Esther and Star Ch. 02

It was a Monday in late November of my freshman year. My attraction to Esther, having been watching her in PE, was beginning to move from curiosity to interest. I was sitting in the cafeteria. I hadn't eaten, but my stomach felt heavy.

Heavy with fear. The night before, I had promised Star that I would beat up Mike Jackamanie and Bobby Jericho. They were seniors.

I promised Star that I would do it on Monday.

I promised Star that I would do during lunch where everyone could see.

I promised Star that I would, in her words, "destroy them."

I was scared shitless. Why the fuck would Star have picked me, a freshman?

Looking back, I think I understand. Star had tons of friends and was hugely popular in her class, but her friends were all girls. Boys didn't think of Star as a friend; they thought of her as the object of their surging sexual desire. There was no true allegiance there.

But, she had me, her brother.

I had grown about eight inches in the previous two years, and some of the juniors and seniors at school called me "Man-Child." I didn't look like a freshman. I hit my growth spurt about the same time I fell in love with weightlifting. It paid off. I was the first 9th grader to ever letter in varsity football at our school. I was big and fast, strong and quick.

Star also knew that, like her, I had an athlete's natural instinct for leverage and knowing how to control my body, getting it to do the things I wanted it to do. I could watch someone who'd spent weeks perfecting a skill on the trampoline, say, and in a few measly minutes, I could do it, myself.

I just could do things. I was never on the track team, but a friend of mine was—he pole vaulted. During my senior year, I sneaked down to give it a try. It looked pretty fucking cool. The coach was over talking to some of the hurdlers. My friend had a couple underclassmen set the bar at ten feet—a decent beginner's height. I'd watched people pole vault; it didn't seem that hard. My friend gave me a few final pointers.

On my first and only attempt, I cleared the bar by more than four feet. I almost could have stood on that bar. When I emerged from the landing pit with my hands in the air, screaming, one of the coaches ran me off the track. My friend guessed I might have cleared 14 or 14-6. Either of those would have gotten me into the state track meet. I wouldn't have placed or anything, but I would have been there.

So, I sound like I'm bragging, but it was the cold truth. I was a natural, gifted athlete.

I liked it that Star believed in me. My senior sister, I thought, believes her freshman brother can beat up two seniors—at once. Yeah, I was pretty proud.

But, in the lunchroom, on the day it was supposed to happen, I was terrified.

As a freshman and a dumbass, I was not asking an important question: why did Star want to hurt these guys? What had they ever done to her?

Didn't she hang out with a group of friends that included those two, Jackamanie and Jericho, from time to time?

All I knew was that Star didn't come to church with us on Sunday morning, and she didn't come out of her room all day. Mom said Star was sick. I left her alone.

After Sunday dinner—with Star absent—my parents went out to a movie. I was chilling on the couch when Star appeared.

She looked pale and miserable, but she didn't look or sound physically sick. She made her request, and then she made me swear to a bunch of promises.

The last two promises I had to make were, in retrospect, the most ominous. But, like I said, I was a dumbass.

She made me promise never to ask her why she wanted me to beat their asses.

Then, tears forming in her eyes, she made me promise never to even think about why she wanted me to do this.

So, I sat in the cafeteria, and I watched Jericho and Jackamanie finish their lunches. My mind raced.

I knew I needed to take them on one at a time. Didn't matter how good I was. Two 185 pound seniors versus one 165 pound freshman? I was a goner if it was two on one.

I knew I needed to do it fast. The lunch monitors and the duty officer would instantly break up fights. I'd seen it happen. You got about 30 seconds of fighting in before the adults broke through the crowd and started prying people apart and hauling them to the office.

I knew I needed to cheap shot one of them. That would be the only way to take them on one at a time and to do it fast.

But there was a problem. As soon as the senior boys saw one of their own get cheap-shotted by a freshman, they would scramble from their tables and come after me. Our school had that kind of class unity. Fair fights were another matter. Cheap shots? No. I'd be on the floor with ten seniors kicking on me in a matter of seconds.

Even worse, I'd fail Star, and I couldn't possibly do that. It was unthinkable. She was my big sister. She needed me to be her warrior. I fucking loved her.

So, the only way I could think of winning the fight was just not an option.

