Trials and Triumphs I
By: Morris Henderson
(Copyright 2012 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 1
Sinking into a Pit of Misery

Eric's life was disrupted when he was twelve years old. His mother moved out to live with an already married man she had met while working as a paralegal in a local law firm. The boy couldn't understand why she abandoned her husband and family. He felt she had been a good wife and mother. His father had been a good husband. Sure, there had been a few arguments between them but none of them were violent or prolonged. Why would she destroy two families: her own and that of the man she chose to live with?

Eric had to grow up fast. At his young age he had to learn to take care of himself while his father was at work. Out of loyalty to and sympathy for his father, he took it upon himself to fix dinner every weekday evening, do the laundry, and keep the house neat and clean. But that wasn't enough. Because they had to get along on one income, Eric hustled jobs mowing lawns and doing odd jobs for neighbors. His father, out of pride and concern for his son, objected to the outside work and emphasized the need to do his school homework and have fun with his friends. In the end, after the boy's repeated assurances that schoolwork would not suffer, his father stopped complaining.

Four years passed with not a single contact from his mother who had moved across the country to Oregon. That was a bigger disappointment than when she abandoned her husband and son. Sorrow turned to bitterness. It was not because he had to assume more responsibilities around the house but because he resented his mother's desertion and obvious lack of interest in him, her only child.

At sixteen, he had a part-time job in the grocery store, stocking shelves and bagging. The paycheck was meager but a significant help in the finances at home. It left little or nothing for personal spending money. That meant that he could not participate with friends in the normal activities of teens. He felt isolated but, at the same time, proud of his contribution to the household expenses.

His mother's leaving was a disruption to his life but what happened next was a disaster. His father's job was eliminated because the plant where he worked was closed and all manufacturing was transferred to Mexico. Lacking a job and money to support himself and his son, combined with the frustration of not finding another job. It drew the man into the dark depths of despondency. Regrettably and tragically, the only relief he found from his agony was alcohol. What little money he could beg, borrow, or steal was squandered on beer and cheap wine only to be pissed away after it had dulled and distorted his good sense.

Eric tried to persuade his father to stop drinking but, to his astonishment, it only sparked a furious tirade from the previously good-natured man. He still loved his dad but despised his self-destructive behavior. The pain of watching his dad stumble home at all hours of the night, sleep away most of the day, and make no effort to keep himself clean and tidy was insufferable for the teen. Utterly frustrated that he seemed powerless to help his dad, the love he had for him in earlier years turned into anger. That anger was the spark that ignited a flame, which caused him to say what he would later regret. Eric came home from school to find his father relatively sober but looking like a homeless tramp. After cleaning up the dried vomit in the front room, he confronted his father. "Dad, if you don't straighten up, quit the drunken binges, and go back to being the dad I loved, I'm outta here. I just can't stand to see you destroy yourself."

"What the fuck does that mean?" the man growled.

"It means what I said. Stay sober. Find a job. Be the dad you used to be...the one I was proud of and loved. If you don't, I'm leaving. For good. I can't live here with a man I don't know...clean up his messes...and watch him kill himself with booze."

The man glared at his son and shouted, "You're lecturing me, kid? What makes you so fucking smart to tell me what to do? If you don't like it here, get the hell out. Walk out on me like your mother did, that fucking cunt bitch. I'll be glad to be rid of a goody-two-shoes who thinks he's big enough to fend for himself. Ya hear me, kid? GIT THE FUCK OUT! THE SOONER THE BETTER!"

Eric's attempt at shock therapy had backfired. It had been an empty threat but his father's reaction and his ferocity stunned him. He was left speechless. Panic overwhelmed him. How could he ever manage to live on his own? What would happen to his dad if he left? How could he ever have made such a foolish demand?

He went to his room, flopped on the bed, and cried. Partly because of his now dubious fate, but mostly for the loss of a dad whom he loved in spite of his current addiction to alcohol.

