A Shattered Life

“Vance Montgomery, get your ass in here right this minute!” Vance cringed, wishing he had the guts to run. But his mother would find him, or if not, she’d send her present boyfriend looking, and that would make things worse. Straightening his shirt, tucking it into his tattered shorts, he made his way across the browned grass and up the dirt path leading to the battered trailer which served as their most recent home. He hesitated, trying to gauge from the tone of her voice whether he should face her down or be servile. As the trailer door swung open, he stood as tall as his five foot five inch frame would allow. “Yes, Mother,” he said deferentially, hiding the fear he felt as she stood there holding an almost empty bottle of beer in one hand, her hair ratty and scraggly around her thin face. “Where the hell have you been? School let out over an hour ago.” “I stayed after to do my homework.” He scuffed the worn toe of one tennis shoe in the dirt. “Boy, don’t lie to me. You were off with those damned Powers kids, getting into trouble.” Shaking, he lifted his head to look at her. “I wasn’t, I swear.” Which was the truth as far as it went. He’d been with two other boys from his class, trying to talk Mr. Smith at the grocery store into giving them jobs for the summer. The man said he’d think about it. Grabbing the doorframe with one hand to steady herself, she took a long pull on her beer, tossing the empty bottle in the vicinity of the open trash barrel a few feet away. Then she grabbed his arm before he could back away, dragging him into the trailer. “You know how I deal with liars, Vance?” “Yes, Mother.” His voice trembled and he took a deep breath before saying again, “I wasn’t lying.” Her hand flew out, landing hard on the side of his face. “Give me your belt.” “Mother, please…” Her grip tightened painfully on his arm. “It’s the belt or the chain.” He fumbled with one hand to get his belt off. His mother snatched it from him, spinning him around, forcing him face first onto the sofa. He closed his eyes, praying the beating would be brief. * * * * Three years later Vance leaned back against the rough tree trunk, staring up at the stars above him. His friend Walt handed him the bottle and he took a long pull, coughing as the rot-gut whiskey burned a path down his throat. “You should get home you know,” Walt said, concerned for his companion. “Soon enough. I’m just waiting ‘til I know she’s passed out. Not that she’d lay a hand on me now, but she might set that bastard on me.” “Which one this time?” “One of the mechanics from the garage. He’s a mean son of a b***h when he’s been drinking.” Vance handed the bottle back and stretched his arms up to grab the tree branch above him. At five foot nine his hands were just barely able to close around it but that was enough. He pulled himself up then dropped down again, doing pull-ups on the branch until his arms ached. He was fourteen, lean and muscular, more than a match for his mother but still not strong enough to fend off her current boyfriend. “You still thinking of leaving when school’s out?” Walt asked. “Thinking on it, yeah. Just gotta get some more money together. I still got a month.” He stared off into space again. “And I gotta find out where my dad’s at.” “She doesn’t know?” “If she does, she’s not letting loose of the info but she’s still getting payments from him for my upkeep, not that she uses it for that. I just gotta be there when one of the checks comes and get hold of it before she does. His address has to be on it. Right?” “Right. How come you haven’t done that already?” “‘Cause the mail comes while I’m in school?” Vance gave him a duh look. “So I’m figuring next month I’m going to be sick on the first. Too sick to go to school.” “She’ll still get to the mail before you can.” Vance smiled tightly. “I’ll figure out some way to beat her to it. Maybe ask her for soda or something we don’t have around. Or hide her cigs so she has to go out for more.” He shrugged. “I’ll make it work. I gotta. He’s my only hope.” * * * * “You’re who?” The man looked across the desk at the kid standing there. “Your son, Vance.” Charles Montgomery frowned as he looked the kid over. He was dressed in worn jeans and a tattered button-down shirt over a black T-shirt, from what he could see of it. His hair was too long but at least it was combed. When he’d come into the room, he’d been carrying a battered backpack over one shoulder that he’d dropped on the floor by the door. The more Charles studied him the more he could see their resemblance, but he wasn’t ready to buy into that yet. “So tell me something about yourself to convince me this isn’t a con.” “I was born April first, nineteen eighty-six in South Philly. Well, that’s where Mother said it happened. Since then I’ve lived more places than stray dog, mostly in trailer parks with her and whatever boyfriend she has at the moment.” “That’s stuff anyone could find out. Tell me something they couldn’t.” Vance frowned. “Anything someone else couldn’t know you wouldn’t either.” “You might be surprised.” A startled look crossed Vance’s face for a second before he shut it down. “Okay,” he said after a moment’s thought, “when I was twelve we were living with a man who had two kids. He tried to get Mother to marry him and he started whatever it takes to adopt me but dropped it when Mother decided to take off. She didn’t want to be married to anyone every again, she said.” Charles nodded. “I know, but that’s still information someone could have found out, though it would have been harder since the papers were never filed. What else?” “Damn it I don’t know. Man, I’m barely fifteen. It’s not like I have any big secrets I’ve kept from everyone. Even how she treated me is something everyone knows about who knew me.” “Tell me about your twelfth birthday. What did you get?” Vance thought and then snorted. “And new shirt, ice cream, and a beating.” He paused as he remembered something else. “And a book. That’s why she beat me, she though I stole it, but I didn’t. It was there on the doorstep when I came home from school. A package with my name on it. I thought Mother was trying to surprise me so I opened it and then went inside. I was going to thank her, but she took one look at it and went ballistic. She was drunk, of course. Or half way there. Even when I showed her the wrapping it came in she still didn’t believe me. She took it and the book, threw them in the trash and then used my belt on me.” Vance winced, remembering. “I couldn’t sit down right for three days after.” “And you never told anyone about that?” “No.” Vance shrugged. “Getting beaten happened so often that it never seemed worth talking about as I got older. No one cared. We were…itinerates?” “Yes,” Charles said quietly, a deep frown on his face. “I didn’t know.” “Know?” “That she abused you. I tried to keep track of you as best I could, but half the time my checks went to post office boxes. It was rare that she let me know where she was living.” “Good thing she did last time. That’s how I knew to come out here. I sort of stole the check so I’d have your address.” Vance pulled a much-folded piece of paper from his pocket and spread it out on the desk.