Jericho and Jackamanie, ever best of friends according to Star, got up from their table and picked up their trays.

It was now.

My guts turned over. My heart raced frantically. My body felt like a hunk a trembling lead-too heavy to move, too terrified to calm.

I'm sorry, Star. I can't do this. There's no way to win. I'll just get the shit beat out of me.

Fuck that. I stood up and walked around the table towards them.

For years, I didn't remember one strange part of that day. It's easy for me to explain it now, but if someone had asked me, after everything—after the whole shebang was all over—why I did this strange thing, there's no way I could have supplied a reasonable answer.

One of the tables I walked by—medium-sized circular ones for about eight people each—had just one person sitting at it: Esther.

I stopped beside her. She looked up at me, and I said. "This isn't what I want to do, but I promised someone." I felt her eyes follow me as I continued past her toward the dish room.

I saw Star out of my peripheral vision. She stood up from her table when she saw me. All by herself among hundreds of sitting kids, she rose. I glanced her way and nodded. She started walking towards me.

The dish room where Jackamanie and Jericho were headed had two doorways; both were always wedged completely open during lunch. You walked in from around a corner; you put your trash in the big roll-away bins, threw your silver in the soap and water-filled tubs, set your cups on the big cup holders, and slid your tray on the shelf. Then you walked through the propped-open exit door.

The exit led you right back into the cafeteria.

Jericho and Jackamanie turned the corner and walked in the dish room entrance. I stopped, dead center in front of the entire cafeteria at the doorway, blocking the exit. I watched them put away their shit.

My stomach fluttered. I tried to swallow, but there wasn't a drop of spit in me. I could, my almost-hysterical mind begged, let them go right by me when they finished. I could say, "Excuse me," and turn sideways, letting them slip by.

"Hey, Jackamanie! Jericho! Yeah, you dickheads!" I yelled.

The entire lunchroom fell silent.

The boys looked up at me, astonished.

Then, I said something so fucking stupid that it still embarrasses me to this day. "I am going to destroy you." I said it calmly; no need to yell, anymore. Everyone heard me.

I don't think anyone in the lunchroom thought I was serious. No one laughed, but who the fuck says, "I'm going to destroy you," except maybe a robot in a science fiction movie?

Jericho looked at me like I was playing a prank. Jackamanie, behind him, looked like he recognized the reality of my threat. That told me something, right there. I saw him nudge Jericho forward.

They walked towards me, Jericho shaking his head, smiling at my mock-threat. "Move, retard," he said.

I struck fast. I sunk at the hips and knees, curling myself into a position where I could explode forward. I drew my hands back to my chest, palms out. Then, I launched myself up and toward Jericho, shoving as hard as I could. He went airborne into Jackamanie, and they both crashed to the ground.

The lunchroom erupted, first with an enormous "oh!" and then with screams and cheers. I felt bodies forming a semi-circle around me as I waited just beyond the threshold of the exit.

Jericho got up first, pissed. He stepped to me and threw a massive, sweeping hook toward my left eye. I ducked it.

And his fist landed against the steel jamb surrounding the exit. I heard meat and bone crunch.

Jericho screamed. He cupped his crippled right hand in his left. He was done.

Still, I shot my left fist directly into his gut and immediately followed it with a lightning-fast right uppercut. My knuckles connected with his jaw. His head rocked back, and he fell on his ass, unconscious the whole way. The back of his head bounced off the tile floor.

Jackamanie watched the whole thing. He was pissing himself; I saw it in his eyes. They darted left and right, seeing the crowd behind me. Then, his eyes fell on me. He knew there was no way out of this fight without looking like a coward.

I remained in the doorway, screaming, "Come on, you fuck!"

He charged me. He lowered his body and sprinted at me as if to tackle my legs. He wanted to put me on my back and pummel my face.

But, I was just past the threshold of the doorway, so he had only one direction to go. And when he closed with the exit, I stepped to my left, cocked my knee backward, and then hurled it into his face as he passed through the narrow gap.

He skidded on the ground leaving a trail of blood behind him.

The crowd was no longer cheering the fight; they were shocked into silence by the massacre. I leaped on top of Jackamanie, turned him over, and kneed him in the nuts. "This is for Star, you fucking cocksucker!"

