paws, "You're the King of the Keepers."
Wally smiled just before the laughter exploded. Then the laughs came, a flood Brian wasn't dressed to take. Seconds were ticking away, footsteps away. Brian felt foolish and helpless and shamed. Wally smiled and looked him right in the eye. The rules changed for Brian. The dam broke.

Now time froze. Brian spun and grabbed his fork from the counter. His other hand still clung to Wally's collar. The king turned back with blood in his eyes. Wally realized his help would be too late. The smile disappeared. Brian plunged the fork deep into Wally's right cheek. He yanked it out and stabbed Wally in the face a second time, this hit closer to the chin. Blood sprayed on Brian's hand before his victim screamed.

After the second impact, Brian let go of Wally's shirt. The bleeding boy dropped to the floor screaming. Brian wasn't finished. He dove on the fallen boy and stabbed him a few more times with the fork, this time arm and shoulder as Wally held this up to shield his attack. Happy jumped on Brian's back to pull him off, but was only bucked away by the raging bull. By the time counselors arrived and restrained the king, Wally had been stabbed six times. It was nothing fatal, only stitches, but the trauma would last forever and cause Happy to reconsider his friend.

Brian would stay in Isolation for two weeks, the maximum allowed for children by the state. Counselor Rob tried to push that Brian be tried as an adult for the attack and sent to an adult detention center. He pleaded for the safety of the children that he not be returned to the children's center.

But no criminal charges were filed for the attack. Wally had no family or anyone to press charges on his behalf. The state was Wally's guardian and saw it is an isolated incident, the kind that happens between unloved teenagers, not bloodthirsty adults. The residence committee of the children's center also did not see fit to highlight an internal security lapse with an attempted murder trial. The entire episode was listed in Brian's permanent record and his probationary status was taken to the final step.

This last step of probation was counselor Rob's only satisfaction. The last step meant if Brian misbehaved by even the slightest of offenses, he would be transferred to the juvenile corrections center, a kids' prison that made the residential center look like a carnival. Counselor Rob made certain to stress this guarantee when Brian was sent back to his room. He made certain to stress this to all of the kids, including Happy, before Brian returned.

"If Brian touches you in any way you don't like, if he curses at you, or threatens you in any way, report it to me immediately. He's a bad kid and we need to get him out of here." Counselor Rob told Happy. Happy liked counselor Rob and wanted to do what he said.

Brian was quiet for a few days after his return. Even the look of anger had been erased. Almost a full week passed before the familiar grumbles re started. Brian still confided in Happy, clinging to him now more than ever. Brian knew he might not be king in the kids' prison. Happy was the only subject with who the king could talk without fear of being banished to that place.

"I hate all these people," Brian told Happy. "I wish this place never existed. I wish someone would drop a fucking bomb on this place and roast us all."
"That's awful!" Happy disagreed, "I don't want to die! Don't wish that on me!"
"I wish who I want dead," Brian insisted, "And that means everyone."
Such sentiment bothered Happy. He didn't understand it at all.
"Do you want to kill yourself?" Happy asked.
Brian didn't like the question. Anyone other than Happy would've been cussed.
"Not really," Brian answered. "Some days I just don't want to live. I really don't care either way."

Happy couldn't understand but some of his fear became sympathy. Happy felt very sad for Wally Belton, but he wanted to help Brian too. As time moved on in the children's center, Happy remained by Brian's side as his only friend. The set up was no different than before, but now the other kids looked at Happy much like they looked at Brian. Happy was no longer a prisoner. All the kids knew this had changed. Brian was their enemy. Now Happy was their enemy too.

The other kids, the keepers, had seen more episodes from Brian than just that in the cafeteria. They had received their punches, bruised backs and blackened eyes, worse than what Happy had received that first night. Not everyone was as agreeable as Happy. Not everyone was as slow. The other keepers had no delusions about the rehabilitation of their king. Evil would return. Happy would see it and he would be one step closer to escape.

