Renaissance Man - Part 1

Scene 20 _ Why Always Me? (Inciting Incident - Part 3)

Scene 20 Rev F

Scene 20 “Why Always Me?”

[This is the last of three scenes (14, 17, 20) making up the ‘Inciting Incident’]

Torey Campbell – Protagonist
Brodey Campbell – Torey Campbell’s father / Antagonist
Nessie Campbell – Torey Campbell’s mother

         Thinking about what was about to unfold sickened Torey. He turned into the alley running behind the houses on his side of Grove Street from Fletcher Ave. In the waning light, the almost dark sky above was framed by the backs of two rows of houses, completely black in deep shadows. He knew this route so well he paid no heed to the darkness closing in nor to a cat he surprised feasting in an overturned garbage can. The narrow space between unbroken walls of row houses made a wind tunnel for a warm breeze on this late August twilight. In houses, lights began to come on and sounds of a summer Saturday evening flowed from open windows; too loud music, arguments, laughing, crying babies – all normal and pleasing to Torey, but not tonight.
         He climbed the steps to the back porch of his house aching from the beating he had just taken and from what he knew would be unleashed on him by his father as soon as he entered. He could see his clothes were a mess and he knew from the pain, his swollen eye, and blood on his shirt that his face was a mess too. The screen door creaked, and it’s spring made that strange familiar ‘spring stretching sound’ as he pulled open the door and stepped into the kitchen.
         Nessie rose from the kitchen table, speaking as she did. “Torey! Where have you been? I’ve been waiting to start supper for over an hour.”
         Brodey, sitting at the table, nursing a beer, started in without looking up. Brodey didn’t touch a drop during the week, but Saturday was different. “Showin up late for supper is getting to be a habit, boy!”
         “Oh, my God! What happened to your face ... and your clothes?” cried Nessie, turning and getting a full view of her son.
         Torey replied weakly through swollen lips. “I got in a fight.” He looked at Brodey, thinking Here it comes. Looks like that’s not his first beer.
         “Told you many times, I won’t tolerate fightin. Ya hea me,” slurred Brodey, frowning and tapping his fingers on the table beside his bottle.
         Yep. That’s not his first beer.
         By now Nessie was at Torey’s side looking distraught and trying to touch his face. “Who were you fighting with?”
         “Rufus Kenly and Nestor Ramirez.”
         “Brodey. Should we take him to the hospital? He looks hurt bad.” said Nessie, almost in tears.
         “Who are they?” asked Brodey, ignoring Nessie and showing no concern for his son’s physical condition, as he dragged his hands through his hair.
         Torey had difficulty speaking. “Two tenth grade bums that show up at Kopischke’s every once in a while, looking for trouble.”
         Brodey sneered. “Why did you get into a beef with them?”
         “When I got off the bus, they were beating up on Jethro Lawson.”
         “Why were you on the bus? Oh yeah, you went shoe shopping today.”
         Nessie had moved to the kitchen sink and was wetting a washcloth. The sound of water running made Torey realize his thirst, but that he probably couldn’t drink through his swollen lips without slopping water all over his shirt front. So what, this shirt’s done for anyway, and I’ll catch hell for ruining a good shirt, he thought.
         Nessie turned to Torey to do her mother thing. “Let me wash out that gash on your face and put a bandage on it.”
         Brodey rejoined. “So who is Jethro Lawson?” More finger tapping.
         “A seventh grader, who lives on Onyx Street. Ouch, Mom! That hurts.” Torey responded, but the cool rag felt good on his face.
         Brodey continued interrogating. “Friend of yours?”
         “No. I’ve seen him around.”
         “Let me get this straight. You got into a fight with two tenth grade bullies to help a kid who means nothing to you?” His voice carried a sarcastic tone, and tension was visible in his neck and shoulders.
         Torey, very much alert now, had to be careful. He had no intention of letting his father know that most of the beating was a message from Leon Bertozzi about Torey declining to become his drug dealer. Rescuing Jethro Lawson was just introduction. Had he not intervened, a beating might not have come today, but it would have come later. Torey chose his words carefully.
         “Pop. Lawson is a little kid, and they were hurting him bad. Was I supposed to just walk away?”
         “Did he help you or thank you?”
         “No. He split when they started on me.”
         Nessie spoke up. “Torey, I think that was very brave of you.”
         Brodey, irritated and well into his current beer, chided his wife. “Nessie. Quit fussing and start supper.”
         Nessie snapped back to the job at hand and turned her attention to preparing supper. Kitchen sounds dominated for a short while as pots and pans moved about, food came out of the refrigerator, and Torey tried to help by getting dishes down from the cabinet and setting the table. He tried to hide the pain. Neither Brodey nor Nessie was looking at him. Brodey was quiet for now, and Torey and Nessie were both grateful for that. Soon the kitchen was filled with the aroma of Nessie’s cooking. Tonight’s dinner was to be Pork Chops and Rice, a dish that both Brodey and Torey liked, and Nessie made whenever she was able to find pork chops on special at Kopischke’s Market. This meal was a mixture of rice, tomatoes, chopped onion, bell pepper, black eyed peas, and green chilis; simmered in chicken broth and Worcestershire sauce; topped with pork chops seared with Old Bay spice.