I punched him in the nose four times before about six people—none of them adults—yanked me off him.

Yep, my fight in the cafeteria with two seniors was such butchery that the students, themselves, stopped it. They didn't even wait for the teachers.

It was the doorway that made it work for me. I didn't know I was channeling them into a narrow gap, evening the odds. I didn't think of it that way. I just felt like it was the best place for me to be. It was.

The school's duty officer broke through the crowd and seized me. I listened to the arrival of ambulances behind the locked door of the vice-principal's office. She didn't say a word to me. Neither did the officer. The school nurse made sure I was unhurt. Another cop arrived; he read me my rights and placed me in handcuffs. The administrative staff watched wordlessly as the officer marched me out of the building.

I spent a few hours in a holding cell at the precinct before being escorted to an interview room where a slew of officers and school administrators came and went, each demanding to know what started it, why I did it, and so on.

I never said a word to any of them. My parents sent an attorney over. I didn't tell him anything, either, except that I wanted to plead guilty.

I remained incarcerated for two days before my arraignment. There was some argument about my status before the judge re-assigned the case to a juvenile court.

So, I went to a juvenile holding cell, spending another night there before my new arraignment. I pled guilty. The judge verified my plea on the spot, asking all kinds of questions—including why I did it, but I didn't give him what he wanted there—and sentenced me to sixty days.

I didn't kill anybody, but I definitely destroyed them. At the hearing, I learned that Jericho has a dislocated jaw, a concussion, and broke three bones in his hand. Jackamanie had a broken face—the formen and the orbital, I think is what the prosecutor said. I shattered his nose; he had to have reconstructive surgery.

Mom, Dad, and Star visited me each week, but we didn't say much to one another. Apparently, Jericho's and Jackamanie's parents initially threatened to sue our family, but for whatever reason, they backed off and sued the school district, instead.

Juvie is one fucked up place. I absolutely hated it, but my case was re-evaluated in mid-December, and they sent me home on Christmas Day.

Star was a wreck at home, crying and hugging me, apologizing and crying some more. Mostly she thanked me.

My parents were helpless with confusion and disappointment, and when they weren't confused, they were pissed. They wanted to know why I did it. I told them I would never say, but that it had to happen. My parents enrolled me in a military school about sixty miles from our home.

On the day before I was set to leave, my father walked into my bedroom and told me I could go back to the public high school.

I thanked him, apologized for the hundredth time, and asked him what changed his mind.

He just said, "Star," and walked out.

***

Star.

You fucking whore cunt.

She led Esther out of the bedroom after they had gotten dressed. I listened from the door into Star's bedroom as they drank more wine and ate more cheese in the kitchen. They may have been talking about me, talking about how to make our sex better. I didn't give a fuck; all I was waiting for was for Esther to go to the bathroom.

Because I knew Star would come back into her room and urge me to leave and come back in a few minutes, as if I'd always been gone.

I knew Star would be virtually alone for a minute or two.

I knew I would end her fucking life when she walked back into her bedroom.

I waited, and my body felt ready, poised for a massive eruption of physical violence.

I waited until I heard the words. Esther said, "Hold that thought? I have got to go to the bathroom."

I stood a few feet inside and to the left of her door and took three deep breaths.

I'll always remember how Star walked into that room. Her face was bright—she couldn't hide her joy—but her words, when she saw me, were apologetic.

She got out about four of them. She saw me, turned, and said, "I am so sorry, bu..."

I clutched her jaw, lifted her off the ground, and pinned her body against the wall. My left fist was poised behind my head, awaiting a trigger.

"That was my fucking wife you just fucked, you fucking cunt slut. My fucking wife!"

Star's eyes went wild with terror. She had anticipated that I might be upset. She did not expect murderous fury. Her hands flailed around my head. Her legs kicked at me. She couldn't breathe, and I thought, yes, I'll choke her to death.

"Is this your final little fucking trick? Making me look like a fucking cocksucker in front of my wife? Is this how you treat the brother that covered your ass in front of Mom, Dad, the school board, the judge, and the fucking cops by sucking it up, keeping my mouth shut, and going to fucking juvie for forty days? Is it?"

