Rocks and Feathers

Craig Manning groaned as the piercing sound of his alarm ruthlessly went off. He unwillingly rolled himself over, in twisted sheets, with his arm outstretched, blindly searching for the button to end the whining siren.

“Craigger!” His father yelled cheerily from outside his locked door. “It’s time to get up, sleepyhead!”

Craig lifted himself off his bed, and pulled on clothes that he grabbed from the floor of his room drowsily.

He had no desire to get up on a summer weekend to help his father ‘clean the house’ and ‘fix the car’. He didn’t understand why his father couldn’t let Joey Jeremiah, his mom’s new husband take a look at it. Sure Joey was a used car salesman, but he also fixed the cars too.

“Aw, dad!” Craig complained effortlessly.

“Craig!” Albert Manning warned, pounding once on the door before Craig took a deep breath and opened it.

His father stared down at him for a moment. His eyes behind his small lenses were overflowing with false adoration and contentment.

But Craig knew what was behind them. Even then at that frail age of seven. What was behind those haunting brown eyes was anger and grief. Anger and grief that caused people to do many terrible things.

Craig followed his father down the wooden stairs into the kitchen.

“I’ve made us a hardy breakfast so we can be strong enough to finish everything today without breaks.” Mr. Manning declared lightly, a fake smile lingering on his lips.

Craig sat down quietly, careful not to make any stupid comments. He eyed the fresh bacon, and hard-boiled eggs with an angry stomach. His father knew he didn’t care for those foods. A bowl a fruit sat on the table beside two glasses of orange juice, and two glasses of milk. Yuck again. Finally, he spotted the waffles with strawberries decorating it beautifully. And the toaster strudel.

Smiling sincerely, Craig greedily stuffed the food into his mouth, not caring that his father was laughing at him.

After breakfast, Albert gave Craig a list of chores to complete around the house.

Craig looked at the long list in horror. “These are the things you do for spring cleaning. Not child labor.”

His father hadn’t caught all of his son’s words, but had caught enough to stare at his son quizzically.

“What did you say, boy?”

“Nothing.” Craig insisted, his grayish brown eyes growing wild with fear.

Ignoring his son’s protest, Albert Manning stormed towards him. He grabbed Craig’s left arm roughly, shaking the small boy violently.

“Don’t lie to me!” He hissed. “What did you say?”

“All I said-was t-that we should have done all this in t-the s-s-spring. Why now?” Craig stuttered fearfully.

Albert released his grip on Craig, giving him a smile. “Oh.”

The rest of the day was a blur for Craig. He cleaned windows, mopped floors. He felt like a male Cinderella. He was partially glad when his father told him it was time to fix the engine in the car.

“Okay, Craig.” His father said as he stood under the front cover of the car, inspecting parts. “You sit in the driver’s seat there with the keys. Okay, now put them in the ignition. Good. Now, when I said ready I want to turn the keys. Then we’ll see if the car starts.”

Craig could only nod as his fingers itched to twist the key and put the vehicle into motion. Just for fun, he placed his left foot on the gas pedal, and pushed the stick into reverse.

“Ready, Craigger.”

Craig heard, but was so busy wrapped up in his own world, that he didn’t realize he still had his foot pressed on the gas pedal until after he started the car and was speeding out of their long driveway backwards.

“Craig!”

He heard his father shriek frantically, anger seeping out of the deep voice.

Craig lifted his foot of the gas pedal in shock, and slammed the brakes.

He didn’t have time to wobble out of the car, for his father dragged him out, and smashed him up against the outside of the automobile.

Still half-dazed, Craig stared at his father wearily.

“What in God’s name do you think you were doing?”

The young boy screamed in pain as a rare sting engulfed the right side of his face.

“Daddy.” He sobbed helplessly. “Daddy, I didn’t mean to, daddy. Honest, I didn’t” –

He received another hit in his stomach, and he doubled over in pain.

“Get inside, Craig!” Albert screamed, infuriated. “Now!”

Craig obeyed hastily, dashing up to his room and locking his door.

Rugged sobs escaped from him as he knelt in a corner against his bed.

Stop crying you lowlife, worthless pest. He yelled at himself silently. Stop crying! Daddy would kill you if he saw you crying. Men don’t cry. Ever. No matter what. Mommy would be heartbroken if she saw you cry. You can’t upset her you conniving brat. She’s so happy now, with Joey. I can’t be a burden to their new life together. She’s just so happy now; I can’t giver a reason to feel bad. Not after what daddy did to her. She can’t know that he beats me too, now. She can’t know. Ever. I love her too much to hurt her. I won’t hurt her.

However, despite Craig’s attempts to order himself not to weep, tears tumbled defiantly down his cheeks.

Two years later

Nine-year-old Craig gazed at his new half-sister in wonder. A tuft of gleaming dark hair had already started to grow on her head. Her almost-black eyes looked at him intently as he rocked her in his arms. She did not cry once.

