Temper, Temper, Temper

Temper, Temper, Temper


Michael lived at home with his mother, sister, and step dad.
Waking up and getting dressed for school, then sitting down at the kitchen table for breakfast was routine. Michael’s mother would make his lunch while he ate his cereal or on occasion, two eggs sunny side up.
Teeth brushed, backpack ready they would sit together in the living room and his mother would read to him from the bible for five or ten minutes every day. She would kiss him and give him a hug and tell him she loves him with the dearest look of compassion in her eyes. Her hair was usually a mess and she would still be in her robe, but she loved him all the same.
Leaving out of the kitchen slider and down the stairs into their backyard Michael would already be thinking of his friends, or girls, or maybe some unfinished project in woodshop. Very rarely would anything academic be on his mind.
His mother would send him an air kiss and wish him a good day at school, as always, he replied he loved her too. Leaving that house for any reason was always elating to him. It was literally being free. Free to be himself, who he wanted to be among his peers. Free from his home meant free from fear and sometimes horror. Abuse physically abuse verbally abuse mentally, ridicule, consequences, discipline. To Michael home was hell and leaving it meant fresh air. It was like leaving a dimension of life that was twisting him up inside but as a freshman in high school, school was the only other thing he had. A fourteen-year-old boy should not wish from his soul, the death of his step father, a brutal savage dissecting of his body, but he did. Michael felt this for years when things were going badly. Today, so far, was a regular old good day.
School is out for the day and Michael prepares to start walking home when that feeling hits him. Home. Can never ever tell what home was going to be like on a given day. You just had to get there and find out. The tension that caused was sickening. The Vice Principal stops Michael and has roughly a ten- minute conversation with him about some of the other students and then he is on his way.
Normally Michael would take his time walking home because there was a window of his expected arrival each day that could only vary by a few minutes or so. Today that leisure time was spent with the VP.
Coming through the backyard around to the front of the house was always Michael’s approach when arriving to see if his step dad’s vehicle was there already or not. When it was there it meant holding his breath a taking the plunge to receive the mood of the day. Today his step dad was waiting for him on the porch. By porch I mean a five-stair, typical suburban by-level home, concrete, carpeted block.
His step dad insisted he was late and demanded an explanation! Michael began explaining but he could not penetrate the yelling. He himself was being told why he was late. Finally, a silent pause and Michael was able to say that he was held by the Vice Principal and suggested he be phoned for proof. Michael was directed to get in the car as orders were shouted to his mother to make the phone call and find out if he was lying or not.
Without even waiting for the evidence that would get Michael off the hook, he and his step dad were off in the car. Had this man waited long enough to see this was the truth the madness probably would not have continued, and the car ride may have been peaceful.
Michael was being taken to their church, so he could attend his confirmation practice. By now Michael’s emotions where developing from helplessness to a private rage as his step dad went on and on. Suddenly, like a flash Michael was struck in the face. As his head turned from impact towards the passenger window, blood spattered on the glass. Fight or flight un-buckled the seatbelt and flung open the passenger door. The vehicle came to a screeching halt and Michael jumped out. He slammed the door with an intensity he had hoped would obliterate the car and everything else within a five- mile radius. Obviously, this wasn’t possible, nor was it anywhere near enough of a release. Staring through his own blood at his step dad’s bewildered face Michael began punching. Left fist, right fist, left fist, repeatedly with furious rage.
The glass refused to break, and his step dad’s face remained unharmed. Adrenalin now turning into exhaustion. Fear and panic crept in as he clamed down. Fear of the consequences of what he had just done.
Less than one mile from the church and well outside of town, there was nothing but the road they were on and fields. Michael had nowhere to go except back into the car as he was instructed to do. Obedience. The cars had been turned around, they were no longer going to the church. Not now.
The two sat in silence. Michael looking down at himself, at his blood covered shirt while his nose and mouth continued to leak. He knew something was being planned and he too had to make his own plan.
They were going Home.