My arm was tiring. I held Star about two feet off the ground, against the wall, with one hand. She slid down a few inches, and something behind her tore.

I glanced up. It was her rainbow unicorn poster.

When I saw it, everything drained from me. I let her down, releasing my grip. Star instantly crumbled to the carpet, clutching her throat, gasping, and sobbing.

I walked out of the apartment.

The unicorn poster saved her life. Mine, too, really.

***

Esther had not seen me. It was sometime after 9:00 pm when I left, and my first instinct was to run.

I raced down the back stairwell, avoiding the elevator. I dashed through the lobby and out the front doors, and I ran down the street toward the Longwood Medical Area. I turned up Brookline Ave., heading in the direction of Fenway Park, never slowing down.

I stopped at the Landmark Center movie plex. I went inside and bought a ticket to a film that had already started. I sat down in the theater and thought frantically about my next decision.

To this day, I have no idea what film was showing. I wasn't watching. Sometimes, I wonder if, scrolling through the channels on tv one day, I might accidentally come across it. A bit of music or dialogue might jar a memory, and then I would be flooded with those feelings again—panic, shame, and fear.

Sitting in that theater, I felt a love for Star that went beyond anything I'd ever known. The act of almost murdering her reminded me of how much I cared about her. What if I had seen it through to the end? Fuck me. My heart pounded in my chest at the thought. I hate to admit it, but tears streamed down my face in that darkness.

Sitting in that theater, I realized how I—and maybe countless others, maybe all mankind—was lucky not to be a killer. It was a freak accident—tearing her poster—that stopped me from committing murder.

And, I knew, it would not have just been one killing. It would have been one of those pathetic local news headlines people see all the time anymore: Murder-Suicide, only mine would have been a double.

I nodded, staring at the back of the seat in front of me, at the truth of it. If I had strangled Star to death, Esther would have heard it, heard something, come into that bedroom and seen it all. She would have collapsed on the floor, screaming and covering her mouth. Then, guilt would have driven me to seize her, too.

It would have.

I could not have let her live in sadness, knowing that she'd married a murderer, knowing how weak I really was. I would have strangled Esther. Afterwards, I might have run away from it all, but sooner or later, the guilt would have caught up with me, and I would have killed myself. I knew it in my heart.

It was my near-miss with death—not just death, but the fucking devil. That was my near-miss with the Prince of Darkness, himself. I looked him in the eyes, and he showed me that I was looking in a mirror. The hair on my neck suddenly felt electrified, and my arms prickled with goosebumps. I was shaking.

My phone chimed in my pocket, and the couple to my left glanced over at me.

Funny how embarrassment can awaken you and pull you out from even the most terrifying pit. I mouthed "sorry" to them, reaching into my pocket and pulling it out. I flipped the silence switch without looking at it.

It was probably Star, telling me she'd called the police. Or, it was Esther, calling to let me know that I should never come back.

What the fuck was I going to do now?

When I had Star against the wall, every neuron in my brain was screaming to kill her. Surely, she'd seen it in my eyes, felt the uncontrolled rage in my grip. Star had to have known that I was going to kill her.

How do you apologize for that? "I'm sorry that I tried to kill you, Star." Yeah, no. Things could never be the same again between her and me.

And Esther? She had to know by now that something horrific went down. Star was so fucking sensitive. There'd be no way for her to hide it. Hell, it was Star's overflowing sympathy that—what, two hours earlier?—had led her to give me, her poor, sex-suffering brother, some relief by stroking my cock into her bathroom sink. That depth of feeling would surely show. No, Esther knew.

And Esther would be crushed with guilt. She had drank wine, let her sister-in-law seduce her and perform oral sex on her, and she'd enjoyed it.

I had just annihilated everything good in my life. I made a decision, right there.

I walked out of the theater before the film ended, thinking that I was going to kill myself. It actually sounded kind of nice, to be honest. I hadn't formed a plan, yet. But, I thought, I can do this; it'll be easy.

Then, Star saved my life.

My phone buzzed. It had been buzzing for some time, and, knowing what I was prepared to do, I figured I didn't mind looking anymore.

I missed one call from Esther and three from Star. Three? I expected one—one with a voicemail saying fuck off and good-bye. But, I didn't have any voicemails.