Ryan S Black

 When I was about 15 years old I was out in front of my house riding around on my skate board. Cruising around trying to get air off the curb, stuff like that. There was a lady walking up the street and getting closer. When she got in front of my house she turned and started walking across my grass towards the door.

“My mom’s not home.” I called out to her. She just stopped and looked at me.

“You don’t recognize me?” she asked.

 When she spoke my heart filled with fear. It was my mother. I could recognize her voice but I didn‘t recognize her. Her face was black and blue. She looked like she had been beat up.

“Wha-what happened?” I managed to say.

“He hit me.” was her only reply and then she went inside.

 I’ve never felt so small. My mother who I looked up to like a God had been hurt. I reacted the only way I knew how, with anger.

 I went inside after her and found out what had happened. I took her keys and my little league bat and stole her car. She had been out with her boyfriend at the time and things had obviously gone bad. She was on her period and had told him no. He beat her up because she wouldn’t give him any sex.

 I was furious. I didn’t really know what I was doing. I was a kid. I was just learning how to drive but I stole my mom’s car and I knew where that motherfucker lived. He was surprised to see me at his door. He tried to stammer some kind of hello to me but it was too late for words. Everything went gray right then.

 They found me two blocks away covered in blood. The evidence the D.A. had against me said that I had hit both of them a combined number of 248 times. “A combined number,” that’s what they called it. I never saw her. The girl that was in his apartment with him was a prostitute he had gone and picked up after beating up my mother.

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