Wally wouldn't agree, but his stabbing brought a lot of good. Brian couldn't bother anyone. He was a shell of himself, head down, chest slumped, standing in the lunch line. He was just a hairy fat kid, overgrown and unwanted, scared to go to jail. Other kids didn't go so far as to taunt him openly, but where they once wouldn't cross his path they now put him at the back of the line. Brian would grow livid with the jeers he sensed from his old subjects. He wanted so badly to put them in line. He bottled up all his frustration and rage and saved it for a rainy day.

The rainy day came on a Thursday and it rained cats and dogs. One of the cats wandered into the play yard, an innocent in a strange part of town. Brian found the cat and yanked it upward by the nape. The old cat howled in pain as Brian tucked it into the thick crook of his elbow. Brian smacked the cat in the face to stop the howling and smiled viciously when it hissed. The young monster had found a victim that couldn't tell on him. He had a lot of violence to release.

In his ecstasy, Brian thought it a good idea to include Happy in his mayhem. Either Brian would enjoy some butchery with his friend or he'd enjoy some butchery while terrifying his friend. Both options would be a joy. Brian took the back stairwell up to their room on the eighth floor with the cat folded in his arms. If the cat cried, Brian would squeeze his arms until it stopped.

Happy was standing at the window looking down at the dumpsters when Brian burst in with the cat. Happy had found his way to this loading area over the course of the past few months. He knew three different routes to emerge by the dumpsters. He noted the lack of attention in the area. Security is light around the garbage area. Most people find the smell revolting. To Happy, it smelled like his dad's cologne.

"Check it out, Happy!" Brian said as low as he could. The taste of blood burned his tongue.
Happy turned and was overjoyed at the sight of a cat. What a great memory from home! The delight passed as he noticed the fear in the cat.
"Cool, a cat! But wait, you're hurting him," Happy said and moved to help.

As Happy neared, Brian held out his arm to stop him.
"That's the plan, my man," Brian boasted. "We're gonna hurt this cat. I was thinking we'd throw him off the roof. I wish I had some firecrackers to stick up his ass."
Happy was horrified. He couldn't imagine such abuses to any of his 700.
"You can't hurt that cat! Here, give him to me and I'll get him outta here." Happy moved forward. Brian turned his shoulders downward and rammed into him, knocking Happy backward against the desk. The cat could barely release a frightened howl.
"No fucking way, Keeper," Brian growled. It was the first time Brian called him Keeper since being released from Isolation. He had referred to his friend by his name until now.

Happy got to his feet quick. The cat was the second reason he had seen to fight Brian. The first had been the stabbing. Happy had jumped on Brian to pull him off, but the raging energy overwhelmed him. He felt weightless being shaken off Brian's back. The evil had returned, evil Happy wouldn't dismiss the second time. He had no choice but to fight again.

Happy came forward, not charging, but reaching for the cat. Brian realized he couldn't have it both ways like he thought. Happy was determined like he hadn't seen before. Brian didn't see Happy's eyes when he had jumped on his back. He saw them now and knew they were set dead against him. Brian held the cat with one arm and pulled back the other. Happy walked right into the punch.

Happy staggered backward, dazed, again hitting the desk, but not falling. Still holding the cat, Brian walked forward and landed and few more blows to the face. At last, Happy dropped. Brian secured the cat again in his arms and knelt to speak to him.
"I don't know what your deal is, but you know better than to come at me like that," Brian said. "Whatever's going through your head, you better not say shit to anybody. I'll throw your ass off the roof with this fuckin' cat."
He stepped backwards and turned to leave the room.
"See ya, Keeper," he bade, "I'm gonna make this cat fly."
He laughed and dashed into the hallway.

