In the beginning, tensions were high, and tempers were short. The lack of air conditioning didn't help; the Main House was steeped in sweat and open aggression. In many ways, it was analogous to life in prison.
Privacy was largely a thing of the past. The walls were thin, and the vents conducted sound far too well. It was difficult to keep secrets.
Everyone, for example, could hear Penny crying her self to sleep about her cats.
Everyone could hear Marta crying about her husband, Wan, who was missing and presumed dead.
Everyone knew Candice was having nightmares about her dead parents.
Everyone knew Nick imtroxousized Uncle Peter for not rescuing his girlfriend.
Everyone knew Great-Grandpa Ned was constipated.
Everyone knew Uncle Peter and Aunt Roxanne had stopped having sex.
Everyone knew Holly and Martin were STILL having sex.
Everyone knew Leslie felt guilty for loving Colin and Gina more than her "real" parents.
And, most disturbing of all, everyone knew Anthony was verbally abusing his girlfriend, Jodi. It varied in severity, but almost every night, Anthony would scream at Jodi's kids until they left the bedroom, crying. Then he'd focus his attention on Jodi. Loudly. Graphicly. Apparently, their relationship had always been like that.
Anthony spent much of his time pacing about the house and scowling while shifting a toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other. I tried not to look him in the eyes, but when I did, they held a disconcerting gleam.
Jodi was of average height and average build. She kept her hair short and simple. Her undistinguished face was not particularly pretty nor unattractive. She was mostly a blank space. She possessed forgettable features abused women develop after years of trying to go unnoticed.
Anthony had the run of the house. But Jodi was a room-agora, trapped in her bedroom. A prison within a prison. Uncle Peter, Grandpa Kevin, and my mother tried to talk with Jodi. But she inexplicably blamed herself for the abuse. Attempts at reasoning with Anthony also failed. He didn't see why it was anyone else's business how he "dealt with his woman".
Once I overheard Beth and Nichole talking as they stocked the cellar... "Anthony is crazy," whispered Beth. "He should be locked up."
"We're all locked up." scoffed Nichole.
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At the same time, Aunt Roxanne's father, Nick, was also driving up tensions. A dark cloud followed him. He was snippy with everyone, and he complained incessantly. Perceived bias angered him. And he perceived bias everywhere.
"Why does Jimmy get a bigger bed?!" Nick demanded to know while I was close enough to overhear. He was all taunt energy, like a windup toy waiting to be let go.
"Jimmy shares it with Nichole," explained Grandpa Kevin.
"So I'd have a bigger bed if your son had not murdered my girlfriend?!"
"That's not—"
"Why am I even bunking with these strangers?! Why wasn't I put in my daughter's room?!"
"A lot of factors went into assigning peo—"
"If you'd bothered to ask me, I would've told you MY solution!"
"What's your solution, Nick?" asked Grandpa Kevin indulgently.
"Make the medium-sized storage room on the second floor into my room."
"We are using it for storage. Where would we put all those supplies?"
"Hell, man! Do I have to think of everything!? We need bedrooms more than storage."
"Who would you share the room with?"
"No one."
"So you want a private room all to yourself?"
"What's wrong with that?" Nick's face showed no hint of wisdom. Just a relentless need, an angry want that could never be satisfied no matter how many concessions he received.
Grandpa Kevin cleared his throat. "I'll talk it over with Peter and get back to you."
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Meanwhile, Anthony's verbal abuse toward Jodi had become physical. Nothing was done for the first two nights because Jodi was adamant no one interfere. But after three days of hearing Anthony slapping Jodi around, Mom finally resolved to end the abuse. She brought Martin, Ellis, Uncle Peter, Grandpa Kevin, and Dad as "muscle" and burst into the room while Anthony was in the process of hitting Jodi with his belt. I listened from down the hall.
"That's it!!" declared Mom. "This ends now! Anthony, gather your shit. You're moving out of this room."
"To where?!" he bitched.
"Frankly, I don't give a fuck! But you're never allowed to enter this room again!"
