Distortion

April 6 - Him

Suddenly Ethan shoved me down—hard. Unable to catch myself I tripped and fell off the sidewalk like a drunk. Trying to right myself, I grabbed a wooden water barrel and was rewarded with a handful of splinters and a mouthful of dirt. I flipped over and crawled out of the way, spitting out dirt in the process.

Standing next to the boy, Ethan's body looked soft like Camille's marshmallow men at the senior center. Ethan snagged a knife from his boot. I could have sworn I heard the boy snort. In one quick move, he relieved Ethan of his knife, sliding it into his own pocket. No wonder Ethan sent his cronies to fight him first.

The boy landed a few good punches on Ethan's midsection. But Ethan must have braced for them because all he did was grunt. Ethan launched his fist into the boy's stomach so hard he doubled over and stumbled back a few paces. Ethan took advantage and knocked him across the face with his fist, whiplashing his head to the side and sending him to the ground. He laughed triumphantly. The boy swore into the dirt, but it was more to himself than Ethan.

He stood up, looking even broader and taller than before. Resolve hardened every feature on the boy's face. His dark eyebrows made the fierceness in his eyes more formidable. His body, his face, were absolutely wild as if something inside snapped. He advanced on Ethan with a determined step and with his right fist gave a definitive blow to Ethan's jawline. I heard the unmistakable crack of bone. Ethan's legs buckled and he crumpled to the ground in a pathetic heap. The boy spat in the dirt as he circled Ethan twice, and gave him one final kick in the ribs for good measure even though I'm pretty sure he was already unconscious.

The click of a bullet loading into the chamber of a gun caught our attention, and our eyes snapped over to Luther, who with eyes wide open, still lying in the dirt, pointing a gun up at the boy. "I've hated you for years, you bastard," he muttered.

It all happened so fast I didn't realize what was happening until I heard the scream. Luther's scream. It was shockingly high-pitched. The boy had not given Luther a chance to pull the trigger. In one fluid movement, he slid Ethan's knife out of his pocket and threw it blade first into Luther's thigh.

Luther fell back down moaning as he grabbed his leg, trying to contain the blood that pooled in the dirt.

Lips parted, breathing heavily, the boy took off his cowboy hat, which somehow managed to stay on during the fight, and ran his fingers through his dark, unruly hair. He walked over to Luther, scooped up his gun, emptied the bullets and threw the gun out of reach. "Only big boys get to use these."

Luther began cussing him out, spewing all the reasons he hated this boy. It was a long list. The boy said in a huff of frustration. "Quit your whinin'. Doc Sumpter will sew you right up."

Then he focused on me. His blue eyes were insanely intense. I couldn't look away if I wanted to. "You okay?" He extended his gloved hand to help me up. He hadn't asked in the nicest way; he actually sounded kinda pissed like this was all a huge inconvenience for him.

My embarrassment at lying on the ground covered in dirt made me ignore his hand and get up myself. "I'm fine." I used my sleeve to wipe more dirt from my mouth as I kept my eye on Luther, afraid he was going to spring up at any moment. Or die.

I felt the full impact of his height as he stood next to me, my head barely reaching his chin. Seriously, who was this guy? He'd just taken out three grown men. Impressive, even though they were kind of drunk.

I fidgeted with my dress. The way he was looking at me made me feel like I was under a microscope. "If you're going to be walking around alone you should be more careful. This place ain't always safe."

"Yeah, I noticed." My eyes darted between my hands, as I inspected them for fragments of wood, and Luther, whose eyes burned with hatred toward the boy.

He slipped off his gloves, stuffing them in his shirt pocket. "You hurt?" His tone was again matter-of-fact, a clear indication he was asking purely out of duty. Without waiting for an answer, he took my hand. He didn't seem at all concerned about Luther as he stood with his back toward him. Nor did he seem concerned with the fact that he had just stabbed someone. But I didn't feel afraid of him. He didn't seem like a crazy person, just a rude one.

"Just some splinters, I think." His hands were warm and rough from hard callouses. Not that I cared what his hands felt like.

He took a knife out of his boot and bent his head to pull the splinters out. I tried not to flinch at the pain as I stared at the top of his head while he worked.

Straightening up, he asked, "Good now?"

"Um, yeah that's better. Thank you." I rubbed my palms as I looked over to Ethan and his friends. "What about them?" Luther's eyes were glazing over. He didn't look too good.

He waved it off as if two unconscious men and another lying in a pool of blood were no big deal. "They'll be fine...Just ruffed them up a bit."

He did more than rough them up. He paused and in that instant his eyes hardened, and he took a step back. "Now, why don't you skedaddle on home to your Pa. And next time, use some common sense and don't come to town by yourself."

Seriously? Before I could think of a snarky comeback, he pulled his hat low over his face and walked off, just like that, leaving me alone with Ethan and his friends.

I quickly followed him around to the front of the building, wanting to distance myself from those guys. As he walked away—actually it looked more like an over-confident swagger—a couple girls who stood in front of Crockery's Furniture Bedding store across the street, stared at him, giggling and whispering behind their hands. It reminded me of a scene from Little House on The Prairie.

He walked right by them, not even glancing in their direction.

I didn't have time for this garbage. I had to get home.