Manuscript: Wayside - Chapter 1

      Grim Evans sat on the steps that lead up to the front door of his house with his arms wrapped around his knees and his chin resting on them. He sighed and a small tear forced itself from his half-closed right eye. He hated himself for that tear. His face still stung from where he had been struck, but looking back at the moment he was sure it had been more startling than painful. It hurt now though. He was positive that, had he a mirror, he would see a red handprint there, throbbing like some cartoon character had socked him.

      He was also sure he had a bruised rib or something, but that was from earlier. That was from the fight at school that had started all of this. Darryl Murtry, a big, blustery sophomore with too much forehead had called Grim's mother something rude. Grim couldn't recall exactly what he had called her, as mid-sentence, blood had rushed into to his ears turning him from a quiet, mostly rational freshman into a raging whirlwind of fists and adrenaline. When the haze of anger had cleared, he had just been pulled away from Darryl, who lay stunned in a pool of his own nose-blood, eyes already swelling to shut. Darryl was escorted to the nurses' office, Grim to the principal's.

      The principal read various tidbits from Grim's file back to him, as if Grim hadn't lived the moments himself. Several suspensions and a myriad detentions and referrals painted a clear picture of "Evans, Abraham" as a delinquent troublemaker - a disturbed, conflicted child who often skipped classes and flew into rages at the drop of a hat. Grim's mother had been called, but it was his step-father that had arrived in his old yellow pick-up, more bond-o than paint, to take Grim home. He was suspended for a week which, Grim couldn't help pointing out with a smirk, wouldn't help his already floundering grades. His step-father had shouted at him all the way home about how he had been forced to leave the construction site to pick Grim up and how Grim only ever thought of himself and how Grim needed to learn to control that damn temper or he'd end up in prison like his real father must be somewhere.

      All of this washed over Grim like a distant rainstorm as he sat quietly in the passenger seat, occasionally inserting a well-timed "yessir" and "I know" to make his step-father think he was paying attention. When they had reached the trailer that was their home Grim's step-father told him to get in the house, go to his room, and think about what he'd done until he got home from the worksite. Grim grabbed his ragged book bag and quietly assented as the old truck sputtered back down the dirt path and out of the trailer park.

      As soon as the truck had vanished from view Grim dropped his bag and turned away from the house. His mother wasn't home anyway; he was sure. She was probably at the Wagon Wheel, either working at the bar or patronizing it, and calling her, hearing the disappointment in her voice when he told her he had been sent home again for fighting, didn't really appeal to him at the moment. No, she wouldn't be home for a while and he was sure his step-father would be at the construction site for at least a few more hours, making up the time he had spent taxiing Grim home.  He'd face them together and get both lectures out of the way at once.

      Grim kicked a pine cone out of his path and slunk into the forest behind his home. He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and glowered as he considered his situation. Any more outbursts and he was sure they were going to hold him back a year or send him to a Boys Town or some other place where people set troubled youth aside. The truth was Abraham Evans was a really bright kid. He knew it. He knew the answers to the quizzes in class. He read the books his English teacher assigned him and he understood them -- enjoyed them. But Abraham Evans was too distracted to do well at school. His head was too full of anger and frustration to sit through the boring lectures and the endless inane questions of his peers. Abraham (whose father had called him 'Grim' because he had scowled a lot as a baby, no doubt due more to gas more than emotion) was frustrated and angry because he had once lived in Atlanta, Georgia with his mom and dad and he remembered being happy there. He remembered his dad had been funny and had made Grim laugh with his silly jokes and casual pranks.

      He also remembered that one day his father wasn't there anymore. He remembered that his mom had moved in with another man and that she had told him to call that man ‘dad’ from now on. They had moved away from the lights of Atlanta, gone several hours south and east to a very small town called Council, where Grim's step-father had a construction job building condos to try to gentrify the area.

      That had been five years ago. The schools here were full of kids whose dads were contractors and car repairmen and railroad workers. They were tough boys, all bluster and machismo. They didn't like that Grim was from the city. That meant he was soft. Grim had spent the last six years proving he wasn't. He was fourteen now and they still called him ‘city boy’. That arrogance drove him crazy.

      Grim had arrived at his destination, the small creek a few miles into the woods that Grim and some of the neighborhood kids had discovered a few years ago. He sat down, took off his shoes and socks, and lay down with his head nearly hanging over the water. He stared down into the stream; the distorted image of his face looked back at him from the in turmoil of the water. The face was average looking with a freckly nose and tousled blond hair which had a curl back that would never stay down. He was thin and of average height with no particularly distinguishing features except his eyes, which were a steely gray -- like a storm cloud. He liked his eyes. They were the same color as his dad's.

      He looked at his face and rolled over with a sigh. He stared up at the sun just cracking through dense pine canopy then shut his eyes and let the spotty light warm his face and make the inside of his eyelids glow red and streaky. He drifted.

