The Turning Point

CHAPTER NINE- DAMNED GENETICS

Davies

"How was your day?"
"Normal," I answered.
Mr. Mitchell messed up my hair and then handed me a bag.
"What’s this?"
"Oh, kid, judging by the shape, I doubt you don’t know," he laughed.
I laughed too and pulled the ball out of the bag.
"Thanks!"
"Thanks? That wasn’t free. I want you to show me what you’ve got."
He took the ball from my hand and started kicking it. I tried to take it from him while laughing, and when I finally got it, I dribbled past him.
Why didn’t my dad do these things?
I was happy.
Mr. Mitchell made me happy.
I silently thanked him.
After we finished, we started walking. I’d be late getting home, but my mom knew I was with him. He always stopped by the school when he finished work and walked me home. I liked our conversations and everything he did.
"And after you finish your homework, what are you going to do?"
"I’m going to watch."
"Oh yeah? What’s so interesting on this late?"
"Sesame Street 5," I said cheerfully.
"I’ve never watched it. Is it any good?"
"It is, Mr. Mitchell. You should watch it. There are some really cool puppets."
"And who are your favorites?"
"Oh, that’s easy!" I gave him a huge smile. "I like Kermit, Mr. Snuffleupagus, and Grover, but my absolute favorite is Elmo. And yesterday, he and Grover became message deliverers."
"Sounds like quite an episode."
"And it was!" I said, flashing my big smile again.
"I think I’ll watch it too. I need some cool shows to kill time."
"And we can talk about the episodes, right?"
"Exactly. Now, put the ball in your backpack. Don’t let your dad see it. We’ll play more tomorrow."
He stopped me near the fence of his house, which was next to mine, patted my hair, and waited for me to go inside.
I watched Sesame Street happier than usual. I knew Mr. Mitchell was watching.
When my dad came home, all my joy disappeared. My hands were shaking, wet, and slippery. I stopped paying attention to the show. I just wanted the day to end and night to come. I could sleep and only wake up the next day. Sometimes, that was a relief.
"Davies!" he yelled as he looked inside the fridge.
I approached cautiously. I was tired of getting beaten, and I hadn’t done anything to upset him.
"Go to Ramón’s bar and get beers. As many as he can sell. Tell him to put it on the tab, and I’ll pay him by the end of the week."
I nodded and ran to Mr. Ramón’s bar, went up to the counter, and repeated what my dad said.
"Tell Wilson this is the last time I’m selling to him. He barely paid off one tab and already wants another. I want to be paid by Saturday."
I just nodded and waited for him to get the beers.
"Look who it is, my grandson."
I looked to the side and saw my grandfather. He was just like my father, maybe even a little worse.
"Aren’t you going to talk to me?"
I stayed quiet.
"You little idiot," he huffed. "You’re growing up and becoming just like your father, even in the way you look. You’ve got the features of that bitch of your grandmother. Damn genetics! It’s impossible to look at you and not feel anger," he spat near my foot.
When someone insulted me, I felt like crying, but I never cried, except at home, because everything that happened there felt like a representation of hell to me. I couldn’t be strong when I was at home.
"Leave the kid alone, Fred! He’s just a child. He’s not to blame for the shit that happens with you guys," said Mr. Ramón.
"Mind your own business, Ernesto, and fill my damn glass," my grandfather shouted.
"There are no other bars around here, so if you want to keep having your drinks, you’d better behave like a customer and not an animal."
My grandfather pulled out a bill from his pocket, threw it on the counter, and left, casting one last glance at me, making it clear how insignificant I was to him.
"Here are the beers. Can you carry them?"
"Yes."
"I’m only telling you to go because I know if you show up empty-handed, he’ll take it out on you," he said quietly. "Now, take these lollipops." He patted my head.
I thanked him and put the lollipops in my pocket.
I ran home.
"What did that idiot Ramón say?"
"He said you need to pay by Saturday and that it’s the last time he’ll sell to you."
"Did anyone hear him say that?"
"Only your dad."
My father paused with the beer can near his mouth but didn’t drink.
"That son of a bitch is not my father and not your grandfather. Listen well, Davies," he pointed a finger at me, "I’d rather see you vomiting to death than hear you call him grandfather or say he’s my father, understood?"
I nodded quickly.
"Now get out of my face."
I ran up the stairs and went to my room. I sat on the bed and squeezed my hands together to stop them from shaking.

Note: Some chapters display the correct spacing, but others, like this one, do not. I have edited it multiple times, but the spacing doesn’t change. Please be understanding. Thank you!