Kennedy Hoss of Musket

Chapter 11: I Hurt Too

Song: I Hurt Too by Katie Herzig

When I wake up it's early, and Crow is still asleep. His dark hair in matted strands sticking to his forehead, his book lying under his palm.

When I go downstairs I see that the Finns' are gone based on the dusty grandfather ticking away. When I go to the bathroom, I notice right away what a bloody mess I made. A bucket of soapy water sits in the corner, but I can see the trails of blood between the tiles that couldn't be helped. The wash basin looks even worse.

I take my shirt off again and examine the bandages. Slowly I unravel them and discover an enormous scar of stitchings shaped like an awkward "V" across my back and shoulder. Without hesitation I scour their medicine cabinet for new bandages.

As I'm sifting through the bottles and tubes, I remember last night. The screaming, the chanting, the shattering of glass. The familiar pains in my head start throbbing back, and the large bruise on my stomach throbs. Then I remember the water punching into me, and I remember all the screaming children I left there. Why didn't I fight? Who in their right minds uses a water gun on children?

I locate the bandages and wrap them around myself and discard the old ones, then pull my camisole and shirt back on. I find my clothes drying on a clothes line outside and remove the large loose jeans and pull on my shorts, and then my boots also hanging up. My shirt is too bloodied to put on, so I don't bother. Then I run to the riot area.

After what feels like an hour long run I reach the area where we had rioted. A knot in my stomach pulses and my knees buckle. Pieces of glass is strewn everywhere. I can see two parallel lines where the glass has been crushed to tiny bits by the truck. Ribbons flutter and roll to the west with the slight morning breeze, some catching on broken glass or firecracker cartons. My fingers brush against a small white slipper and I hear my heart shatter in my chest.

"Oh you found it I was looking everywhere for that!"

I jump just as Ross Keller leans down and picks up the slipper and attempts to place it on his large sneakered toes. He stands there for a moment before kicking it off and then shoves his hands into his pale red sweater.

"What did I do..." I mumble, staring at the mess stretching before me.

"What?"

I pick up the slipper and get up to face him, shaking it in his face.

"What the hell did I do, Ross! What did I do!"

Ross looks at me with his mouth open a slit. I can see a negative look flit across his eyes. Then I notice a bandage wrapped around the side of his head and I look away from him. The sound of crunching glass grows quieter as he pads away across the glass.

A strong gust of wind blows and a flash of color catches my eye. It's a tangle of copper caught on my boot. I lift it in my fingers and find a small "I" written on one end. It's my dather's ribbon.

Flashback

My dad sits in his recliner in my living room, and my mother works away in the kitchen prepping a surprise meal. Hannibal sits in the doorway of our bedroom underlining things in a thick hardcover book.

"Kennedy you see that man on first base just there?" My father asks me.

I look up from my sketchbook just long enough to see a sweaty tan man in a dark tan getup run across the television screen. We don't get any good television networks aside from the sports station and a station from Twain airing assorted soaps and a few miscellaneous movies.

"What about him?"

"Every time I run the street booth in Twain that man comes up to me and he throws his grimy foot in front of me on the booth getting it all disgusting and he says, 'ay Ish, you gonna make these spears sharp or what?'"

I look back at the screen and mutter a few choice words to myself.

"And I laugh and I shine his shoes and he asks me about my day while checking out the candy cart lady and I tell him. But what I DON'T tell him is that the rag I use for his shoes I also use to wipe the dog pee off my stand. And he walks off and can't figure out for the life of him why all the dogs he passes want to smell him so bad and mark their territory on him."

From the other room I can hear my mom try to hide her giggles and I crack a smile as my father leans back in his chair and grins at me.

"Why do you do that?" I ask, a bit surprised.

My father sighs and gives me a careful look. His eyes are big and soft and kind, which makes him all the more charismatic.

"Because Kennedy Musket is already bruised from where the world stepped on it, and I only need one shoe print squashing up my life."

Of course it wasn't until after his death and my surgery when I was asked to look at a map of Musket and find my house that I noticed Musket literally was a shoe print. The main part where I lived made up the bigger half, and the skinny river cut through the end of it forming the heel where the woods are. We really had been stepped on.

Hal Tennison walks across the glass to where I'm standing and takes me into his bony arms. I lean into him and sob, clutching the ribbon in my fingers.

"You started something Kenny," he says to me. He takes my face in his dark hands and holds my face up to his. "Come with me."

Hal takes my hand and leads me to his house. He makes his way steadily up the creaking stairs and pulls a small but filled up ring of keys. With wobbly hands he selects a rusty key and jams it into the doorknob. Seconds later he pushes the door open gently and he walks me into his dusty house. This is the first time I have ever been inside his house.

Everything is perfectly preserved like a museum. To the right of the front door sits a pleasant country kitchen, with a small dining room table. There's a staircase jutting out horizontally from the right wall separating the kitchen and dining area from a small living room. Hal has me sit on the floor in front of a puffy recliner. He disappears for a moment then returns with a hair brush. He squeezes himself behind me and takes a seat behind me. His gentle fingers undo my wreck of a braid and pull a brush carefully through the tangles and snarls.

"I used to braid the horses' manes and tails for Mr. Finn. Then the syndrome came around and they all thought it'd be best for me to stay home in my empty house missing my family instead.

"So I started drinking. Not something I'm proud of, but if it ain't the truth it's not worth tellin'. I was drunk most everyday, and when the hangovers hit, I drank some 'ore."

Hal slips my fathers ribbon from my fingers and begins to work it through my hair.

"Life ain't pretty, Kennedy. Never is, never was. But one day while I was about to open another bottle, I heard my little girl's voice. She said, 'Papa what are you doing?' and I lost it. I threw the bottle in the sink and I cried. Cried until my eyes were near dry.

"I went upstairs and I got my wife's chair, and I carried it all the way down here onto the porch. And since then, I've never looked at another bottle of the devil's brew. I just rock in my chair and thank The Lord that stuff didn't do something worse to me."

The room is silent except for the beating of my heart. Hal finishes my braid and I turn to look at him.

"Truth is Kennedy I won't be 'round for much longer. But don't you worry, I got people waiting for me." Hal hands me his ring of keys, "But I want you to look everything like a puzzle, Kennedy. Nothing worthwhile can just be done. Every situation has a key, Kennedy."

I take the small ring if keys and look back up at his saddened eyes. He brings me into his arms and I rest my cheek on his skinny shoulder.

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