SEVENTY TIMES SEVEN

“You tramp!” Dad yelled.

Harley heard the drunken, slurred voice, then the dull thud of flesh being struck. Wooden legs screaked on the linoleum. Glass shattered.

He threw back the covers and swung his long legs over the side of the bed. He pulled his jeans on hastily.

“Tramp! Whore!” The sound of impact punctuated each name Dad called Mom.

Harley yanked open his door, squinting at the sudden brightness, and turned toward the
kitchen. Momentary confusion spread across Dad’s broad, ruddy face as their eyes met, then his eyes narrowed in a scowl. Harley shivered. Dad turned his attention back to Mom and his massive fist hit her again. She staggered back against the wall. Her lip was bleeding, and her nose. Her cheek was red where she’d been hit. Broken glass lay scattered on the dingy green
linoleum.

She seemed dazed. A trace of blood stained her ivory blouse. One of the shirttails hung
out over her skirt. Her auburn hair was dissheveled, hanging over half her face.

“Leave her alone, you-!” Harley advanced on Dad, started to swing.

“Harley! Stay out of this. It doesn’t concern you,” Mom slurred, her green eyes wild, fearful, pleading.

How can she keep taking it? She wouldn’t defend herself, wouldn’t let him help her. Why?

He felt a vice-like grip on the back of his neck, as Dad’s thick fingers lifted him off the floor. Pain radiated down his right arm as it was jerked behind his back and twisted. Hot, sour, beer-breath beat down on the back of his neck. Would the son-of-a-bitch kill him this time?
“Call me a son of a-” Dad started.

“I didn’t call you-” Harley bit off what he’d been about to say. How did Dad know what
he’d been thinking?

“Mark, NO!” Mom yelled. “Don’t hurt Harley. It’s not his fault!” Her voice sounded choked, even through the ringing in his ears.

Harley was pushed roughly down the hall. As they neared the door, he felt a violent shove. The forward momentum carried him headfirst into his dresser. He gasped for air as he heard the door of his room shut and the lock click into place. He stumbled to his feet. He felt his pounding head with his left hand, wincing as he touched the lump that was beginning to grow at the point of collision.

Size isn’t everything. Someday he’d make the bastard pay for the way he’d always treated Mom, and him. Harley glanced around in the semi-darkness at his bed, dresser, and
nightstand, his computer desk and swivel chair. His gaze swept over his boombox, and the posterof Pele’ kicking a soccer ball that adorned the pale blue wall above his computer desk. He grabbed the boombox, intending to heave it at the window, but the pain in his right arm stopped him. He groaned as he set it back down.

His glance fell on Dani’s senior class portrait, in a wooden frame beside the alarm clock on his nightstand. He stroked the photo as though caressing her face. A tear fell, then another. Dani was so beautiful, so much fun. He didn’t know what she saw in him. She made him feel like he wasn’t a nothing; like maybe he was as good as other people. I wish she were here with me now, he thought. I wish I could talk to her about what Dad always does to Mom, and me. But then she’d know what a coward I am. I wish I could have afforded better than the birthstone ring I gave her in May for her birthday. She and Randy are the only friends I really trust.

Harley punched the wall with his bony fist. His right arm throbbed, and his head felt like someone was using a jackhammer inside it.

Why doesn’t anyone else ever try to stop Dad from hurting Mom? Mark Jr. and Mike
never do. Neither do Sandy or Tina. Don’t they love Mom? Don’t they care how Dad hurts her?
They aren’t deaf or blind.

Harley turned on his bedside lamp, then covered his ears with his hands, trying not to hear Dad dragging Mom down the hall to their bedroom by her hair. He didn’t have to see it to know what would happen next. He wasn’t sure about Mark Jr. or Mike, but Sandy and Tina had both been born about nine months after Dad beat Mom up. Was Dad trying for another baby?

Why doesn’t she fight back? Why does she just take it? Why doesn’t she take us and
leave? Why does Dad always get that weird, murderous look on his face every time he sees me?

Harley checked the knob of his bedroom door. He knew it would be locked. He looked at himself in the mirror on the back of his bedroom door. Straight black hair, a little longer than collar-length. He stared into his grey eyes, way too big for his long, skinny face. His cheekbones stuck out too far. His square jaw looked like a cartoonist had changed his mind mid-draw. Why would Dani like someone who looks like me, he wondered. Why would anyone?

I don’t look anything like Dad, and not much like Mom, he thought. He never calls me a
bastard when she’s around, but a moron wouldn’t miss it when he’s always calling her a whore.

He looked at his upper arm. Bruise marks where powerful fingers had clamped around it
were beginning to form. He knew, by the way Dad looked at him, that only Mom kept Dad from
really hurting or maybe even killing him.

I wish I could tell Randy, Harley thought. But what could Randy do? How could he possibly understand? He comes from a normal family. He’d played board games and watched videos with them, even gotten to go on a family camping vacation with them. He’d gone to church on Sundays with them, a church where the people sang like they meant what they were singing about. We only go to Dad’s church at Christmas and Easter, Harley thought. Mom never goes.