Happy needed a second to catch his breath, but that was all. He couldn't beat Brian, but he must figure out a way to release the cat. He lay still while Brian whisper those threats and waited to hear his steps leave the room. Then Happy leapt to his feet and ran after him. The door to the stairwell hadn't closed shut by the time Happy approached. He skidded to halt just before running through. A broom leaned beside the door. Happy grabbed it and continued, unsure what he could do with it.

Brian didn't notice the other footsteps echoing in the stairwell. He was running, maniacal, frothing at the muzzle. Only he and the cat were in the world and for one of them the world was about to end. It was so seductive, enchanting. Brian felt so powerful. He was God to the cat. He could create and destroy. The mad king crashed through the doors and was upon the ledge before he knew he was followed. He was drooling and ready to kill.

Brian jumped up on the concrete wall looking down at the city below. He hovered twelve stories above the concrete. The cat was uncovered from his cramped shape and held over the abyss.

"Brian, stop!" Happy yelled as he ran through the rooftop doors, his breath still short from the run. "Don't hurt the cat!"

Happy spotted Brian on the ledge and sprinted to him. He held the broomstick tight, but still without purpose. The king turned and saw his adversary. Such contempt enraged him. He would show no more mercy to such a fool.

Happy didn't stop. Holding the broomstick pointing forward, he appeared like a knight in a joust. His only thought was to free the cat from the snarling dragon. Happy aimed and jumped when he got within reach.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Brian yelled.
The stick poked at the cat, jabbing it in the side. Brian lurched backward to avoid the spear and stumbled for balance. The cat screeched and found a grip for its claws when Brian released. The cat clawed a trek up his chest and over his head in a split second. The cat leapt from his head, diving over Happy and landing on the rooftop behind.

Brian was fallin backwards off the roof. He reached out and grabbed the broomstick. Happy was yanked forward, but put his foot out to stop the momentum. Brian screamed feeling his feet leave the ledge. Happy reached an arm upward on the broom stick to gain more leverage and also screamed as adrenaline and his body weight used all its force to pull Brian in off the ledge.

Brian didn't come back completely, but bent forward enough for Happy to lunge for his waist. Happy grabbed hold and heaved him in like a bag of trash. Brian hit the rooftop still holding the broomstick. He was shaken but not shattered. The cat was nowhere to be found.

Brian sat up with tears in his eyes. He launched from the ground and attacked Happy, screaming wordlessly. He tackled his savior and wrestled him to the ground. He pounded Happy with a flurry of strikes far worse than their initial meeting. Had there been any weapon at Brian's disposal Happy would be dead. Brian released the violence he had stored for so long.

After he finished, Brian went downstairs without Happy. Happy lay on the ground with two broken ribs and a concussion. He was found by security officers when counselor Rob ordered a sweep of the children's center. Counselor Rob couldn't get an answer out of Brian to account for his roommate at lights out. He feared the worst and ordered the sweep which almost confirmed it.

Counselor Rob knew only one person could be guilty of the brutality Happy endured. He hated to admit the small thrill to finally be able to treat Brian like the criminal he was destined to be. Counselor Rob was waiting next to Happy's bed when he first awoke from the beating.

"Happy," Rob said, "All you have to do is say the name. You have nothing to worry about. You'll never see him again."
"Who?" Happy asked with voice weakened and raw.
"Well, that's what you gotta tell me," Rob pushed. "We both know who did this to you."
Happy was silent, recalling everything that had happened. When the picture cleared he asked his main concern.
"How's the cat?"
"Cat?" Rob asked. "What cat?"
"Did you find a cat near me?" Happy asked.
"No," Rob answered.
Happy thought about the possibilities.
"Did you find a dead cat on the street?" Happy asked.
Rob looked at the beaten boy, confused. "No," he answered.
Happy smiled with a job well done. He felt healed.

