𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐇// 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐗𝐎𝐂

𝐱𝐱𝐱. ✭ 𝐅𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔

AUGUST, 1977; EDDIE

"Hey, Dickhead, bring your dad a beer, will you." There he was. Relaxing back on Uncle Wayne's arm chair was my father. His hair and beard were as wild as the day he left for prison. He still had that face. That same stupid face that he passed down to me. I hated that face. I hated it with my entire being. I hated him. "Hey, you deaf, Dumbass?" He snapped his fingers in front of my face. "I said go get me a fucking beer."

Uncle Wayne wasn't there when Dad pushed himself into our trailer. He was out shopping, getting groceries. I couldn't even begin to fathom the hell that was about to rain down when he got home.

Dad wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be locked up. He was supposed to be away. He was supposed to be something I thought of as an idea. He wasn't supposed to be real.

According to him he had gotten out early for good behavior and he was ready to enjoy his sweet sweet freedom. It wouldn't last long. I knew that. I knew he would do something terrible again. I knew he would make people at school whisper and laugh at me. He would be locked up again in no time.

I'm a Munson, I can't change that. I never could. The name was branded on to me, making me a freak, a heathen, a devil child to everyone who knew what Nicholas Munson had done.

I didn't tell Chance about what he had done to get himself thrown in the slammer. I couldn't. I was afraid it would scare her off. That she wouldn't want to play with me or be my friend anymore. That she would turn into all the other kids.

My chest tight, I headed for the refrigerator, picking out one of Uncle Wayne's beers. Just like a good son would, I mosied on back and handed him the cold beverage.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him, cautiously sitting on the couch. "What do you want?" My body stayed extremely still around him. I almost felt like a statue.

"I wanna spend some time with you, Dipshit." Dad grunted, cracking the bottle of beer open with nothing but his teeth. "Wayne's turned you into too much of a fucking pussy. I'm gonna man you up. Teach you the Munson trade. Maybe then you won't be such a faggot like my brother."

"Okay." My tone was dull, devoid of any emotion. It was best to act like that around him. Be a robot. Do what he tells you to do. If not, get ready to face his all holy fucking wrath motherfucker. "What do you wanna do?"

"Wayne still got that piece of shit guitar of his?" He guzzled the beer I gave him, acting like it was the only source of oxygen left in this world. He was mean when he was sober. Even meaner when he was drunk.

"Yeah."

"He teach you how to play yet?"

"Yeah."

"Go get the damn thing." Ordered Dad, setting his nearly gone beer to the side. "I'm gonna teach you how to really play." He flicked my arm, cueing me to stand. "Go."

I breathed through the tightness in my body, following his instructions and grabbing the guitar from Uncle Wayne's room. When I had returned Dad was just leaving my room, carting my record player and a Roy Orbinson record along with him. Uncle Wayne had given me that vinyl last Christmas. Dad set down my things on the floor and patted a seat on the couch beside him.

"Here." Handing him the guitar, I sat myself on the worn and tattered sofa. He placed the guitar in his lap, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. I watched him check the chords, tuning the guitar to precisely where he wanted it while he simultaneously lit up.