The Fall of the Aftons

049: Michael Afton

Michael silently ate his breakfast at the kitchen table while reading one of his books. As he read through his book, he could hear Terrance preparing his breakfast. He woke up late that morning, so he was rushing to finish everything. On the other hand, Michael woke up early and finished everything except breakfast.

Soon, Terrance finished making his breakfast and sat in front of Michael with his food. He began to dig into his food the instant he was in a comfortable position in his chair. Minutes of quiet chewing and Terrance's tapping fingers passed until Terrance suddenly began to speak.

"Hey." He waved his hand in front of Michael's face to grab his attention. "How are you going to do things in class when you can't move your arm properly?" he asked, using his fork to point to Michael's bandaged arm.

"I've been managing just fine without using my left shoulder," Michael responded, not looking up from his book. "I'll be fine at school." He looked up at his cousin. "Could we please stop talking about this? I don't enjoy talking about anything related to that night."

Terrance nodded his head after he took a bite of his toast. His expression soon morphed into one of curiosity and wonder as he tilted his head to the side.

"Have you been eating enough food?" he asked. "You look like you're emaciated."

Michael stared at him, dumbfounded. "What are you talking about?" he countered. "I've always been told that I am overweight," Michael said.

Terrance barked out a laugh of unbelief. "Oh, man, there's not a chance you're overweight! Who's been telling you that?"

"The kids at school," he admitted. His voice was no louder than a murmur. He folded his hands as he set them on his lap. "They constantly mock me about it. They have been since kindergarten."

"Oh, Michael," he said sadly. A frown dug into his chubby cheeks. "Why didn't you tell us that they were making fun of you? We could've ended this sooner."

Michael shrugged and looked away.

"Have they been hurting you?" he asked. He gently pushed his plate to the center of the table so he could keep the conversation going.

Michael copied his action. He wasn't that hungry, anyway. "Of course, they've been hurting me," he answered as he crossed his arms over his chest. "They've been inaccurately calling me fat for the past few years!"

"No, no, no, not that. I mean physically. Have they been, like, beating you? Uncle Will and I have noticed you wear sweatshirts and long sleeves frequently. My friend does that to hide the wounds from his bullies."

"I'm cold. That's why I wear jackets and long sleeves."

"Or you could be hiding bruises and scars from your bullies."

Michael rubbed his arms, which were sleeved by his most comfortable jacket. "I'm just cold."

"Are you sure?" Terrance asked as he raised one eyebrow in suspicion.

Michael nodded his head.

"May I see, then?"

Michael shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm cold. I don't want to be colder."

"Michael, it's twenty-four degrees Celcius in here."

He converted Celcius to Fahrenheit in his head before he countered with a sassy, "So?"

Terrance suddenly stood up and walked over to Michael. He grabbed Michael's hand and extended his arm.

"Terrance, what are you--" Michael started to say. But he was cut off when Terrance shoved his sleeve up to his elbow. "What the heck?! I said I was cold!"

Terrance examined his arm and pointed to a spot near his elbow. "What's that?"

"I fell and hit my elbow a few days ago."

He pointed to a spot in the middle of Michael's forearm. "And this one?"

"I was hit by a baseball in physical education."

"They don't play baseball in our school. Not since I was in second grade. There were too many injuries. You are being bullied physically." He bent down to Michael's height and frowned. "How many injuries do you have from them?"

Michael looked away as he pulled his sleeve back down. "I... I don't know. It's a daily occurrence, so if I had to guess, I have a lot."

"Oh my gosh," Terrance gasped. "I'm so sorry, Mike." He stood up and hugged Michael in a gentle, comforting hug. "When Uncle calls tonight, I'll talk to him about contacting the primary school headmaster about punishing your bullies."

~ ~ ~

"Noah! You're back!" Michael exclaimed excitedly when his friend walked into the classroom.

When Noah neared his desk, Michael jumped to his feet and hugged his friend as tight as he could. A few moments later, he backed away and inspected his friend.

"Are you okay? How are you feeling?" he asked calmly, not wanting to stress out his grieving friend. "How is your family doing? You've been away for a week!"

"I'm doing better. Thanks, Mikey," Noah said with a small, sincere smile. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "What did I miss?"

"Not much. We reviewed the times' tables again; you missed cheeseburger day for hot lunch; we have a book report due in two weeks for any book of our choice, so long as it is school appropriate. You should be able to catch up quickly," he answered as he sat down at his desk.

Noah took his seat, too. Thankfully, their seats were right next to each other. It meant less bullying during class. There was still bullying, of course, but not enough that it caused a problem. It was usually just a piece of crumpled paper thrown at his head, a cruel note written inside.

"No, silly! I mean with you! What's been going on with you?" Noah asked, a slight chuckle in his voice.

"O-Oh." Michael could feel his breath catch in his throat. What should he say? "U-Um, nothing. Nothing, really," he fibbed. "How is the baby? Is she doing better?"

"Mikey, you're not fooling anybody. I could feel you only hug me with only one arm--and I can see the bandages peeking out from under your jacket." Noah laughed quietly, his tone full of amusement. "What happened? What did you do to yourse--"

"I didn't do this to myself!" Michael snapped, raising his voice unintentionally.

Noah scooted as far as he could in his chair as he lifted his hands in surrender. "Sorry. I'm sorry," he apologized, his voice no louder than a murmur. He wrapped his arms around himself and played with the hem of his short sleeves. "You can be clumsy sometimes, so I  thought--"

Michael held up his hand, signaling his friend to be quiet. Noah obeyed and stopped talking.

"Don't be sorry," he demanded softly. "I'm the one who should be sorry." He sighed. "It's just that..." He sighed again, then took a deep breath. "It's a sensitive topic. That's all," he murmured as he grabbed onto his necklace. "I-I'll be fine, though. I promise. I just need some time to... process it, I guess. You'll find out what happened. I just need some time first."

"Are you sure?" Noah asked.

He bit back a sob. He truly, truly hated talking about this. "Yes, I'm positive."