"Happy," Rob continued after the subject had apparently been dropped, "Did Brian beat you up? I know he did. I just need you to tell me and he won't be able to beat up anybody else here."
Happy knew all his options and knew what he could do. He felt redeemed knowing the cat survived and saw no need for more pain. He was one step closer to escaping, one step closer to going home. Happy harbored no ill will. He wanted to forgive.
"I don't know who did this to me," he lied, "just some guy on the roof."

Counselor Rob stopped smiling. His tone became serious.
"Excuse me, Happy, are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure," Happy answered to his discontent. "I'd never seen the guy before."
Counselor Rob knew the game. He hated this game and had enough of it. Brian was as good as gone. Rob wouldn't let this pass.
"Happy, we both know it was Brian," Rob said. "I talked to the bastard last night. He was sweaty and his hands were cut up. The smart little shit knew to wash them. They were cut and clean. And he acted guilty and nervous as he could when I asked where you were."
Happy looked at counselor Rob shamefully. He hated to lie.
"He can't hurt you, Happy," Rob promised. "You'll never see him again. He'll be in jail before you're back to your room."
"It wasn't Brian," Happy could only think to say. "It was somebody I didn't know."

Counselor Rob looked at Happy a long time before leaving. When he got up, he said the most unfriendly thing he had said to Happy.
"I'm sorry, Happy, but if nothing else I have to cite you for being on the roof. That's trespassing. It can get ya a week in Isolation. I guess we'll see."
He walked to the door of the recovery room and stopped for one last chance.
"You sure you don't know who did that to you, Happy?"
Happy just shook his head.
"I'm sorry counselor Rob. I wish I did."

Happy spent a week in Isolation. With no evidence, Brian received no citation and remained his roommate. Happy was now an enemy to counselor Rob as well as the rest of the kids. Brian didn't know how to interpret this sacrifice. He grew more suspicious of his roommate than ever. He continued eating with Happy so as not to arouse suspicion, but they never spoke.

Happy enjoyed his time in Isolation. The counselors on watch had never heard so many "Thank you" and "please"s. They couldn't believe such a polite boy received a week in Isolation. Happy didn't mind. He was raised without a lot of people and was quite comfortable being alone. His spirits visibly lowered when he was told he was returning to his dorm.

Happy didn't know exactly why he lied to counselor Rob. It just felt like the right thing to do. It felt like something Mel would do. Happy would deal with Brian but he didn't know how yet. He didn't want to be pushed into a decision. Happy turned the other cheek. The worst had happened. Happy wasn't wise enough to fear death.

Happy was confident he could escape if things got too rough. He would just wrap himself in a trash bag and jump in the dumpster on a Thursday afternoon. He'd be at home in a matter of hours. Brian's terror couldn't push the boy to break his father's wishes. The experience made him consider escape more seriously, but it wouldn't be the final straw.

The final straw would come from someone much more important, Mel Stotch, his father himself. Happy's 12th birthday fell two weeks after Mel's appointment with Byron Mittle. The old man hadn't called his son since the disappointment of that day. He couldn't bring himself to admit they would never be together again.

Mel called once every two or three weeks. It had fallen off from every day, to every two days, every three days and so on. It was harder for both of them to stay too close. Neither father nor son remarked when the calls diminished. By Happy's 12th birthday five weeks had passed. After talking with the lawyer Mel didn't know where to start.

The old man never minced words and didn't know how. Everything was blunt and honest, maybe sarcastic if there's room. He had sugar coated reality for Happy over the last few months to the point they didn't speak rather than face their desperation. Mel disgusted himself with his weakness and what he was teaching the boy. So he wished his son a Happy Birthday. Then he told his son they would never be together again. He couldn't offer explanations, only that he was too old and weak to keep up.

He didn't mention the searing pain from his insides rotting out. Not even constant alcohol could veil the agony. Mel reasoned it was good he didn't have much time left. There was that much less suffering to endure. He didn't tell Happy any of this. He could save that for another birthday.