Harley’s arm throbbed with pain as he pushed back the drapes to stare out the window.
He shivered again with the memory of that look on Dad’s face. One of these days, he’s going to kill me if I don’t leave. Or kill him first!

He couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Mom said it was too embarrassing. He had to talk to her, tomorrow, in private. He was the problem, the accident.

He never saw Mom’s family, except for Uncle Dave. He’d asked her once why they never saw her family. She suddenly remembered she was out of several ingredients for her chocolate chip cookies, and sent him to the store. He didn’t realize until much later that she’d avoided answering his question.

He paced the length of his room for awhile, then lay on his bed, his jeans still on. He
couldn’t find a comfortable position, and his head felt like it would split open and all the contents would leak out. Maybe, if he left, Dad would stop beating on her. If I can get Mom to tell me who my real dad is, I can go and live with him. Then maybe Dad will stop beating up on Mom. Even if she won’t tell me, I still gotta get out of here, Harley thought, before someone ends up dead. But where would he go?

* * * * * * * * * * *

Sunlight assaulted Mark and he winced, then knuckled the sleep from his eyes as he glanced at the obnoxiously blaring alarm clock. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and satup groggily. I need a shower and shave, he thought. I’ll have to make it quick. He stood and reached for his jeans, stealing a peak at JoAnn where she lay curled on her side, her back to him.

A lump formed in his throat, as brief images flashed through his memory. Swearing at her. Punching her. Harley coming out of his room to stop the fight. He wondered if he’d broken Harley’s arm, again. Mark hung his head and exhaled shakily. He would tell her how sorry he was. He’d buy her a bouquet.

It was the damn beer! And JoAnn, Mark thought, as he stepped into the shower. I love her so much! Why did she cheat on me? I was on the football team. I could have had any girl I
wanted. I ignored them all because JoAnn was the only girl for me. And I respected her, never
pushed her to go all the way. But she was unfaithful to me. Harley’s the proof!

I don’t want to hurt JoAnn. Or even Harley, either. She’s right. It isn’t his fault. He was an accident.

She’s never going to tell me who his dad was. Was he a one night stand, or more? Whoever he was, the bastard just used JoAnn to get what he wanted. Otherwise, they’d be with him now. If I ever find out who he is, I’ll kill the bastard!

With that came another realization, and it came with a jolt. If he didn’t lay off the beer,
he could accidentally kill JoAnn or Harley, or both of them! If even one of those things
happened, he’d lose everything!

* * * * * * * * * * *

“I’m sitting here! You sit there,” Sandy ordered.

Harley woke with a start and was assailed by the greasy, smoky aroma of bacon frying, and the bickering of his younger siblings. His stomach turned. His head was still pounding, and
his arm was throbbing painfully. He looked at his alarm clock. Time to get ready for school. He changed into clean clothes, wincing every time he had to move his arm. He tried the door of his room, and it opened with a protesting squeak. The smell of that bacon is gonna make me puke,
he thought. All I want’s a glass of juice, and not to have to look at anyone right now. I don’t want to end up punching something. Or someone. He narrowed his eyes as he headed for the cupboard for a juice glass.

“Harley, I need to talk to you,” Mom said quietly, from where she stood at the stove. It
must hurt her lips, her mouth to talk. He didn’t look up. He glanced at his watch.

“After school, ok? I’m late,” he mumbled and rushed around the table where his kid
brothers and sisters sat waiting to eat. As soon as he was off the porch, he ran as fast as he could from the house.

He was sweaty when he got to school, and thirsty. He hadn’t had any juice. He hadn’t taken time to grab a bag lunch that Mom had prepared for him. More than half an hour early, he was the only one around. He sat on a boulder in the park across the street from the school,
running his hand through his thick, sweaty hair. His head was pounding. His arm was killing him.
“Harley, I gotta tell you something,” Randy said later, before their first class.

Harley looked up from his locker. He had to tilt his head back some to meet Randy’s
eyes. Randy was five inches taller and about forty pounds heavier. Wavy blond hair, all-American good looks.

“You’re not going to like what I have to say.” Randy’s brown eyes shifted away. “Mom and Dad said I should tell you, that it would be better to hear it from a friend. . .” He trailed off. Other kids were opening and closing lockers nearby. Randy spoke so quietly Harley had to strain to hear what he’d said.

What now? Harley thought. “Just say it,” he said tensely, looking up at Randy.

Randy didn’t return the look. “M.J. and I went to a movie last night,” he said, hesitating.

A few moments passed. Finally, Randy said, “We saw Dani there, with Turk.”

It took a moment for that to sink in. Harley glanced back at Randy, the word “liar” on his lips. But why would Randy lie? Out of the corner of his eye, Harley saw the kids in the crowded hall
part down the middle. He turned to look just as Turk walked past, his head held high. Dani was hanging all over him. Turk’s football buddies walked along behind them.

Harley’s throat and chest felt tight. He nodded slowly, unable to speak. He slammed his