Julia and Joey Jeremiah admired the scene they watched together of Craig holding their baby in his arms, and humming to her lovingly. His eyes had been aglow with something peculiar and consoling ever since he had found out his mother was pregnant again. They only lit up even more when he actually saw his new sister. They had christened her Angela Jules Jeremiah.

It was nearing the end of spring, and Craig had just finished his fourth grade year, and was staying with his mother and sister for the summer on his mother’s demand. Albert had been extremely angry when Craig had agreed to spend summer there. After all, he was the one that had full custody of his child. However, Craig’s mother did have certain rights.

“Look up and smile for the camera, Craig.” Julia told her son gently.

A wide grin crossed the boys face as he looked up, holding Angela in a way where her facial expression was caught forever as well. It was easy to tell how Craig venerated her already.

Slowly and not yet willing to let go, Craig handed Angela over to her father. Joey smiled at his stepson, aware of his strong feelings.

Craig grabbed his own camera from his duffel bag, and began to shoot pictures of the perfect family the rest of the evening.

Dinner was quiet, for Angela was now asleep. He, and Julia, and Joey all ate in something close to complete silence.

“So, sweetheart.” Julia spoke to Craig warmly.

Craig was almost startled by the sincere tenderness and laughter her voice held. It was so unlike his father. It wasn’t forged. It wasn’t irate.

“Yes, mum?” Craig answered practically mechanically, due to his fierce way of living.

“What do you think of dear Angela?”

“Oh, mom!” Craig whispered with fascination. “I think she’s the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen.”

Joey seemed pleased with this, and Julia laughed with joyous relief.

“I love her, mom.”

Both adults noticed the slightly pained expression that crossed Craig’s face, and the mild curiosity that rang in his confession.

“Honey.” Julia started, but Joey eyed her meaningfully, and she said no more.

“Craig, how are you and you’re dad getting along?” He questioned unexpectedly.

The married couple noticed Craig stiffen in his chair. “Great. Really.”

Joey narrowed his eyes, waiting for Craig to glance at him. When Craig did he said, “So, you’re both doing well. No problems whatsoever.”

Julia believed her pitiable son when he nodded in agreement, but Joey was able to catch the panicked look in the child’s eyes.

Unfortunately, that particular subject was something that they never dwelled on again.

Four years later

“Why the hell are you calling my son, Joey?” Albert Manning demanded into the receiver.

Craig froze at the kitchen table where he was obediently working on his homework.

“No.” Mr. Manning growled. “I will not allow you to speak to him...What the hell...No!...”

Craig dropped his pencil and focused on his father’s exasperated words.

Then he heard his father gasp in horror.

“Liar! That can’t possibly be true...I will not permit that. Craig and I are not going. I WILL NOT HAVE HIM GO!”

Mr. Manning cut off the conversation by hurling the cordless phone into the wall furiously.

“Dad.” Craig spoke cautiously.

Albert walked towards his son, his eyes glittering with unleashed fury.

“You demon.” He spat at Craig, pushing his only child off the chair and to the floor. “You bring her back!”

Utterly confused, Craig began to protest, but was interrupted with a burning sensation on the top of his head.

Craig flailed his arms helplessly as his father pulled him off the ground by his unruly hair.

“Let...go.” He pleaded.

“Bring her back you conniving little fiend!” Albert demanded loudly, pushing his son toward the stove.

He let go of Craig’s dark, curly hair and gripped his wrist.

“Dad.” Craig gasped in dismay as he watched his father turn the gas stove on, and force Craig’s trembling hand onto the tiny fire under.

Craig yelped in pain and anguish as he tried desperately to pull his hand away. But Albert gripped it over the scorching flame.

Only when Craig could no longer feel the white-hot pain he had been feeling a second ago did his father release him, ordering him to go to his room.

Tears were swelled in Craig’s poignant eyes, as he searched his father face for any sign of remorse. He found none.

“Dad, if you could just tell me. What’s wrong? What was Joey talking to you about?” Craig whispered uncertainly, cradling his cold unfeeling hand.

“You killed her!” Albert snapped, advancing on his son once more. “If you hadn’t encouraged her to leave me she’d be here right now, safe from harm. How could you? You killed your own mother. She was shot during a hold-up at the drugstore because her daughter Angela needed some stupid medicine for her mediocre cold. Nothing a good smack in the head can’t fix. This is all your fault, you ungrateful little monster!”

Craig stumbled backwards, tripping up the steps. In fear and consternation he locked the door and huddled in that corner of the room against his bed, unwelcome tears descending his flushed cheeks from his troubled eyes. His mother was dead. Dead. And somehow, his father blamed him for her death.

How could he? Craig thought feebly.

Thirteen-year-old Craig knew now exactly what his father had refused to do while on the phone with the newly widowed Joey Jeremiah. His father wasn’t going to let him go to the funeral. It was his own mother’s funeral!

How could his father be so accusing, so unsympathetic, so heartless?