         Nessie spoke first. “How did you make out with buying your shoes?”
         “I got school shoes at JCPenney’s for fifty dollars — Stacy Adams ‘Detonator’ Chukka Boots,” Torey replied, watching Brodey come alive at the sound of dollars being spent. I knew that couldn’t last. However, he moved to retrieve the paper bag containing his prizes from the day’s shopping expedition. The bag had been dropped by the door when he entered the kitchen. Now he was eager to share his success with Nessie and maybe even get a small amount of positive acknowledgment from his father. The bag crinkled as Torey opened it and took out the pair of chukka boots.
         “Fifty dollars! That’s crazy! You don’t care a bit about throwing money away!” A vein in Brodey’s neck was pulsing. Torey had seen that many times and knew where things were headed.
         Exercising restraint beyond his years, Torey replied calmly. “That’s not true Pop! I shopped hard. I went to four different stores – Sears, DSW, Dillard’s, Macy’s, and JCPenney. You just don’t know anything about how much stuff costs.”
         “All expensive stores. I know what things cost! You didn’t shop hard enough. Did you try the Dollar Store? What’s wrong with kids these days? You’re as bad as your mother.”
         Nessie was used to Brodey’s disparaging remarks and usually had a retort that went over his head. No exception tonight. “Brodey, why don’t you find him a pair of shoes. Then he can return these,” Nessie replied sarcastically.
         “I don’t have time for that,” said Brodey, not realizing he had just stepped into it again. Torey and Nessie exchanged smiles.
         Brodey wasn’t completely drunk yet, but the beer was taking effect. Beer and his bad temper were a toxic mix. He rose from his chair, began to pace the kitchen, and put forth a feigned weighty mathematical logic.
         “Fifty dollars for school shoes? That means you spent all the money I gave you and ten dollars of what your mother gave you. So, you had ten dollars left for soccer shoes?”
         “That’s right,” replied Torey, knowing what was coming, but adding, “these shoes are good enough to wear to church on Sunday.”
         “That should have been plenty.”
         That was not what Torey expected. “Are you crazy! When was the last time you bought anything?”
         “I don’t know anything about soccer shoes, but I can’t believe you can buy any kind of shoes for ten dollars,” Nessie joined in.
         Brodey ignored Nessie and responded forcefully but wobbly to Torey. “Don’t talk to me like that, ya hea me. I know that most stores rip you off. If you shop hard enough, you can find somebody who will have what you want at the right price.”, punctuating his sentence by repeatedly thrusting his finger at Torey’s face.
         Torey, incredulous at Brodey’s perception of reality threw back. “How many days and how many cities do I have to shop to find soccer shoes for ten dollars?”
         Brodey’s pacing took on more urgency as his anger increased. He was being called out by his wife and his barely teenage son. He didn’t like it.
          “Hogwash. So, you didn’t buy soccer shoes?”
         “Yes, I did. We found a pair of used soccer shoes at Play Again for thirty-five dollars.”, said Torey removing the other pair from the paper bag. The shoes were worn, but not badly so, and Torey caressed them fondly, imaging himself driving a soccer ball into the goal with that shoe on his right foot. I’ve never had shoes like this, he thought.
         Brodey was confused by Torey’s reply. “What? Used shoes? You didn’t have thirty-five dollars. What is Play Again? Who is ‘we’?”
         Realizing he was making no sense to his father who knew nothing of the events of the past few days, Torey tried to explain. “Play Again is a store that sells used athletic equipment. Coach Dreyer told me about them. The cheapest shoes I could find that fit me were thirty-five dollars.”
         Brodey sarcastically restated what he thought was obvious arithmetic. “You only had ten dollars.”
         “My friend, Addo loaned me twenty-five dollars.”
         Brodey’s perplexity increased, and his eyebrows went up. “Loaned you twenty-five dollars. Who is this Addo? That’s a funny name. Where is he from and how come he can loan you money? How are you going to pay it back?”
         Torey sensed how much Brodey did not know about the situation and that things were getting more confused, not less, making him angrier.
         “Addo Okoro. He is my friend from school, and he is on my soccer team. Coach Dreyer asked him to go with me to help buy soccer shoes. He had some money he was willing to loan me to get those shoes.”
         “So, you borrowed money to buy used soccer shoes? What’s this world coming too?” Brodey threw up his hands in mock surrender. His pacing was now almost too much for their small kitchen. Nessie returned to her seat at the table to get out of his way.
         “Yes. I want to play, and I need those shoes. They were the cheapest I could find.”
         “How are you going to pay him back?”
         That question had plagued Torey from the moment he accepted Addo’s offer. “I don’t know. I’ll find a way”, he replied weakly, trying to convince himself as much as Brodey.
         Nessie now knew the fate of the extra twenty-dollar bill Brodey had given her. She had tucked it away in her purse and almost forgot it. He hasn’t mentioned it. Did he forget? Did he miscount? She didn’t say a word.
         Torey had a five-dollar problem, not a twenty-five-dollar problem. But that didn’t diminish the problem with his father unfolding before her eyes.
