Current mood:	helpless
Entry tags:	father, in my time of dying, laura, max, mother, nano, peter, the distance to here

Section 10 (instalment 3, done)
Word count: 2 463


Max remembered...

It was Fall already and no matter how many people would clean the fallen leaves from the streets, there were always enough on the sidewalks so he could kick them along as he walked - on walks from home, or from home to the school bus, or from the bus to the school itself. And they always went to rake dead leaves from the lawn, even though they really didn't have that many trees.

He had started his last year in elementary school, fourth grade, and was in fact in class when they called for him. The teacher was explaining something new that he hadn't read in a book already, so he was interested and attentive and got a little irritated when the door opened and interrupted the explanation, even though he could tell by the noise around him that most of the rest were glad for the break, or something like that. However, then the vice principal made him come with her, and Max's irritation melted into worry.

It was the second time when he was called out because his mom was in the hospital. The previous time, it was her arm that was broken. And he recalled there had been a cast and she'd had him help more and had praised him when he did well, and while he knew that she'd been in pain, it hadn't been that bad, overall. He didn't know what had happened then, she said she'd slipped and fallen. But she usually didn't slip, though he was told it could happen.
Of course, those who told him generally either didn't know (most people) or chose to ignore (his mom) how attentive and nice his dad became after the times when he hit her. He didn't know what had happened. But he had his guesses, even though vague on the details, and they didn't make him happy, at all. But he was told that it was nothing, and he didn't know what he could do. He'd been at school, he couldn't have even tried to stop any of it, not that it often worked. And he had no idea whom to tell. How to make it stop.

This time, her hip was dislocated. Max listened intently to what the vice principal told him, then nodded quietly and asked when he could go see her. And if he could go see her after school on the next days, if she was staying in the hospital, instead of having to catch the bus home. It would mean that he could spend more time with her, if he didn't have to get home and go to the hospital from there, so he had to ask. The older woman ooh'ed and aww'ed and even was so nice as to give him a ride there. She wrote him a slip for the next of the day that he had to leave at the office on the next day, too. He was grateful.

He was worried. He didn't know how much something like that would hurt, but by the face of the vice principal, it wasn't something small. Nothing that got you into the hospital could be easy or small.

His mother was sitting against her pillows, face almost as white as the bedsheets, eyes slightly glazed. But she smiled when he came in, and drew him in for a hug with one arm, and he rested his head against her shoulder for a long time, her fingers combing through his hair.

She told everybody that she fell down the stairs when she was cleaning. It was something most of the doctors or nurses or friends believed, too, Max could tell. But he recognized the bruises on her face, and knew what they meant, so very well. His dad had probably come home, and something had happened and she was hurt now. And he wanted to do something, to make it all stop, he didn't want her to hurt anymore, and he didn't know what, at all.

He didn't cry when he was there with her at the hospital, though. He tried to be brave for her. Told her about his days at school. Told her jokes, some of them he barely comprehended, but he always only told the ones he did. Most people, even his mom some of the times, laughed harder if they thought he didn't know what the jokes meant though. But it was good. Making them laugh seemed to make them feel better. Seemed to make her feel better too, and that mattered to him.

He never told jokes or tried to talk too much when his dad was there. And his dad did come, after work and on the weekend days with him, with flowers and smiles and presents. For once, though, his mom was quiet about accepting them, and Max though he understood.

Then one day the lady showed up. In the afternoon, when his dad was at work. He'd barely come in from school when she walked into his mom's hospital room and introduced herself as a social worker.

He hadn't met any social workers before, although he'd heard about them - some of his friends from school lived only with their moms or dads, and sometimes they had to meet with social workers. Some of them were okay with that, others didn't like them all that much. Max liked this lady though, even though she asked him to wait outside the room.

But the door wasn't closing fully, so he could hear what she spoke to his mom about.

It seemed that one of the nurses had guessed what those bruises were from. He tried to remember that nurse's name--

-- so he could watch her and maybe ask her about things later. That nurse had called for the social worker because she suspected that somebody... no, not somebody, her husband, had hit her. And that there were other wives hurt by their husbands, and that wasn't good and she didn't have to put up with it, and there were shelters, homes where she and her son could stay at and not have to go back to where he could hurt her again...

Max's heart gave a leap at that thought. Was that even possible, live somewhere else? With his mom only, and no more her getting hit (or him, but that mattered less to him, since his dad didn't hit him all that often, only when he was trying to stop him from hitting his mom) and more being too-nice afterwards? It seemed like a perfect solution, and now that it was spoken, he realized that, yeah, somehow his friends who lived with their moms only sometimes also had dads, but they lived somewhere else, so obviously it was possible! But for them, could it be done?

His mom answered that she'd need to think about it, and that she had to stay in the hospital for some more time so she couldn't either go back home or go somewhere else. The lady said that it was good, that she had time to think, and it would be so much better for her if she didn't have to put up with her husband.

