Sean Beacon (On Hold)

No One Likes A Hero

Sean rolled out of bed and looked at his Superman alarm clock. He was proud of that clock. Most kids his age couldn't read the time. He could tell time, read, write, and spell Mississippi.

It was 3:34 in the morning. He slipped on his new cargo shorts and his favorite blue and green striped top. The shirt was three sizes too big, but that's why he liked it. He could tuck into his shorts and it wouldn't show the bruises on his back and tummy.

Mama said not to show the bruises at school. She said that if he did, daddy would get in trouble. If Daddy got in trouble, he would just hit him more.

Sean tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen. Mommy had bought him new gluten-free breakfast cereal. He only ate gluten free. If he didn't, he would get a bumpy rash on his back and arms. Last time, he had to go to the hospital.

He poured the cereal into a pink, plastic, IKEA bowl. He poured in his two percent milk and sat at the table. He looked at his bowl. He seemed to be missing something. He had the bowl, the cereal, the milk. Oh! He thought. The spoon! He opened the cabinet above the sink, where they kept the silverware.

He climbed onto the counter so that he could see which spoon he grabbed. He dug around in the tray of silverware until he found a pink spoon to match his bowl.

He set the spoon down on the counter and began to climb down. He has done this a million times before so he knew how to get down. But this time, Sean slipped. He landed on his back and hit his head on the floor.

Sean sat up, and rubbed his face, trying to get rid of the tears swelling in his eyes. Daddy hates it when he cries.

he rubbed his head and felt a bump rising behind his right ear. He felt anger rising in his stomach and threw the spoon across the room.

He stood up and picked up his cereal bowl. He dumped the contents of the bowl in the trash and put the bowl in the sink, before stomping into the living room, grabbing his school bag, and leaving out the front door for school. He wasn't that hungry anyway.

He marched to the bus stop, back straight, shoulders back, and chin up. Just like Janey had told him to do. It made him look taller and tougher. He didn't want to look weak. Then the grownups would try to talk to him and the 8th graders would pick on him.

Janey was Sean's older sister. She was the only one who really took care of Sean. She was the one who diagnosed Sean's gluten allergy. Mama and daddy didn't believe her until he went to the hospital.

Janey was the only person Sean really cared about and the only person who cared about Sean. Now that she's gone, though, Sean had no reason to care.

Janey went missing two months and four days ago. Today was October the seventh and the police haven't found her yet.

Sean hasn't spoken to anyone since Janey's disappearance but nobody seemed to notice. The school counselor pulled him out of class a few times but he didn't answer any of her questions. The police tried to talk to him too but when he said nothing daddy told the police lady that he was "special ed" as if Sean couldn't hear, or was just to stupid to understand!

Sean's face hearted up with anger at the thought of his daddy. He thought he was special ed when daddy couldn't even cook for himself! He always had mama and Janey do his chores.

Sean remembered his last birthday. Janey was helping him with his math work after school. Sean was not good at math, but Janey made it fun. She would always turn the numbers into silly faces. A three would make up the eyes above a big fat zero nose and nine mouth with the tongue sticking out. Sometimes she put eights on the side for ears too.

She was walking sean through long division when daddy told her to stop and make him dinner. She seemed pretty angry and scared but she said no. She said she was doing something important and that he could do it himself and that she was to old to be treated like that because she is 17 now.

I remember sitting in my bed because Janey had sent me away when daddy began to yell. I heard all kinds of horrible names coming from daddy as I listened to him drag her up the stairs. Then I remember that daddy had stopped yelling but I could hear Janey crying.

The worst part of that memory, though, was when I opened my door a little to see what had happened. I looked out into the hallway. Daddy was gone, probably in his bedroom. And Janey was walking down towards her room. She turned and looked at me before she went into her room.

Her cheeks were streaked with tears and there was blood on her lips and pink blotches of irrigated skin around her neck. Her facial expression wasn't sweet or caring or even the usual concern and anger that she usually wore when daddy got mad. She looked scared.

She said something too. And I remember her exact words. She said "close the the door and don't come out." This of course wasn't what bothered me because that's what we always do when daddy gets mad. But this time, she didn't come into my room and hold me and tell me its OK like she always does. She just closed her bedroom door.

The memory of her beaten up face made my fists clench tight. I stopped in my tracks and closed my eyes, trying to clear the image from my head. I should have done something! I thought to myself. I should have stopped him! Told him what for! But then I remembered. I'm only 10. And I'm small and I'm weak. And like mama always says, no one likes a hero.