Happy accepted the call as Mel's blessing to escape. Hearing everything he dreamed about was no longer there was too much for Happy to shrug off like the broken ribs. Happy hung up the phone and returned to his room. He never mentioned his birthday to Brian and hoped no one else mentioned it.

Brian sat on his bed, gawking and sullen. He hadn't raised his voice to Happy in the months that had passed since the beating. Happy had no more fear of him and he knew it. Happy had a terrible secret over him. He held Brian's freedom in his hands. Whether he knew it or not, Happy held immeasurable power. Brian hated him for it all the more.

Happy walked straight to the window and looked down at the dumpsters beside the loading dock. He stood and stared for a long time. Happy made his decision. It was time to go home.

LIW&B Chapter 11

"I don't like havin' roommates. They stuck you in here because you're almost as big as me, but I'll still kick your ass. You're just a kid. I'm fifteen. If you mess with me or any of my stuff, I'll beat the shit out of you."
Happy had never heard such threatening aggression. Only desperate, dying rats had directed anything close to the spite this angry teenager displayed. Rats had bared their teeth and cursed their maker. But that was a long time ago. Mel sheltered the boy, leaving him soft and stupid.

Happy remained oblivious to the danger. He barely understood the words. Only moments ago, Ms. Janice, the newly assigned case worker, watched the boys introduce themselves and shake hands before she left. Happy was sincerely glad to meet a new friend. Brian was not.

Brian held a few pounds and inches over Happy, gruff and mean enough for a man more than twice his age. Brian had been in too many fights. His youth was dead and gone. He was a big, angry bully, experienced in the carelessness of the system and the predators roaming for children. He had as little hope for adoption as he had respect for parents. Brian didn't wish to be adopted. It had only hurt before. He wished to be free.

Brian was molded more than raised. His sculpture was brutish from necessity, calloused like a shield. Thick curls of black hair surrounded his portly face to make his appearance jovial. The dark splotches of young whiskers scattered randomly on his pale skin turned the joke into a dark one. His voice stayed low and serious when he laughed.

"I can't believe your name's Happy," Brian continued. "You parents must've been fags. You're probably a pussy just like them."
No one had spoke to Happy this way before. Where most of the children in the residential center instinctively shrank to such language, Happy could only do his best to interpret. Hostility was a foreign tongue Happy didn't recognize.
"Yeah, I guess so," Happy agreed with a smile, "I didn't know my first mom and dad. I only know my dad Mel, but he didn't name me."
Brian looked at this smirking newbie and couldn't be certain if he was serious or giving him attitude. Brian didn't like kids giving him attitude and fought hard to stomp it out. He went with his gut and decided Happy needed a warning.

"Don't get smart with me, pussy!" Brian demanded. He shoved Happy backwards with both meaty arms. Still off guard, Happy reeled backwards into the desk at the foot of his bed. The impact bounced him to the floor. Brian moved forward, getting closer and he launched a diatribe.
"This is my fuckin' room and I don't take any attitude! I'll beat your ass if you ever get smart with me again! And if you tell on me it will only get worse!"

Happy could only think to sit and listen. His aches subsided without notice. Happy could withstand the blows, but he struggled with their intention. He sat on the floor and looked up at Brian like a student to a teacher.

"You're just another keeper!" Brian shouted down, "No way anyone adopts you. You're too fucking big and ugly. You're gonna be here a long time so you better learn fast and do what I say. I'm the king around here."
Brian stood looking down at Happy, waiting for a challenge. Happy had no interest in making the rules. He just looked at his tormentor and replied, "OK".

Brian kept watching, wanting a reason to keep going. Happy only sat still aside from reaching back and rubbing his new abrasion. At last Brian accepted the surrender. He returned to his bunk and grabbed a magazine he had no focus to read.
"I told the doc I didn't want any roommates. He's a fuckin' liar like the rest of 'em." Brian said this to himself more than Happy. He flipped the pages in the magazine with no aim.

