eyes were wide and his lips parted, and he looked so much younger than he was. Thirteen going on seven. Which was really just another reminder of how quickly cruelty stole innocence.
“So this kid found out not just that I was orphaned, but what happened. And he decided to really dig in. I tried to ignore him, but it didn’t work. And when I tried to argue back, my stutter was so bad it just gave him fodder for his bullying. He said my mom’s drug use made me stupid in utero and my stutter drove my dad to death and mom to running away, because who could love someone who sounded like a skipping record.”
A flash of fury crossed Andrew’s face for me. It warmed my heart to see how passionate his response was. He was such a good kid—I just wished others would give him a chance so they could see it, too.
“When he said it, I didn’t just attack. It was like all my anger took over, blacking out my ability to know when to stop. It gathered in my fists, and they pounded and pounded and pounded.” I held out my knuckles, pointing close to the “H-A-L-F” inked over four of them. It took Andrew a moment to see it, but I knew he did when I heard the sharp intake of breath. Under the ink were scars.
I leaned back in my chair, making sure to make eye contact with him. I needed him to see all of me, the man I was now and not just the angry kid he was picturing in his mind. “I got shards of his bone stuck in my knuckles. He lived, but I’m not proud to say he was real fucked up after. Probably deals with the consequences of it today. And I went to juvie for a stint because I was too young to be tried as an adult.
“When I got out, no foster family felt safe keeping me for long. I’ve never done anything like that again, but it took a lot of work to rein in my temper. And a mentor to keep me in check.”
Tears welled up in Andrew’s eyes and his lip trembled. Maybe it was too heavy a story for a kid, but I didn’t think so. I wished I’d had someone to talk to me when I was his age, to tell me the truth and not just some Golden Rule bullshit.
“I keep saying it, but I need you to hear me. You can’t make people be nice to you. And punishing them for being assholes will only make them worse. But once you go too far, your whole life can become that story, and it takes luck and time to get away from it.
“Those kids might always tease you. They may say shitty things and you’ll burn up inside. But find a better way to release that anger. Learn to box. Draw, and get amazing, and I’ll take you on as an apprentice at the shop one day. Do anything but let it control you, because that’s giving the assholes power over you.”
I expected him to argue. When I was his age, I would have. But Andrew got this contemplative look, like he was measuring his choices and deciding that they might be coming up short. Instead of telling me that he was sorry, or that he felt bad about my parents, or anything at all, he got up from the cot and gave me a hug.
The warmth of slender arms around my neck was startling, the press of the frail body so unexpected that I stiffened. It was the first touch I could remember in so long that was being given freely. For me. The entirety of me, angry orphan and juvie offender and tough-guy tattooist and all. It undid me in a way that sent my soul into a spiral, but I got myself together enough to hug him back.
I saw Andrew’s mom approach, waving to get Andrew’s attention. I used the distraction as an opportunity to wipe away the tears from my eyes. When I felt collected enough to stand, she shot out an exasperated “thank you” to me. I knew she was too consumed with worry for Andrew to talk, but it made me happy that he at least had a mom like her in his corner.
When I followed them out into the hall, Mike was waiting for me. “Hey, Javi, come into my office for a