The Untold Future

The Confessions

"Don't do that again, right?" I asked her.

She nodded.

"Sorry."

She signed something to me.

"I can't sign."

"Don't do that again," Faith said. It's the first time I had heard her speak. I could tell she was deaf just by how she spoke, which considering her lack of hearing was pretty good.

The night passed and morning came. We took shifts to make sure that we weren't snuck up on again. The next day was pretty normal. I helped out around town and Robert and I tagged Burt's house. I'm pretty sure no one will go there on any kinda business. Not even for a paper route.

I finished up and sat down to eat lunch. I saw Faith playing by herself away from anyone else. I ate and watched her. Right as I turned my back to leave a group of kids came up to her. They started hassling her. They taunted her but she kept playing. I knew that she knew that they were there but she just kept playing. Another girl grabbed her hair and turned Faith's head so that their eyes met. It started getting more physical from there. The girl started to hit Faith and the other kids just laughed. I went inside and grabbed a pair of flip-flops. When I came back out, Faith was crouching... with the girl's arm pinned and her face plunged into the dirt.

I chuckled. Damn! That's my girl!

Unfortunately, the other kids didn't think that was cool and they didn't back off. They started to surround her. She looked up and gave them the death glare, but they kept coming.

Okay! Time to dawn my best Dad voice. "Hey!" I yelled with as deep and gruff a voice as I could.

They didn't hear. I came closer. One kid was about to hit her.

I swooped him up and yelled, "THAT'S NOT HOW YOU TREAT NICE PEOPLE! Y'ALL MUST LIKE GETTIN' YOUR ASSES WHOOPED BY CHANCLAS!" (Author's note: Fun Fact! I used to think chanclas were high heels but they're just flip-flops. They hurt though! No, I've never had my ass beat with a chancla. I didn't think they actually hurt so I smacked myself with one and uh... they hurt! Probably still better than a high heel though!) The kids started screaming and running in all different directions. There were five of them and I chased them down and wrestled with them all, all the way to their mommies. It was awesome. I had one in a headlock, another over my shoulder holding on for dear life, I held two with my right arm, and the last one I threatened with a flip-flop as she begged me not to tell her mom. Then, their moms beat their asses with the chanclas. Then I came back for the little girl. Faith was sitting on her, waiting. I started to drag the girl to her mother. Faith tugged at my jeans and shook her head. I stopped.

"What?" I asked.

She pointed to a massive bruise on her neck. I pulled her in. She cowered. I let go and held my hands up.

Time to dawn my best Mom voice. And my limited Spanish.

"Todo bien. Mira. Let me see," I said. (God, my Spanish is awful!)
(All good. Look.)

The bruise was almost hidden by her shirt. I pulled her off to a quiet spot and rolled up her pants. More bruises. I lifted her shirt a little. More bruises and some minor lacerations. I was angrier now but angry at the person who created this little time bomb. This is how mass-murderers get made. (Sometimes, anyway. Everyone else is just off their rocker.)

I took her to her home and she screamed and cried and begged me not to tell her mother. I put my finger over my lips, smiled, and winked.

This one's on me.

I opened the door.

"Hello," the mother said, beaming.

Oh, good. They speak English.

"Hi, can I speak to the mother and the father of this lovely little girl?" I asked.

"I'm her mother."

"I'd like to speak to her father as well. He should be in on this."

"I'll go get him."

A few moments later, the mother and father stood at the door.

"Excuse me, Sir, but could you take your shirt off please?" I asked. The mom's face went sour.

"What?!" the father asked, shocked.

"Take off your shirt."

"No!"

"If you're worried about farmer's tan, mine's worse! Just take off your shirt. I believe your daughter may have scoliosis. I need to see if it runs in the family."

They're not going to fall for that one.

"Can't you just check me?" the mother asked.

"It's more common in males."

Or that one.

The dad pulled his shirt off. The mom went pale and lifted her hand to her face. The dad had bruises all over him and the mom's knuckles were bruised and bloodied.

"Your daughter doesn't have scoliosis... but you," I looked at the mom, "you are a monster. I wonder if that runs in the family. I'm taking this little lady away from this house. Sir, you are welcome to join her. Ma'am,... go to Hell."

The father put his shirt back on and came with us. The girl looked relaxed. Faith hugged her and they shared a laugh. That's great, isn't it? Kids can shove each other's faces in the mud and still work it out. If only all people had that ability. The father of the girl thanked me and took his daughter to the church to seek refuge.

Author's note: Thanks for the reads. Just to clear up some things. I'm not trying to make a stereotype that Hispanic or Latino moms are evil or abusive but abuse is a problem across the board. Usually bullies have a reason to bully. Not to justify them, bullying is still wrong but you still have to recognize them as people. Usually, anger has blinded them so much that they can't see how cruel they are. It doesn't make them right it just means they need a wake up call. Domestic abuse is a real problem. I tried to break the stereotype of the male aggressor. Often they are male but women are just as capable of evil. Don't stay quiet. Speak up and wake them up. Thanks for reading my rant.

-Cat