Happy got up off the floor and returned to the bags he laid on the bed. The boy still wasn't entirely sure what he was doing in this place, but it was beginning to feel more permanent than he thought. He questions for Brian but now had caution to ask.

The room was typical dorm design, two beds, a bunk on each side with a desk at the foot. The walls were white and the tile speckled gray, as dreary as most of the children. One window broke up the center of the room that looked down to the loading bay of the facility. Happy's room was on the eighth floor. There were a lot of dreary children here, "keepers" as the chronically unadopted were known. Despair slid down the walls like the paint was fresh.

Happy thought about Ms. Janice as he unpacked. She had been with him most of the day. Happy had filled out a lot of paper work and taken tests. Ms. Janice had explained his schedule, 2 classes in the morning and 2 in the afternoon, with a meeting with a counselor three times a week at the end of the day. It was all new to Happy and sounded like fun. But none of the kids, of whom he saw quite a few, appeared to be having fun. Even Ms. Janice didn't appear to be having fun. She smiled behind a voice that didn't mean it.

Ms. Janice took great pains to keep her perspective professional. She wasn't a robot. She wouldn't look at children as units. She wouldn't reduce the human factor in her job. A lot of her colleagues did. It's a survival mechanism, a method to block the emotion that could tear you apart after years and years of escalating tales of child abuse. Any person worthy of the position would have stress from seeing such pain and years of stress can kill. Ms. Janice fought the stress and took steps to reduce it, but she wasn't a robot. She was a professional social case worker on behalf of children's welfare, no more no less. That's all she could sustain.

Happy was a child, but he was another child, another child of hundred after hundreds more. To say he wasn't a number is facetious. Happy was a child and a number, a statistic of loss and regret, of unwanted babies and mistakes, of unwanted adults who remembered their losses too well. Ms. Janice didn't love Happy any more than any of the children she registered which was no more than she loved any child of God. She worked for the welfare of children because it was her job. If it was for love the pain would be too great. Happy knew nothing about the reasons behind the facade. He only sensed the lack of connection between herself and other people. If she was a different person at home, he would never know it.

Ms. Janice had taken the results of Happy's tests and worked out his schedule. His abilities in reading and spelling leveled at the bottom tier, his handwriting was illegible. These all indicated the lack of designed education that matched his profile. Ms. Janice noted how Happy's personality reflected the opposite of his test results. Happy had talked her ear off all day, overflowing with initiative.

The most telling result was Happy writing his name. On his first test, he wrote "Happy" and stopped. He moved on to the test.
"Write your last name too, Happy," Ms. Janice asked.
Happy thought about it and frowned.
"Last name," Happy said, "I don't know. I never wrote it before."

Ms. Janice bent her brow. This was a new one for an eleven year old. Ms. Janice grabbed his folder and read.
"You were living with a Melvin Stotch," Ms. Janice advised. "Is your last name, Stotch?"
Happy looked to the ceiling and back and Ms. Janice.
"Mel's my dad. His name would be mine." Happy didn't know a Melvin.
"Is Mel who you were living with?" Ms. Janice asked.
"Yeah, I live with my dad," Happy confirmed.
"Well, then your last name is Stotch," Ms. Janice deduced.
"Thank you!" Happy said then moved and stopped again with his pencil. "Can you spell that please?"
Ms. Janice also noted the episode and emphasized it very dramatically.

Happy recalled the episode himself as unloaded his clothes. It had been a long day. Happy thought about the questions on the tests, and the cops and his cats. He thought about Mel least. He didn't purposely avoid it, but naturally avoided those thoughts which bring the most pain. Instead, Happy thought about pancakes as he put some underwear in his desk drawers.

Suddenly, he heard a sound, a beeping, a voice from home. Happy moved so swiftly, Brian lifted off his bunk and stood ready for war. Happy walked over to the window and looked down to the loading dock. A row of dumpsters caught his eye and then garbage truck backing up before them.