*     *     *

      Grim awoke with a start as an owl's screech echoed through the forest. He glanced at his watch and his stomach dropped. He had been out for too long. His step-father was probably on the way home right now, maybe his mom, too. Grim scrambled to his feet and bolted through the dusky woods. He leapt over old stumps and pushed wildly through low-hanging branches in his effort to beat his family home. He stumbled a few times and cursed to himself as he brushed off his skinned hands and kept running.

      Ten minutes later he dashed through the trees and into his backyard and saw that the lights in the trailer were already on. His step-father's truck was outside. Grim was sweating and panting. He was scratched and dirty and his side hurt from where the Murtry kid had punched him in the fight. Grim straightened his stained shirt as best he could and opened the screen door, prepared for the worst.

      His step-father was in the old corduroy recliner, a tall silver beer can in one hand, a television remote in the other. He didn't look up when Grim opened the door - didn't so much as acknowledge Grim's presence as Grim walked between him and the television to reach the kitchen. Only after Grim had opened the refrigerator and pulled out a Coke, had popped the tab and started for his room, did his step-father address him.

      "Where were you, boy?"

      "Went down to the crick...What do you care?" Grim's head was still throbbing with blood from the run. He was almost disappointed with his step-father's reticence. This was better.

      "When I left I told you to get to your room."

      "Well, you ain't my dad, are you?" Grim was suddenly angry, but it was a different angry than at school. This was a challenging angry, the kind where words work as well as fists.

      "Damn it boy, this is my house. Your mom is married to me and you live here. That makes me the boss. You understand?"

      Grim clicked his tongue and shrugged.

      "Now damn it, this bullshit ain't gonna fly anymore. If you don't get your act together, I'll..."

      "You'll what." Grim couldn't help it.  He was possessed with rage. At that moment his mother walked in the door, keys jangling. She doused her cigarette and tossed it out the doorway.

      "Darlene. 'Bout time. Your damn son got kicked out of his school again." Grim's step-father got out of the recliner and tossed his beer can into the garbage.

      "Hellfire, Abe. What was it this time?" His mother sighed as she crossed the room and set her keys on the coffee table.

      "He beat some older kid up. Kid said he didn't do nothing to him and --"

      "That ain't true. He was talking about you, mom." Grim clinched his jaw.

      "Oh yeah? What exactly did he say, son?" Grim's step-father spread his arms in challenge, exasperation filling his voice.

      "I...I don't remember. And stop callin' me that. I ain't your son."

      Things started happening fast then. Grim's step-father moved to grab Grim by the collar but Grim saw what was happening and knocked his hands aside. His step-father was quick though, and he grabbed Grim's shoulder and pushed him towards to door.

      "No! No!" Grim's mother shouted. "Stop it, boys!"

      "You get out!" Grim's step father shouted. "Get outta my house!"

      As he was pushed out the door Grim planted the back of his foot in his step-father's shin. His grip loosened and he let out a curse which gave Grim only enough time to turn around before the fist connected with his face.

      Grim reeled and stumbled down the steps in front of the house. His head spun from the impact and the shock of what had just happened. The image of his stepfather in the doorway swam for a moment, and then solidified. For a second it looked like Grim's step-father had surprised himself with what he'd done and then his expression hardened. "Don't come back until you've learned how to control yourself. You're just like your damn father." The door slammed and for a moment Grim was left in the dark, lying in the dirt. Then the door opened again and Grim's mom walked out and sat on the steps. She lit a cigarette. Grim stood up and turned to her.

      "Why'd you marry that asshole?" Grim spit.

      "Just...give him some time to cool off. Go to Billy's place or something, and watch your mouth."

      "That's it? You're just gonna let him do that to me?" Grim was shocked more by this than the blow.

      "Abe. Maybe he's...ya know...Got a point."

      Grim was floored.

      "I'm just sayin', You need some discipline. You're gonna fail out of school if you aren't careful."

      "So what?" Grim's world was crumbling.

      His mother tried to brush down his perpetual cowlick but he pulled away. She sighed. "Just go cool off. You both need some time."

      And that was that. Grim's mom went back inside and Grim sat down on the steps of the trailer, a ball of confusion and frustration. He pulled his legs up to his chin. A bitter tear streamed out of his swelling right eye and he hated himself for what it signified.

*     *     *

      Grim took his mother's advice and went over to Billy Sorke's place on the next lane, but Billy and his family were out. Billy said they were members of the Religious Society of Friends, but Grim’s mom called them Quakers. They went to church on funny days, at funny times. Billy said they didn't have a minister, which confused Grim, whose parents were Baptists. He supposed that made him Baptist too, though had he never really given it much thought. Billy said in his church anyone could get up and testify and share something they learned from the bible or from their lives. That sounded really distracting to Grim; all those people always standing and preaching their own gospels.