         Sensing Torey’s weakness, Brodey resumed the charge. “What kind of name is Addo Okoro?”
         “His parents are from Ghana.”
         “Ghana? Isn’t that in Africa? Is he black?
         “Yes.”
         His pacing escalated to a fever pitch, Brodey’s face was crimson with rage, and the toxic mix of beer and temper exploded. “Boy, are you tellin me you borrowed twenty-five dollars from a nigger?” Brodey moved into Torey’s face, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth.
         Torey was stunned speechless. This aspect of his father had never shown itself before. He stood in the middle of the kitchen glowering at his father unable to find words to respond.
         Nessie broke the silence. “Brodey! You are shameful.”
         Brodey now had the upper hand, and he continued. “I don’t care what you think. I don’t want my son beholden to some nigger. No telling what he’ll do to get his money back. Ya hea me.” He planted his feet wide and crossed his arms signifying finality.
         Completely flustered and hurt by this new view of his father, Torey could only manage “Dad, he’s my friend.”
         “I don’t want you hanging around with those darkies, neither. You’ll get a reputation as a nigger lover. Ya hea me.”
         I can’t believe what I just heard.
         Nessie quickly changed the subject. “Did they just leave you there on the street? Did anyone try to help you?”
         Brodey pressed the issue. “How about this nigger kid, did he help you?”
         Torey hurt all over. Pain from the beating, hurt from his father’s rage, and this new evil side that just emerged left Torey hardly able to speak. “Addo got off the bus three stops before me, so he wasn’t there. Kenly and Ramirez took off. A few minutes later, Viviana Tessaro got off the bus, and she helped me.”
         Nessie perked up. “Who is Viviana Tessaro?”
         “A girl from school. She’s in my grade, and we have some classes together.”
         Brodey sensed a new angle for attack. “A little nursing from a girl classmate? Is she cute? Maybe a little romance brewing?”, dripping with sarcasm.
         Torey recalled how good he felt, in spite of the pain, when she was close to him, wiping away blood, and how good she smelled. Is that what romance feels like?
         Nessie saw her boy getting yet another beating. She brushed Brodey aside and came to Torey’s rescue. “That was very nice of her. Did you thank her?”
         “Yes, Mom.” Through the mess that was his face, Torey was blushing.
         The stove was hotter than the tempers in the room. Suddenly the smell of burning food demanded immediate attention.
         “Oh damn! Supper is burning!” yelled Nessie as she jumped up and ran to the stove.
         Supper was burning, and so was Brodey. He stopped pacing and moved nose to nose with Torey.
         “Well young man, you’re grounded for a week for fighting, ya hea me, and I want to know where you’re going to get cash to pay that nigger back.”
         Torey’s defeated demeanor vanished; along with any semblance of respect for his father. With an adrenalin rush pounding in his ears, his rage shot up to match Brodey’s. “WHAT! What kind of crap is that!”
         “I’m your father! Don’t talk to me like that, you young punk!”, the vein in his neck throbbing visibly.
         The toxic mix won out. Brodey’s open-handed slap across Torey’s face cut through the evening stillness like a gunshot. It hurt Torey on every level. Pain to his face on top of bruises and cuts already there, pain to his pride that this was the only answer his father had for him, and pain to his newly emerging manhood that he and his father had just defined a new relationship that was not good.
         “You’re grounding me for fighting, but it’s OK for you to beat up on me?”
         Torey and Brodey glared at each other. They each knew something had happened that they would remember, that could not be changed.
         Nessie watched terror-stricken. She retreated to safe and familiar ground. “Brodey! Stop, both of you! Supper is burned to a crisp. I’ll have to figure something out and start over.”
         “Do what you got to do but make some supper. I’m starved.”, Brodey grumbled, the crimson rage receding from his face.
         Torey stood in the middle of the kitchen looking at both his parents. Pain in his eyes and in his voice. He hurt everywhere, in every way.
         “I don’t want any damned supper!” he screamed, tears rolling down his bruised cheeks.
         He bolted from the kitchen and bounded up the stairs three at a time to his bedroom sobbing uncontrollably.
         “Torey!”, cried Nessie in a pleading voice. But she knew their world had just changed permanently.
         “Torey! Get back down here!” bellowed Brodey, believing he was still in command, now very drunk.
         Torey slammed the bedroom door hard enough to rattle dishes in the kitchen below. He threw himself around his small bedroom, bouncing from wall to wall, slamming the dresser with his fist, and sobbing uncontrollably. Tears poured down his face, mixing with the caked blood, and dripping onto his shirt, already stained with blood and sweat.
         What kind of man is he? What kind of family do I live in? Is this what the world is really like? Why is everything so hard? Why is it always me?
         Exhaustion finally won out. Torey collapsed onto his bed — dirty, bloody, sweaty — and cried himself to sleep.

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Word Count: 2,807
Readability Consensus (based on 8 readability formulas):
         Grade Level: 4
         Reading Level: easy to read.
         Reader's Age: 8-9 yrs. old (Fourth and Fifth graders)