Happy sat and watched as the truck unloaded each dumpster into its tank. The boy became dreamy and drifted home. He would soon memorize garbage days and times and never miss a show. Brian glared at Happy's hypnosis and didn't understand it, which meant he didn't like it. He moved around the desk and grabbed Happy by the back of the shirt.

"What are you looking at down there?" Brian asked and looked down at the garbage truck. This only led to more mystery and anger. He looked at Happy with disgust as he still watched the trucks with love. Brian impulsively shoved Happy again. This time the thug moved forward with the push, sending Happy crashing against the concrete wall.

"You gettin' off watching a fucking garbage truck!" Brian exploded, his baby jowls jiggling with rage and spit. "What kind of a freak are you?"
Happy hit the wall with arm and shoulder. His shoulder took an impact that would bruise deeply. Happy had never experienced such an attack. He just sat and watched Brian yell. The lonely boy became incensed with the silence.
"Answer me, Freak!" Brian yelled and moved in to beat him.

"Happy Stotch? Hey, what's going on in here?"
Brian stopped and backed up. He knew a floor counselor when he heard one.
"Are you OK? Brian did you hit him?" The counselor entered the room, understanding what he had stopped. Brian was known well. The counselors wanted him to be free also. Only 27 months before he was old enough for the state to want it too.
"I didn't hit him. He fell," Brian lied.

Happy was on his feet before the counselor arrived at his side. The counselor's name was Rob. He rubbed Happy's back to comfort him and become the warmest face Happy had seen since leaving home. He seemed sincere in his concern against this bully. Rob had reported Brian's behavior before.

"Are you all right?" Rob asked.
"Sure," Happy said.
Rob didn't see the same look of fear he saw in most kids, but he still knew the score. He wouldn't push it. Not today.
"Well," Rob surrendered, "OK, but I saw what was going on." He gave Brian another look that told him the same.

Rob turned back to Happy, "Are you Happy Stotch? You've got a phone call."
Happy nodded his head and forgot about his shoulder. "Is it my dad?" he asked.
"Yes, I believe it is. Follow me."
Rob turned and walked out of the room with Happy behind him. Brian stood facing the wall, his back to the entire exchange. He remained in the spot stewing and smoldering until Happy returned.

The call was brief. Mel spent the day drinking and wiping his eyes. He wanted to hear his son's voice, but too much would bring him to collapse. He had to stay strong like he had that morning. He had to keep his boy strong. Happy was the one that needed strength most.

So Mel just asked what Happy had done and let the boy ramble on while he stayed silent. Every word risked breaking a dam in his heart. Listening was bearable but speaking almost impossible. To stifle tears in his voice, Mel added some phony coughs in with the real ones. The entire call lasted less than five minutes, but it felt like an eternal struggle.

Happy returned to his room feeling replenished of exuberance. He entered his dorm room wanting to square things away with his new friend. Happy talked to the slouched back of wounded kid he wished to please.
"Hi Brian," Happy greeted, "It was a call from my dad, just asking how things are."
It was gasoline on the fire. Brian wiped his own eyes and turned around.
"Your dad? What dad? If you had a dad you wouldn't be here."
Happy didn't know how to answer. Once again, he was unsure what the boy meant.
"I'm just here to visit, I guess," Happy tried. "I live with my dad and 700 cats."

Brian didn't understand Happy either. He was tired of trying. It was easier to abuse him and that's what he did. Brian didn't make a sound. He made a beeline to Happy who stood smiling back. Happy had never seen someone rear back their arm to punch him. He made no effort to move.

Brian clamped his teeth together and threw a fist into Happy's cheek. Skin broke upon impact and blood squirt through a narrow stream. Happy's eyes shut involuntarily and his knees buckled. The big, bald boy hit the floor and Brian started to kick him.

