Chapter Nineteen

 

  

What did he mean; Chris was in pretty bad shape? And what was Chris doing at the shelter, I questioned, as I hurriedly threw on some clothes? I ran to the Tucker’s house and the lights were off so I let myself in with my key and went to Uncle Phil and Aunt Liz’s bedroom and knocked on the door announcing myself. A sleepy-eyed Uncle Phil came to the door and had a very concerned look. “What’s the matter Bash?” He inquired.

 

I related the brief conversation I had with Stan Polanski and Uncle Phil said he’d be right with me as he went to get dressed.

 

When we arrived at the shelter, Stan greeted us and led us toward a small office. Stan told us on the way, that Chris would only say he had an argument with his dad regarding him being gay and he fell down the stairs when his father kicked him out of the house. Stan said that, in his experience it was obvious from the injuries, that this was more than an argument and taking a tumble down the stairs.

 

Entering a small office with mismatched donated furniture, we saw Chris, trembling and wrapped in a blanket. He had tears mixed with blood running down his now swelling cheeks. He was holding one hand close to his body, and it was apparent he was in a great deal of pain. His nose had obviously been bleeding and both eyes were also beginning to swell shut. The front of his T-shirt and sweat pants was spattered with a lot of blood. Uncle Phil immediately went to examine him to evaluate his injuries. He knelt down beside him, gently putting a hand on his shoulder, and asked him what had happened. Uncle Phil was accustomed to talking with kids and had a very comforting way about him.

 

His wrist was broken and it appeared he could have a broken jaw. He definitely would have two black eyes and perhaps a broken nose. A front tooth was also missing. Because of his guarded breathing, some ribs might also have been broken, along with other injuries hidden beneath his clothing.

 

Uncle Phil was able to get from Chris that his mom apparently had told his dad he was gay. Chris said he was in his room with his earphones on so didn’t hear his dad until he was on top of him and slugging him in the face and stomach. He was screaming, calling him a faggot and that no damn faggot was going to live in his house. In an attempt to escape, Chris fled from his room but when he got to the top of the staircase; his father kicked him, propelling him down the stairs. As he tumbled down, he broke his wrist and struck his head against the banister at the bottom of the stairs. He remembered his sister, Elly, screaming at their father to stop. Chris, in a daze, ran out the door to escape further assault from the hands of his maniacally enraged father.

 

Once out on the street, dazed and confused, and in a state of shock, he had no idea where to go. He was cold. He didn’t have a coat or shoes, only the T-shirt, sweat pants and socks he was wearing while lying in bed. As he was wandering around in a confused state, he happened upon the shelter, knocked on the door and collapsed into Stan’s arms. He said Stan wanted to call the police, but he pleaded with him not to, as he didn’t want his mom to be upset. He just wanted to get some place safe. That was when he thought of me and had Stan call.

 

“Well, Chris,” Uncle Phil stated, “as an officer of the law, and as Stan will tell you, we have to bring in the police. Your father broke the law.”

 

Chris, looking very distressed, started crying. I went to him and wrapped my arms around him. I could not believe someone could do this to their own son, their own flesh and blood. I read about it and heard about it, but until I experienced it, it was far out of my realm of reality. Once more, I felt truly blessed for mine and Scotty’s parents’ attitudes upon their discovery we were gay. I could only gently hold Chris as no words could soothe or mollify what he experienced. Moreover, I wasn’t even going to try. To me this was the ultimate betrayal, the ultimate display of hatred, the ultimate cruelty. Whatever he was thinking and feeling I intuitively knew I had to let him. He did not need to hear any cheesy platitudes. I also knew that I was going to be the best friend to him I could be, though to that point, we were never super close. He would need friends, if word got out of this incident; he’d need all the support he could get.

 

Uncle Phil called the police precinct and reported the incident, instructing them to pick up Mr. Kreider and hold him for child abuse and abandonment. Uncle Phil was then informed that a Mrs. Kreider at that same address had just called and reported that their son, Christopher, had run away. Uncle Phil responded by stating it was more like escaped, and he described Chris’ injuries. He then told the duty officer in charge that he was taking Christopher Kreider to the hospital. They needed to have his mother meet them there in order to a handle the paperwork.

