My cheeks were bruised and puffed, my thighs spasming from being kneed. I limped to school, flipping him the bird every twenty feet, cursing under my breath. (“Fuckin’ drunk bastard … I hope you fall down a flight of stairs and drop dead!”) I also hated Connie for ratting me out. She had broken our unspoken agreement: when it came to the old man, always cover each other’s asses, no matter what.
When Sister Veronica noticed me in class, she stopped her lesson and asked me to step out into the hall. “Good Lord,” she said. “What happened to you?”
“Nothing.” I started to turn away, but she crouched in front of me and examined my face.
“Listen, John, I know you don’t believe me, but you can talk to me; you can tell me if something is wrong.”
I swallowed, fighting back tears. I wanted to spill my guts and tell her everything, but I was afraid that if word got back to my father, he’d come up to school and beat the crap out of me in front of everyone, as he often threatened to do.
“Did you have a fight with one of the older kids?”
“My father woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” I said, hoping that would satisfy her.
“Your father did this to you?”
The alarm in her voice scared me. “Please don’t say anything.”
“When did this happen?” She held my chin in her hand, gently turning my head from side to side.
“This morning. If my father finds out I told anybody, he’ll kill me.”
“I understand.” She brushed back a few strands of hair dangling over my forehead. “How about we talk after class? Would you like that? It’ll just be between you and me,” she added.
My mouth was dry, and I couldn’t speak. Blank faced, I nodded and stared at her, all the time thinking I had just made the biggest mistake of my life.