Max barely waited till she was gone before he burst back into the room, practically bouncing. It took his mom no time at all to know without doubt what he wanted.

He even went on to claim enthusiastically, "I'll even go and pack your things from home, and I'll make very sure I really don't forget anything, yours or mine, and you can make a list, so that we could really do it!"

"You want us to go away then, Maxy?"

"Yeah, yeah I do, mom! I just... I don't wanna see him hit you again. It's not good, it isn't, and even dad knows it on the next day, and most of the time, and he's always saying how it's not good to hit things and people, but he does it anyway, and he does it to you and if you're not there for him to do it, he won't have to!"

She sighed, and reached out her hand, pulling him closer for a hug. "But he's your dad, love. I don't want to... I don't want him to have to be alone."

"Oh." He snuggled against her for a moment, very still. He hadn't thought about that. "But you don't deserve to be hit either."

Her fingers slid over his hair again, her voice quiet, and thoughtful. "We'll see, love."

But she didn't mention about that to his dad when he came that evening after work. And the nice social worker lady and the nurse brought up other arguments that seemed to make sense to Max at least - that at the place where they could stay, there were people who could help her with the recovery, since she'd be in crutches for weeks and could really use professionals helping her around, and there would be such people there, nearby, and they'd be willing to help. And on and on, other words, and his mom had other arguments, and after a while she told them not to send Max away, since he was listening anyway, and besides he'd have to live there too, wouldn't he? Would they let her keep him with her?

So many questions, so many details. It scared him a little, how complicated this good solution seemed to be getting. But he was also listening wide-eyed, because it was like with books, any book could teach you something, or any class, or any person. And she was listening too. Of course she was, he'd learned about the reading and everything from her, hadn't he? So maybe she would see things as he did and... let it happen?

And she did. When she was unregistered from the hospital, Max had already taken out her things and his, little by little, and they were packed up and ready to be moved at that shelter place they were going to. And she didn't tell his dad when she'd be discharged, and the nice lady and the nurse and some other man helped and him to the car, and off they were. The next day, she took a taxi to his school and told them that he'd be taking a different school bus after his classes were over, and he was so very glad, that he'd not have to see her hit again. So very proud, after the things the nice social worker lady had said. And he didn't think it was that bad. True, the friends he lived close to were now far and he could only talk to them at school, but that wasn't such a big problem, considering.

Until the day when his dad was waiting for him after school, and told him to quickly get in the car. Max prepared to bolt, and said warily, "but... mom. I can't, I've gotta go back to her."

"Your mother's where she is supposed to be, Max. She's at home, and everything will be alright now."

"What? But--"

"Get in the car before I pick you up and put you in there myself."

"You'll have to catch me first." He tried to sound confident, but his voice was shaking a little and he knew it. Mom... is home? Why did she... ?

"Get. In. The car." There was finality in his father's words, and Max swallowed and obeyed. He didn't climb into the passenger's seat though, but in the backseat, and remained in the corner that was the farthest from the driver's. His father's jaw was set. They didn't talk much on the drive back. Most of it amounted to, 'your mother should have come home in the first place. She couldn't do anything on her own. No money, no job, and she's got you to take care of, and she can't. I can, and she's got no choice, and you've got no choice either, you hear me, boy? And running away is cowardly.'

Max didn't say anything, just kept looking out the window during most of the time. His father had always told him that hitting people was cowardly too. He was beginning to not believe in any of the words he said anymore.

His mom's face was drawn, but there didn't seem to be any new bruises (maybe because the social worker lady had said that if something like that happened at the shelter, somebody would call the police. Had somebody told his father that? Had mom done it?) and she reached her arms to draw him for a hug, sitting in the green armchair, her walking stick by her side, but then she looked at his face and her green eyes grew sad, and she let her arms drop down. Max ran to his room as soon as he was allowed to.

Later, when he was there with her and his father wasn't, she told him she was sorry. That there was nothing she could do, she couldn't do it alone, there's no other choice for either of them. He nodded quietly, and when she started to cry went to hug her, careful around her hip (he'd learned to be very careful, almost without a mishap at all, but he wouldn't have had to if his father hadn't been there to do it in the first place!).

But it didn't make him feel any better. She'd betrayed herself, and she'd betrayed him. They could have found some way to make it work. But he knew that she wouldn't be able to get away anytime soon again. And he'd heard the nurse say to somebody else that those who came back usually couldn't really get away until it was too late. For them or for their children.

He couldn't save her, couldn't make it better for her, because she didn't choose to. That hurt, hurt so badly. And he couldn't keep on watching as it happened over and over again.

That night, he cried himself to sleep, muffling the sounds against he pillow.

On the next morning, he'd resolved that he couldn't save her, but he really couldn't stay and watch it happen over and over again.

They were all wrong. There was always another choice. Maybe not a nice choice, and very, very often not an easy choice at all. But there was always another choice.

He just had to be smart about it.

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