"Sleep in the living room for now," directed Grandpa Kevin. "We'll think of something in the morning. But you're not to enter this room nor speak to Jodi or her kids again."
"How come I'm—!"
"Don't talk!" snapped Mom. "Just pack!... NOW!"
Anthony dragged his feet and grumbled complaints while he gathered his things. The phrase, "I thought this was 'Merica!" slipped out multiple times. Eventually, Anthony was escorted out of Jodi's room, carrying his belongings.
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Early the next morning, I was woken by a commotion. I entered the hallway to find it packed with people. Aunt Roxanne, who was a nurse, elbowed her way through the crowd, carrying her med kit. My sister was nearby, so I asked her what was happening. "Nick punched Grandpa Kevin and killed him!" she exclaimed. (Word travels fast in a world of only forty-eight people. Story accuracy isn't always a top priority.) A few seconds later, we saw Grandpa Kevin get shakily to his feet. He looked disorientated (but far from dead) and was being escorted by Donna and Aunt Roxanne to his bedroom.
A little while later, Mom and Uncle Peter had a talk with Donna. I sat in on the conversation.
"Will Kevin be all right?" asked Donna.
"He appears to have a concussion," reported Uncle Peter. "Roxanne said he'll probably be fine, but wants him to stay in bed for the day."
"Tell us what happened," inquired Mom.
"Kevin and I noticed Nick hauling supplies from the second floor storage room and stacking them precariously on the stairs. Kevin politely confronted him. Nick said he was moving into the storage room with or without approval. Kevin wanted to discuss the matter further. Nick refused. Kevin insisted. Nick became insulting and belligerent. I spoke up. Nick told me, in graphic detail, what I could do with my opinion. Kevin advised Nick to calm down. Nick pushed Kevin into the wall. I put my hand on Nick's shoulder. Nick pushed me to the ground and conjectured I was a prostitute. Kevin took a step forward and said, "Hey!". Nick then jabbed Kevin in the gut and punched him twice in the head. Kevin collapsed. I screamed. Ellis and Jerry rushed in. Nick stomped off. Kevin remained unconscious for about a couple minutes... And you know the rest."
"Enough of this!" fumed Uncle Peter. "Nick and Anthony are moving out!"
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A few hours later, Nick and Anthony were transplanted into the barbecue hut and concession stand building. (Thereafter unofficially called the "Bad Dad House".) They were provided the same amenities as the rest of us. But that made little difference to Nick and Anthony. Both hated their new home.
That night, Uncle Peter and I dropped off supper at the Bad Dad House. Nick loudly insisted Uncle Peter had violated his "constitutional rights".
"Which constitutional rights, Nick?!" snapped Uncle Peter, eyes bulging, lips tight.
"Huh?"
"Specifically which rights, listed in the Constitution, did I violate? Which amendments? Which provisions?"
Nick's eyes darted downward and side to side, obviously searching his limited knowledge for an answer. "The Declaration of Independence," he answered at last.
"That's not part of the Constitution. That's a declaration of war. You said I'm violating your constitutional rights. Do you even know what they are? Of course not! Because, like most conservative fucktards, you assume anything you don't like MUST be 'unconstitutional'! As usual, you don't know what the fuck you're talking about! There's no part of the Constitution requiring me to tolerate assholes who assault guests in MY home! So fuck you!"
Having Nick and Anthony move out went a LONG way towards relieving tension in the Main House. It also sent a clear message that violence was unacceptable.
Three times a day, Peter and I would deliver meals and supplies to the Bad Dad House. We dreaded doing so more and more. Both men used every opportunity to insult us and complain.
"Why don't you bring us REAL food?!" bitched Anthony.
"This is the same food the rest of us eat," countered Uncle Peter. "It even—"
"Bullshit!" barked Nick. "Everyone knows you and Frank get the good stuff!"
"Who's 'everyone'?"
"Fuck you!"
[I'd LOVE to read your comments and suggestions. For example, do you think Peter did the right thing here? Also please remember to vote for the chapter.] :)