 

Uncle Phil, Stan and I carefully assisted Chris to Uncle Phil’s car. It took some doing but we got him in the back seat and laid him down with his head on my lap. Fortunately, Uncle Phil had told the duty officer to call ahead so that hospital attendants would be available with a gurney upon our arrival. I thanked Stan for calling. He asked that we keep him informed as to Chris’ condition and to let him know if there was anything further he could do.

 

In the mean time, a squad car had gone to the Kreider’s house to pick up Mr. Kreider. A shaken and distraught Helen Kreider and her very scared and upset 12-year-old daughter Elly answered the door. They informed Mrs. Kreider that her son had been found and she needed to get to the hospital. Mr. Kreider was passed out on the couch with a half-empty bottle of whisky beside it. He had bloody and swollen knuckles and blood on his shirt and pants. When the police could finally arouse him, he was not very coherent as they handcuffed him, read him his rights, and placed him under arrest. An officer from the juvenile division was called in the event they were needed to take Elly from a dangerous situation. It was decided to leave her with her mother as Mr. Kreider was now in custody.

 

Sitting in the waiting room area of the hospital, I had a moment of dejà vu. Once again, someone was hurt for a reason they should not have been. I remember very clearly how I felt when Scotty was attacked. Sadness came over me and I began thinking of Bobby and how devastated he would be. He too, would need friends, not only for comfort, but also to support him through this ordeal. God, I missed Scotty. He would be livid. I already was enraged.

 

Mrs. Kreider with Elly in hand came hurriedly into the emergency room. Uncle Phil met her along with an emergency room nurse to explain Chris’ injuries. She was taken to him, and I had Elly come sit with me. Elly and I knew each other casually and though I wanted to hold and hug her, felt uncomfortable doing so. I did tell her I was sorry for what happened and she burst forth with tears. Too hell with discomfort, I held her to me as she cried and expressed her confusion as to why or how her father could do this. She loved her brother and didn’t care if he was gay or if he was green with yellow polka dots. She didn’t understand why her father didn’t feel the same.

 

When Mrs. Kreider was through seeing Chris and filling out the required paperwork, she returned to the waiting area. I was prepared to offer my sympathies. She obviously was upset, but I couldn’t determine at whom: Chris or her husband. She sat down beside me and pulled Elly into a hug, seemingly more for security than to commiserate with her daughter. She acted much like a child with a security blanket in her holding of Elly. She, as if talking to herself, couldn’t fathom the situation as she stated, “What did Chris do for his father to become so violent? Just because I told him Chris was a homosexual wouldn’t set him off like this. Chris obviously did or said something.”

 

Elly, jerking her head away from her mother, loudly said, “Mommy, Chris was in bed reading and listening to music with his earphones on. I heard the front door slam and Daddy came stomping up the stairs, went into Chris’s room and started hitting him and calling him names. He called him a faggot and said he couldn’t live at home anymore. Chris didn’t do anything except try to get away. Then Daddy kicked him down the stairs.”

 

Then she asked, “Mommy why doesn’t Daddy love Chris anymore? I love Chris, he’s the best big brother in the world and I don’t care if he is gay. Why can’t Daddy love him too?”

 

Her response was, “Well, honey, being a homosexual is bad; it’s not right. In the eyes of God, it’s a sin. Your father became a little upset that’s all. I’m sure once he calms down and we get help for Chris he’ll still love Chris too.”

 

There were times I wished I wasn’t so civil. There were times I wished I hadn’t been taught to respect my elders. I wanted to scream. I wanted to slap some motherly sense into Mrs. Kreider. I sat there in shock; in disbelief as to what I heard.

 

“Mrs. Kreider,” I stated as calmly as I was capable, “A broken nose, a broken wrist, a broken jaw, two cracked ribs, a split lip and a tooth knocked out; on top of that, forcing him out of his home on a cold night is not a little upset.”

 

“Well, Sebastian, just wait until you’re a father and you’ll understand better,” she replied.

 

I saw Uncle Phil return to the waiting room and my mom was with him. Disgusted, I got up, and as politely as I was able, told Elly and Mrs. Kreider good-bye and that I hoped Chris got better soon. I met them as they were heading toward me. I hugged my mom and asked Uncle Phil if we could please get out of there. I was shocked. I was disgusted. I was angry. He said he’d be right with me but wanted to say good-bye to Mrs. Kreider. I told my mom what Mrs. Kreider had said. She shook her head disbelievingly and said, “How sad for her; how sad for Chris.” She told me she loved me, gave me hug and said she’d see me in a few hours and to go home and try and get some sleep. I waited for Uncle Phil by the exit doors.