Later, he heard the front door slam. He knew that his dad was on his way to the neighborhood bar. He also knew, because it was by now routine, that his dad would come home drunk well after midnight and sleep it off until near noon the next day. Eric hoped - in fact he prayed even though religion had not been a part of his life - that the ugly episode would be forgotten and he wouldn't have to leave home, abandoning his father to the fate of an alcoholic. He went into the kitchen and found a can of soup, which was frequently his only supper lately.

The next morning he saw father sprawled on the sofa in the living room where he had apparently spent the night in a drunken stupor. Although he went to school, it was a wasted day because his thoughts were consumed with what the future might be for him and for his father. There was nothing he could do to help his dad. If the man had been serious about demanding that he move out, there seemed to be no possible way to live on his own. Where could he live? How could he eat? What about clothes? Already, his worn and shabby clothes had drawn not always joking insults from other students in school.

As he walked from the bus stop to his house, he refined his plan for mitigating the damage he had done when he threatened to leave home. He climbed the four steps up to the front porch of his house not knowing what awaited him behind the front door. Hope and fear battled each other in his mind.

He found his dad in the kitchen slouched over the table with a cup of coffee. The slovenly, prematurely old-looking man had a black eye and a trail of dried blood below a nasty looking wound on his right cheek bone. Ignoring the disgusting sight of a man who had fallen so far from the once model of a good neighbor, citizen, and father, Eric said with as much cheerfulness as he could muster, "Hi, Dad."

The man looked up, scowled venomously, and snarled, "You still here? I thought I told you to get the fuck outta the house. I don't need you to preach to me no more. Get out and maybe you'll learn something about what life is like."

"Dad, I'm sorry. What I said yesterday..."

Interrupting, the shell of a man shouted, "You don't even understand English, twerp!" He staggered to a drawer, pulled out a butcher knife, waved it at his son, and screamed, "GET THE FUCK OUT! If you don't this here knife will give you something to remember. AND DON'T COME BACK! EVER!"

Eric didn't move, frozen by the finality of his plight and the lost hope of reconciliation with his father. But the frightened teen ran when the hulk of a man started toward him. He escaped out the front door of the house and didn't stop running until he was two blocks away. He then collapsed on the lawn next to the sidewalk, panting and on the brink of tears.

He lay there for he didn't know how long because his mind was a jumble of fleeting thoughts. About his father who had become an inhuman creature, willing to injure (kill?) his own son. About his own remorse for threatening to leave home and triggering the anger. About what was once a happy childhood in a loving home, now only a memory. About the evil in a bottle that had poisoned his father's mind. And about his own future. What could he do? Where would he live? How could he survive with only a part time job and not a penny of his own?

He was jarred out of the maelstrom of emotions when a voice registered in his mind. "You all right, sonny?" an elderly man asked for the third time. "Looks t'me like yur not. Kin I he'p ya?"

Eric looked up and saw Mr. Jenkins, a frequent customer in the grocery store. Afraid and ashamed to reveal his troubles, Eric replied, "Yes, Sir. I'm okay. I just laid myself down to rest up a bit after running for a while."

"Better get yourself on home, sonny. There's a mighty storm brewing and coming right at us."

Home! He didn't have a home any more. "I guess you're right, Mr. Jenkins. I'll be on my way now." The distraught teen rose and started walking toward the house in which he was no longer welcome. No longer safe. There was no longer a kitchen with a meager supply of food to eat or a warm bed to sleep in. "But wait," he thought. "Dad will be going to the bar soon like he always does. I can sneak in the house when he's gone, try to find something for supper, and then... Then what? I'll gather up a blanket, a pillow, and a few clothes and sleep in the garage out by the back fence. If I'm careful, the old man won't even know I'm around. Maybe in a few days he'll settle down."

