Barrel Tipping

My step-mother cleaned out the apartment and left with my brother and unborn sister for Cour d' Alene. Dad was screwing the neighbor, a thin blonde named Leanne, who was in the process of her own divorce, and had a son, Freddy Jr, who was two years my junior.

The smoke from my step-mom's squealing tires hadn't yet dissipated into the Hayden Lake sky when Dad announced his impending marriage to Leanne. Instantly I was part of yet another family, an older brother to another idolizing youth, and surrogate son to a fawning hopeful.

Leanne was one of the smart ones who saw early on the true face of the stranger to whom she was engaged, and decided to call it off. But she showed her true face too, the face of an angel, and tried to take me away from him, to give me a chance at living a normal life.

Leanne took me into her bathroom and shut the door. I sat on the toilet, the cover of which was down, and she kneeled in front of me and put her hands on my knees. Her eyes had crimson rings and tears flowed in winding rills.

"Scott, I'm leaving your father and I want you to come with me."

I was stunned, and normally would have laughed at such a gesture, for surely she couldn't be serious. Clearly she was, and I didn't know how to respond.

"You are such a good kid, Scott, and I can't bear to see you live with that man any more. You need a mother, and I want so much to take care of you."

"I don't know what to say Leanne."

"He is CRAZY Scott. There is something seriously wrong with him, and it isn't healthy for you to be with him any more. Come with me. I'm going back to my husband, and I've told him all about you, and he is as excited as I am. And Freddy is crazy about you."

I started to cry. How could I tell her no, and at the same time the life she described sounded so pleasant, so stable. At least it seemed so at the time. I didn't ask myself why a man would want to adopt the son of the man that was laying with his wife, or how a woman could be so attached to a boy she barely knew. This was Hayden Lake, the capital, as I would find out later in life, of the Arian Nation. Anything and everything was not as it seemed. But for all that, the little boy in that bathroom only knew one constant in life, and knew what he needed to do.

A violent pounding erupted at the front door. "Where the fuck is my son, Leanne!?"

She looked at me like a rabbit in a snare and shook her head, and her tears redoubled. "Don't go, I beg you."

"I-I-I'm sorry Leanne." I got up and left her on her knees, sobbing into her cupped hands. Her brother Tom was in the living room with a shotgun trained at the front door. "Don't open it," he warned.

"Scott?! Open this fucking door," Dad yelled in his most serious and deadly voice. I was compelled, by years of training, like a duck drawn by instinct to it's mother, and unlatched the deadbolt and stepped out into the night. "Good boy, now get in the truck."

Tom stepped into the doorway and aimed the shotgun at Dad's head. Dad walked towards him like a prowling lion.

"Get back," Tom said with forced conviction, but fear produced a warble in his voice.

"Put that gun down now or I'll take it from you and bash your fucking head in."

The gun barrel turned nervous circles for a moment, then slowly lowered.

Dad yelled past him through the doorway, "He's MY son, and nobody, NOBODY can have him." He turned on his heel, strode to the truck, hopped in and tore out with a deafening roar.

He looked at me. "What took you so long to come out?"

"Leanne wanted to keep me; she told me you're crazy."

"And you believed her."

"Well, I already knew that." We both laughed.

"Nothing else in this life matters to me, you know." Dad reached over and gave my shoulder a squeeze.

"I know dad, I just felt bad for her."

"I understand."