 

As we were returning home, I glanced over at Uncle Phil and could tell he was very disturbed and upset. To that day I had never heard him raise his voice...well, other than yelling up the stairs for Scotty and me to stop making such a racket. I had never seen him extremely angry. I had never ever seen him physically hurt anyone. “Uncle Phil,” I asked, “are you okay?”

 

“No, Sebastian, I’m not,” he succinctly stated. He confirmed for me what I had been asking myself and mulling over in my mind the past few hours. “I do not understand how anyone could do this to someone, let alone their own son. It tears me up inside.” He slammed both hands on the steering wheel and yelled,” Dammit!” He took a deep breath and sighed.

 

I truly cared for this gentle giant of a man. It hurt to see him so upset. “Uncle Phil, I love you. I love you very much. You have been the only father I have ever known. There are many times I wished I had known mine, but… Well, I’m just glad you have been here for me,” I said as my eyes started to tear.

 

Uncle Phil reached over and with his huge hand gently pulling me to him, and said, “Sebastian, thank you, that means so much to hear you say that, and you are a good son.” And he gave me a kiss on the top of my head.

 

My sleep was fitful and I finally decided to get up, drink a cup of coffee, and wait to go with Uncle Phil to the airport to pick up Scotty and Aunt Liz. When my mom came home we talked about Chris and she said he was sedated as he was in shock, and he was sure to be in a lot of pain once he woke up. I told her how baffled I was about not only Mr. Kreider’s violence, but also, Mrs. Kreider’s attitude. “At least Scotty had us after he was attacked. Chris doesn’t seem to have anyone on his side, except for his little sister,” I remarked. My mother said it was indeed sad. I then asked her, “Mom, if Chris needed a place to stay, would you let him stay here?”

 

“In a heartbeat,” she replied. “How would you feel about it?” she asked.

 

“Happy that we could help him,” I responded. “It would take some getting used to, but I’d manage.”

 

“For both of us,” she stated with a wry smile.

 

I was not looking forward to giving Scotty the news. He instantly knew something was amiss when we met him and Aunt Liz at the arrival gate. “What’s wrong, Bash?” He asked.

 

As Uncle Phil and I related to them what had transpired the night before, Scotty turned pale and appeared nauseated. We had to stop the car so he could throw up. I have seen Scotty upset. I have seen him angry. But I have never heard Scotty so venomously outraged as he vehemently spewed out angry words: words I have never heard him use, as to how he felt. Uncle Phil, Aunt Liz and I were stunned. Uncle Phil chastised, “Scott Anthony Tucker, your mother is in the car!” Whereupon Scotty ceased his spate of anger and apologized to his mother. I assumed from his remark, that Uncle Phil would not have been upset with Scotty’s foul language if it were just us three guys.

 

The ride from the airport became very quiet. Scotty, breaking the silence and in a controlled voice asked, “Does Bobby know yet?”

 

“I don’t know. If he’s called Chris’ house, Elly or Mrs. Kreider may have told him.” I replied.

 

“Oh, God, I hope he didn’t. Bash, I think you and I should go over to see him as soon as I get unpacked. Okay?” Then he asked, “Mom, Dad, is that okay with you if I go over to Bobby’s as soon as we get home?”

 

They both, knowing the value of friendship at time like this, thought that it was good of us to want to be there to be supportive for Bobby. As I felt, so did they, that Bobby would need good friends.

 

……………………………………

 

“Uh, hi Scott, hi Bash, this is a surprise. Just happen to be slumming in the neighborhood?” A chipper Bobby asked as he answered the door.

 

Clearly, Bobby didn’t know what happened to Chris. We asked if his parents were home and he said they were. His mom was in the kitchen baking and his dad was in the den watching TV. He wondered why we asked. We told him we needed to talk with him and his parents and it was important. Bobby started becoming uneasy, but went and told his parents we were there and wanted to talk with them. Mrs. Arnold came into the living room wiping her hands on her apron, and then asked what was wrong. Mr. Arnold took a seat beside his wife. After everyone was seated, making sure a nervous Bobby was seated between Scotty and me, we told them about Chris.