      With Billy and his family gone Grim didn't have anywhere to go. He strolled along under the street lamps, watching swarms of no’see'ums make clouds around the yellow lights. He stewed on the evening and on his life. It was bad enough that his step-father had punched him. Grim didn't like him anyway, and would certainly never call him ‘dad’. But Grim's mother hadn't stood up for him. She's let him get away with it; practically said Grim had deserved it. Maybe she didn't want him back either.

      He remembered his father, who might be somewhere in Atlanta. Grim knew his father’s name was Richard Munroe, which meant his name was Munroe too. Grim knew he had gray eyes, knew he had a sense of humor and apparently had a temper similar to Grim's. Perhaps he'd be better off wherever his dad was. Maybe he could teach him how to control it. Maybe they'd be friends.

      A car was coming down the lane. He could hear the distant pop and crack of little rocks under the tires. He didn't want to face anyone so he ducked behind a streetlamp as the car passed. It was Billy and his folks returning from their church service. They were all dressed up in their suits and dresses like Sunday morning. Grim still had his blood-spattered t-shirt on, but he knew that if he didn't go and ask the Sorkes' if he could stay over, he’d probably be sleeping outside tonight.

      He watched as Mr. Sorke got out of the car and Billy rushed after him, jumping on his father’s back as he walked into the house. Mr. Sorke laughed and Grim could hear them roughhousing just inside. He took a step forward into the light as Mrs. Sorke opened the car door and jostled her dress to get out the wrinkles from the car ride. She glanced up at him.

      "That you, Abe Evans?" She questioned as she shut the car door.

      "Yessum." Abe said, suddenly reluctant. He stayed where he was.

      "You alright, son? Gettin' kinda damp out. Might to rain. Want to come in? Billy's just gotta get changed out of his church things."

      "Oh..ah..." Grim suddenly felt like an intruder. He didn't want to let his troubles spill in on the Sorkes’ happy evening. Besides, it probably wasn't going to rain; it was just the damp of the swamp creeping out into the night. He stepped back out of the light. "N...no thank you, ma'am. My mom's expecting me home. I was just....lookin' for somethin' over here."

      Mrs. Sorke looked momentarily concerned but with a wave of her hand she turned back to the house. "Well. Alright then. You know where we are."

      "Yeah," Grim managed. "Yeah, thanks."

      Mrs. Sorke closed the door and the sound of the family playing was muffled. Grim stared at the door for a moment and contemplated knocking after all. It was a last desperate thought that maybe he could just join in on their fun and for a moment all of this could go away. But Grim knew it would all still be there tomorrow. That brief moment of relief wouldn't fix anything.

      He steeled himself. Tonight he would sleep in the yard, on the far side of the lone Elm that was nearly choked with Spanish moss. He'd sleep there where he could see his step-father's truck start in the morning. Tomorrow he'd take some money from the sock drawer, where his step-father kept a portion of his wages, and he'd catch a bus to Atlanta. He'd go find his dad.

      The idea burned hot inside his chest all through the night and he barely slept. The ground was uncomfortable and so was the tree. Despite his guess it did rain a little, but not much got through the dense Elm's moss-covered branches.

*     *     *

      Grim woke from his fitful rest to an unexpected sound. A truck was coming down the lane to his place. It stopped there in front of the trailer and the driver laid in on the horn. Even watching the truck, the noise startled Grim.

      The driver stuck his head out the window and shouted. "Hey-oh! Let's go, Johnny-boy! Foreman wants us there by seven. Move your ass!" Grim's step-father came out of the house, followed by his mom.

      "We gotta drop Darlene off at the Wheel."

      "Yeah, yeah, move it." They crammed into the cabin of the truck and the driver jammed it in reverse. They backed-up, all the way down the lane. Grim risked a glance from behind the tree but his mom, between the two men, seemed busy with her makeup and his step-dad was reaching for something in the truck bed. They must have forgotten all about him.

      Grim got up miserably from his tree-side camp site. He was soaked to the bone from the night's damp and his t-shirt had run pink from the blood splatters. He must have looked a real sight. He raked his fingers through his hair and started towards the house, but along the way froze in his tracks. Realization had just struck him. His step-father hadn't taken his truck.

      Grim dashed into the house and looked quickly around. Disappointment started to well up in him as he shot glances in all the likely places. At last, he spotted the keys to his step-father’s truck sitting on the carpet, by the recliner. This was perfect.

      He changed out of his soaked clothes and began to pack a duffle bag with enough clothes for a few days. He also grabbed his toothbrush and deodorant, he didn’t want to be gross when he met his father. He was almost out the door with the keys and the bag when he remembered he was still broke. He rummaged through his step-father's sock drawer until he found the wad of money that he saved from his wages. Grim didn't take it all, only a few hundred dollars. There was also a Playboy sitting in the drawer. He took that too.

      As he once again reached for the door handle, he stopped and considered leaving a note for his mom. Instead he took an old crumpled picture of his father and her out of his wallet and left it on the coffee table. That would do. After all, he wasn't really running away; He was going to be with his real dad. He'd call when he got there.