"You don't have a dad, Freak! You're just a fuckin' keeper!" Brian yelled.
He gave Happy five kicks in the stomach before he stopped. Brian knew his latitude. Counselors wouldn't come running after one loud outburst. Those happened all the time. They waited until the second to confirm a continuing battle.

Brian walked back to his bunk and sat down, mindlessly grabbing the same magazine as before. It was more difficult for Brian to stop hitting somebody than to start. He sat on his bunk and flipped pages, trying his best to stifle a second outburst.

Happy remained in a lying crouch while the shocks worked their way through his body. Blood dripped to the floor under eye and started a pool. The side of his head heated with swelling. Happy could hear his heartbeat. He began to sit up as soon as the throbbing in his abdomen disappeared.

"Get up, you pussy, before a floor counselor walks by," Brian watched him hawkishly. The kids couldn't close their dorm doors. Happy was risking his probation.

Happy got to his feet. "I'm sorry if I made you mad," he apologized to the brute and walked to his bunk.
"You're damn right you're sorry," Brian barked. "As long as you're in this room, you do what I say. This is my room! You got that, Freak?" He demanded.
Happy only stared and nodded. He sat on his bunk and stretched his legs, wincing at the pain this brought to his stomach.

Brian stood up to finish his demands. "As long as you're in here, I decide what you do. Any time you're not in class or counseling, you'll be where I tell you to be. And you're sitting at my table at lunch so I keep can an eye on you."
The latter demand stemmed from loneliness more than any idea of keeping order. Brian made friends by taking them hostage, a charm learned from more than one abusive foster home.
"And remember," Brian concluded, "If you tell and get me in trouble I'll beat you until you don't remember nothin' anyway." And then in a lower, more sinister volume, "I'll kill you if you tell."

Happy sat reclined on his bunk looking into the eyes of this dangerous animal, ravaged and rabid since birth. The boy didn't know evil enough to recognize it. Happy still thought the hitting was due to something he wasn't understanding. Happy thought the whole event must be his fault. He felt no hatred for his abuser, just caution and concern.
"I don't want to tell anybody anything," Happy said. "I just want to be friends."

Brian stiffened, unaccustomed to such an even answer not powerless and soaked in fear. It almost made Brian believe they could be friends. Such an idea was a foolish indulgence to the broken boy. He assumed it was deception like everything else.
"Fuck you, Freak," Brian answered. "We're not gonna be friends."
Brian returned to his bunk and laid down. He rolled to face the wall away from Happy and would stay there until morning, fully dressed and all. His sleep would be haunted by scarred memories.

Happy dressed for bed and slept without incident. The next day started his new life and routine. Happy would learn to enjoy his classes and fear Brian. He would learn to avoid Brian whenever he could, particularly after counseling sessions. He would sit beside him at lunch, the only two boys at their table, and stay quiet while he threatened and complained. Happy would learn to read emotions, not just from Brian, but from every child and every member of the staff. Happy had never been exposed to so much human interaction and it was time to learn.

Mostly Happy thought about home and how great it would be when he returned. Within a month of brief phone calls with his father, he would understand that he couldn't leave. Mel never said it outright, but he never mentioned coming home. It brought more pain Happy couldn't place. Happy wanted to go home, and wasn't exactly certain why he couldn't.

Happy was a very bright child as Ms. Janice noted to the counseling staff. He absorbed change and adapted quickly, aware of his surroundings. Ms. Janice gave a very positive report of the boy's potential. What wasn't noted and remained unseen was the way Happy noticed open doors and unattended exits. Happy thought it didn't appear so difficult to leave. Maybe it was OK after all.

Happy did what he was told, but he always thought of home. On evenings when he would hear the warning beeps of the garbage truck in reverse, he would think of where the garbage went. He knew it went home. He watched the dumpsters fill the tanks and drive away, a free ride to the yard he held so dear. But he would do what he was told. He thought Mel would want it that way. So he would stay until the old man told him different.