 

Aunt Liz, Uncle Phil, and Mom cautioned us as to the reactions we might get from Bobby. It was important they said to let him emote; be it scream, pound the floor, beat the wall, cry or all the above. Bobby just sat there—staring. Saying nothing—just stared. All eyes were on him. He then quietly, almost in a whisper, said, “Chris was afraid this is what would happen.” And then he cried. He cried the tears of a lover for his injured mate. His sobbing increased. Scotty and I got up so that his parents could sit with him and console him. They wrapped him in their loving arms as their heartbroken son, wracked with pain, sobbed uncontrollably in his father’s chest. Scotty’s and my tears were also streaming as we helplessly watched, with our arms around each other’s waist, as our friend let go of his emotions. Not a word was spoken. The only sound was Bobby’s gasps and sobbing.

 

I don’t know how long we stood there watching poor little Bobby cry. When he finally regained some semblance of composure, he asked between sobs, if he could go see Chris. I told him I wasn’t sure if he was allowed visitors yet. I didn’t mention that perhaps Mrs. Kreider wouldn’t allow him to. I figured we’d cross that bridge when we came to it. Mrs. Arnold said she would call the hospital to see if visitors were allowed. The hospital staff informed her that only immediate family was allowed at this time. Mrs. Arnold then called Mrs. Kreider and said she was sorry to hear about Chris and was wondering if they might go see him. Mrs. Kreider said she thought that was very nice and thoughtful. She said she would call the hospital to grant her permission. Mrs. Arnold said Helen Kreider spoke as though she was in a trance; in a monotone; no real emotion seemed apparent. She added that Mrs. Kreider was probably in a state of shock over the whole thing. I said nothing, as now wasn’t the time to express my opinion. Scotty and I called our parents to tell them we were accompanying the Arnolds to see Chris. Mom gave me the name of the charge nurse in the ward Chris was, just in case we wanted to drop her name if questions arose.

 

As much as I hated to, I told Bobby what to expect when he saw Chris. His parents told him for Chris’ sake he should try to keep it together so Chris wouldn’t have to deal with more than he already had on his plate. Bobby said he thought he could do that—at least for Chris.

 

Chris was asleep when we arrived. Bobby gently stroked his hand and to his credit, held it together. When Chris opened his eyes and saw Bobby smiling at him, he cried. Tears fell from Bobby’s eyes also, but he didn’t fall apart. We were not allowed to stay too long as it was important Chris get his rest. We all left the room so that Chris and Bobby could have a few minutes alone. When Bobby came out of Chris’ room, he had tears and said Chris had fallen asleep, but not before he got to give him a gentle kiss on the lips. Scotty and I sensed that Bobby had gone from unrelenting sadness to anger. He didn’t show it overtly nor did he express it verbally. I can only describe it as an aura, or as the eerie quiet before the storm rages.

 

At school the next day Scotty and I were keeping an eye on Bobby. He was very subdued. The essence—that effervescence of Bobby was gone, not that we could blame him. That afternoon at wrestling practice Bobby was really pushing himself. He wrestled more aggressively than I have ever seen him before, almost as if he wanted to hurt his opponent. In the shower someone noticed that Chris was absent and asked Bobby in a joking way where his boyfriend was. Bobby let go with a tirade, “Fuck you Peterson, why don’t you keep your fucking mouth shut.” Jimmy Peterson stood there shocked, not understanding what he said that could possibly set off the usually mild-mannered Bobby.

 

It was then that we heard, “Arnold, get your butt in here, and now!” It was Coach Hastinger.

 

Bobby, still very angry, threw his towel down and clad only in his underwear, stomped toward the Coach’s office. I grabbed Bobby’s arm. Still angry he went to jerk it away and I said, “Bobby, please trust me on this. Tell coach what happened—all of it.” He said nothing and continued his maddened pace to the office.

 

The chatter in the locker room stopped instantly, when we heard bellowing from the coach’s office, “That fucking son of a bitch. How could he?” Everyone in the locker room startled by the sudden outburst from Coach, began looking at each other with questioning stares. I was glad Bobby listened to me. Coach Hastinger came out of the office with his arm around Bobby who had obviously broken down. The locker room was quiet. We were all still standing in stunned silence since Coach’s outburst. Coach Hastinger said he wanted everyone’s attention. He didn’t go into detail, but said he was just informed that Chris Kreider had been badly injured and was in the hospital. He will be okay, he added, so as not to scare everyone. Coach then asked us to keep Chris in our prayers. Bobby went and got quietly dressed. I waited for him, and as we were exiting the gym, Jimmy Peterson approached Bobby and said he didn’t mean anything by what he said and was sorry if he upset Bobby. Bobby replied it was okay and was sorry he screamed at him. They shook hands and Bobby and I went to meet up with Scotty.