He stopped about a block away from his house (Could he still call it HIS house?) to watch for his father leaving for the evening. He had to wait more than an hour before he finally saw the man ("Was he still my father?") lumber down the front porch steps, amble down the driveway, and head off in the direction of the neighborhood bar. What was he carrying? "MY STEREO!" he gasped. "The bastard is selling my stereo for booze money!"

Fifteen minutes later, Eric was in his bedroom collecting a few things he thought he might need while hiding away in the garage. He also collected his school books and notes. He wasn't sure he'd need them but he did enjoy going to school and wanted to complete his senior year with a diploma. When he carried the last few things to the garage - a few changes of clothes - he began to arrange his new "home." The garage was virtually empty; the car had been sold weeks ago to pay a few bills and settle up his dad's burgeoning tab at the bar. Eric looked around. Was there anything in the garage that his dad might come out to retrieve and therefore discover that his son was living there? No. In better times, he would come out for tools but in his present state, there was no danger that he would trouble himself to fix anything in the house or work in the yard.

*******

The next day, Eric was at school talking to his only friend, Brian, also a loner who, like Eric, didn't mingle with the other students and refused to conform to peer pressure and rigid expectations of behavior. He was bright and almost a straight-A student. That would have been enough to invite envy-based derision from other students but he was also the opposite of a handsome teenage boy: four inches shorter than other boys his age, thin to the point of being scrawny, totally unathletic, and suffered from acne that seemed to linger far longer than with other teens. Eric met Brian in their freshman year but it took two years for either of them to progress to the point of being buddies.

"What's the matter?" Brian asked as the two sat in a corner of the cafeteria where no one had ever joined them at their table.

Ashamed to admit his problems, even to his only good friend, Eric replied, "Nothing much."

"Come on, Eric. You're not yourself today. Is it school work? You know I'll help you with that. Your job at the grocery store? No. I happen to know that you're doing well there. Something going on at home? Tell me. If there's any way I can help, you know I will."

"I'd rather not say, Brian."

"Shit, Man! I thought we were friends. What are friends for, anyway? Oh! I see the problem now. You don't want to talk about it here because somebody else will hear. I understand. Suppose I drop by your house tonight and we can talk in private."

'NO!" Eric almost shouted. "Don't do that!" Having his friend find out how and where he was living would be far to humiliating.

"See what I mean, pal? It's not like you to flame out over nothing."

Before Eric could apologize, the warning buzzer blared signaling time to return to classes. As they got up to return their trays, Brian said earnestly, "Listen to me, Eric. Meet me at the flagpole after school. I know something's wrong and I want to help if I can because I like you. A lot. If you're not at the flagpole, I'll come to your house tonight."

Eric immediately recognized yet another problem. He would have to tell his friend about his predicament. He was certain that Brian would persist until he got the information he wanted. That would add still another layer of guilt and shame on top of what was already crushing his spirits.

Eric dreaded having to tell anyone, even Brian, what had happened but he knew it was unavoidable. He briefly considered making up a lie - health, school work, an incident at work - but none of them were plausible and Brian would detect the deception easily. He was good at that; Eric recognized long ago that although Brian was socially inept he was extremely perceptive of others' feelings, intentions, or hidden meanings in what they said. While he quickly perceived others' motives, for whatever reason he simply chose not to interact with people. Except, of course, for the one person, Eric, whom he decided to befriend.

Eric left the building after his last class and saw Brian waiting by the flagpole. "Hi!" he called out, putting as much cheer as he could muster into his greeting.

"Hi yourself," Eric responded. "Let's go over to the football field and sit in the bleachers where we can talk. That is, you talk; I'll listen. And trust me. If there's anything I can do to help, I'll do it in a heartbeat."

Eric related the depressing details that led to his being homeless and barely succeeded in holding back his tears. Brian listened sympathetically until his friend fell silent with his head drooping low.

"Bummer, Dude!" Brian said, breaking the awkward silence. "I said I'd help if I could. Let me think a minute."

To be continued...

My thanks to Iatia for his consistently meticulous editing and for his continuing encouragement.

Posted:07/20/12