In Hawthorn Park

"Dad, please, I . . . "

"Shut up! Just get up on your feet and shut up!" John Kreider bellowed.

As Mark regained his feet, he heard his mother's hurried footsteps in the hall. She rushed into his father's den. "John, what in the world is going on. . . "

"No kid of mine is ever going to call himself a faggot, boy, you got that?" Congressman John Kreider's angry words cut off his wife as he grabbed his son by the shirt collar and slammed him against the wall. Paying no attention to the frightened woman, the raging man landed another vicious blow to Mark's face, this time striking the other side. The handsome eighteen year-old high school senior plunged to the floor a second time, blood spurting from a cut lip.

"John, you're beating our son," Carolyn Kreider screamed, lunging at her husband and flailing at his chest with her small fists.

Mark pulled himself up once more and gazed in horror at blood staining his white tee shirt. He reached for his cut lip. It was sharply painful and continued to swell. Mark became aware of a dull ache under both of his cheekbones. The sound of footsteps again drew his attention to the doorway. His younger brother Ken dashed into the room and looked with astonishment at his parents and brother.

"Man, what'd you do, anyway . . ." Ken began, directing a stricken look at his brother.

Carolyn Kreider stopped attacking her husband and turned in the direction of her younger son. "Ken, go away. Mark and your father . . ."

"Be quiet, woman. I'll handle this!" John Kreider again cut off his wife in mid-sentence and roughly pushed her aside. The furious man, who towered over his wife and actually stood two inches taller than either of his sons, turned toward his younger boy. Grabbing Ken by the shoulder and shoving him in the direction of Mark, who was still not fully standing, Kreider continued, "Pick your sick brother up and take him to his room. I'll deal with him shortly." Glaring down at Mark, he added, "And you, you stay put in that room till I come for you, understand?"

Ken helped Mark to his feet, out the door, and up the stairway to the second floor bedroom of the family's home in Rockford, Illinois. As he helped his brother clean the blood from his face with a damp towel brought from the bathroom, Ken spoke shakily again. "I've never seen him like that, man. What the hell did you do to him anyway? He's never really even spanked us before."

"It's nothing, Ken," murmured Mark, looking away from his brother's questioning stare. "I don't want to talk about it, okay? I'm sorry. Go away. I'm okay."

"But your eyes are turning black, Mark, I want to help you . . ."

"No, just go. I hate him. I despise that son of a b****. Go, please," Mark spoke in a strained rushed voice.

"Well, okay, but . . ." I'm coming back later. I . . .""

"Thanks, Ken. But for now leave me alone!" Mark flopped down on his bed and turned toward the wall. With one last puzzled glance, Ken left the room, closing the door quietly behind himself.

So much for truthfulness, thought Mark, as he pulled his legs to his chest and huddled on the side of his bed near the wall. I should never have told anyone, or maybe I should have started with my mom. Anyone but him. Such a mouthy big shot. Always having his way. What the hell was I ever thinking? It was those stupid books. 'If you're gay, be honest with everyone. Your friends will stay as your friends and others don't matter anyway.' What a bunch of sh**. Those writers never thought about having a congressman for a dad, that's for sure. Mark's anguished thoughts continued as he hugged the pillows tighter and dabbed at tears running over his bruised face.

Now what do I do? Worse yet, what's he gonna do? And what about my mom? I wonder if Ken has any idea what caused all this? I doubt it. I should have talked to the school counselor first maybe. Hell, no. That would have been worse. She wouldn't have hit me, though, right? Ha! So here I am, no better off than any of the other crazy queers I’ve read about. What ever made me think I could be different? What made me think I could pull it off? Damn him. I'll figure out a way to beat him yet. No one's gonna tell me how to live my life. I'll be who I want be and to hell with him and everyone like him. Wonder when he's coming up here. I ought to sneak out. F*** it all right now.

Mark's confusion and frustration steadily worsened as he lay alone waiting for the promised second confrontation with his powerful angry father.

***

Today's the day, thought Mark, as he placed the last of carefully selected clothes and personal treasures in his back pack. Today's the day I leave this mess for good. Mom and the big jerk in Washington. All three brothers off jocking it up at baseball camp. Nobody here to stop me! This is it! Mark took one last look around the living room of the home where he had lived all of his short life. He felt both sad and elated. It wasn't any good any more. Sure it used to be, but no more. No more! He tossed his pack and sleeping bag over his shoulder, slammed the front door, and started down the street to the bus stop on the corner.