 

The following weeks were emotionally turbulent. Chris had been released from the hospital after a three-day stay. He was assigned a Child Protective Services counselor who had managed to get a court order restraining Mr. Kreider from going near his son. Mrs. Kreider still appeared confused as to where her loyalties should lie and treated Chris somewhat coolly. She seemed more upset that the family unit was split, not that her husband had gone ballistic and could have possibly killed Chris. When she realized her husband would not be able to return to the house, she became more agitated and distant from her son. I would not have wanted to have been in Chris’ head. I could only imagine what was going on up there. Because of the nature of Chris’ injuries; and that he was a minor, knowledge about what really happened was kept from the general public. Scotty, Bobby nor I were saying anything other than what Chris asked. He fell down the stairs. Most kids not being forensic scientists bought it and good-naturedly teased him for being a klutz.

 

Poor Bobby was lost. At fifteen, your skills at handling something this tragic might well be overwhelming even for most adults. He was privy to how Mrs. Kreider was behaving toward Chris. All he could do was love Chris in the only way he knew. And Bobby’s love was all the love Chris was receiving. Though many of us—Junior, Coach Hastinger, Uncle Phil and of course, Scotty and I—were in Chris’ corner and supportive of him; we did not have to go home to a confused, angry mother, nor have to endure the silent treatment at the end of the day. And things were not to improve.

 

A hearing was held regarding Mr. Kreider’s assault on his son, in which he pleaded with the court to let him return to his home. He expressed his deep regrets at having treated his son so vilely and insisted he wanted to get a cohesive family unit back. The courts tend to want that also, so lifted the restraining order. They ordered Mr. Kreider to attend counseling. Chris was scared.

 

One afternoon a few weeks after Mr. Kreider had been allowed to return home, I saw Chris in the cafeteria jump up and run from the table where he and Bobby were sitting. I followed him and watched as he entered the boy’s room. I waited a little, thinking he really had to go bad. Bobby came up beside me looking dejected and hurt. “Is he still in there?” He inquired. I nodded affirmatively. We both entered and heard the muffled sounds of someone crying. I went to the cubicle and knocked on the door and said, “Chris, open up, it’s me Bash.”

 

He opened the door and his still bruised face was puffy from his crying. He just looked at me and said resignedly, “Bash, I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take living in that house. Mom and Dad don’t speak to me. They won’t allow me to do anything and make me stay in my room. I’m not allowed to go see Bobby, nor is he allowed to visit me. No one is allowed to come visit me. Elly and I are barely allowed to speak with one another. Now they want to send me to some institution to ‘cure’ me. There has even been talk about sending me away to a military school. He said they knew how to take care of sissy-boys. He calls me that all the time. It really hurts. What am I going to do?” he pleaded.

 

Bobby went and put his arms around Chris. He didn’t know what to say. What could he say that would help? He was just a mere teenager, a teenager in love with a boy who was losing his heart, verve and soul. This was eating him up inside as he watched the one he loved—the person who had helped him see he was worthy, that he was someone, this was the boy who loved him. All I could do was hug them both. I too was frustrated because, I too was powerless. It was truly sad to see this once arrogant, self-assured kid who had been full of what was referred to as ‘piss and vinegar’ so lacking in will, helpless and feeling powerless. Part of me would have willingly invited back the arrogant know-it-all he once was, compared to his present state.

 

The following day during my last period, my teacher answered a knock at the door, took a note from the hall monitor, read it, nodded his head, and then said, “Sebastian, you’re to report to the admin office immediately.” I gave a questioning look and he shrugged his shoulders, saying, “I don’t know, but get going.” I closed my book and proceeded to the school administration office. I met Scotty on the way and we both had puzzled looks on our faces. “Do you know what’s going on?” I asked. “No,” he replied. “I was just told to report to the office.”

 

When we entered and went to the counter to report our arrival, we were directed to the principal’s office. We knocked and were told to ‘enter.’ Standing there with Mr. Bentley, were my mom, Uncle Phil, Aunt Liz, an obviously worried Bobby and his parents. The grown ups all looked somber and sad. Scotty and I looked at each other. Nothing needed to be said. We knew.

 

A big thank you to Sharon for editing.--SK