memories of blood smoke and steel

“Bo?!”
“What..?”
“This has to be the thousandth time I've called you…”
“Uhh, sorry, I was spacing out.”
Sho stepped onto the cushions and sat on his heels in front of me.
“Is something the matter? You seem worried…”
“Nothing special, really. I'm just tired.”
“Bo… it's not like we just met yesterday, I can tell when something's eating you..."
 He was right. We had known each other for a long time.
It was the day of my sixteenth birthday...

My grandmother was preparing coffee for me.
“Boris, did your father call?”
The question annoyed me, but I was not allowed to upset grandmother.
“No” I replied keeping cool.

I was used to that; those questions always were an introduction to something.

My grandmother raised me.
Since my father left us, my mother and I had returned to my grandparents’ house. The house had two floors, so we had an apartment of our own.
My mom took up studies at a local school for nurses and I passed all my time with my grandmother, drinking the poison of her love and authority.

“I thought as much. What a bastard. He never took care of you; he never even cared to keep in touch!”
“I don’t care.” I lied.
I knew she was going to get into the usual pattern.
“But it’s better like this. He would have ruined you and your mother, anyway.”
“Grandmother, could we avoid talking about him today?”
She looked at me with an expression that was a mix between disappointment and pity, and voiced a cold “As you wish.”

I could tell you all the words that would have come had I not stopped her; I could recite them one by one. To make a long story short, my father was insane; passing from one woman to another; a man who was unable to keep his dick in his pants. My grandparents had welcomed him like the son they didn’t have, and in return, he didn’t do anything but disappoint them.
He was a junkie and they always had to take him out troubles.
She would say, “Your grandfather still can’t get over the time when he found him in overdose, shaking, foaming at the mouth”.
My stomach contracted. Why did she insist on telling me all of these things about him? I was doing my best trying to forget about him so that the wound would heal, but she just kept slicing it open again.

That evening, my mother came home with a present for me: a new leather jacket. Just the one I wanted.
“Thanks mom! This is cool!” I wore it, putting on a show for her, “Hey baby, you doin' anything this evening? Wanna go for a ride?”
She laughed. She is so nice when she laughs.
“Actually, Bo, there is something I need to tell you…”
I stopped the scene and leaned against the wall “What is it…?”
“I want to introduce you to someone."
I saw it coming. My mom never remarried, and I knew that she had been seeing people in times passed, but none of them ever came over.
“I see. It’s alright!” I said hugging her “You don’t have to worry.”

The day after, she told me that Marc - that was his name - would be coming over for dinner.

When he came in he shook my hand strongly and said, talking to my mom, “So this is your son, you didn’t mention he was such a grown up handsome guy. Nice to meet you, kid.”
I am not a fucking kid.
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
“No please, call me Marc; we’re probably going to be seeing a lot of each other from now on.”
I can still remember the sensation I had at his touch. His hand was cold and humid, lascivious as much as his eyes were.
Something was not right. I felt it and I felt that there was nothing I could do or say to avoid him.

The months passed and he moved in with us.
He immediately began laying down rules and changing our way of living. He pushed me aside and did all in his power to convince my mother that I was a punk.

I was out. She didn’t want to be alone again and she believed him.
I began getting punished for anything I did which didn’t match his plans.

In that period, my mother got her diploma and she began working as a nurse in the city hospital. She wanted to earn as much as she could in order to buy a house and stand on her own two feet. She didn’t want to depend on her parents, nor on Marc.

To raise her income, she asked to be assigned to the night shifts.

While she was at work, I was home, with Marc.

Since our relationship was not ideal, I tried to stay away from him, and when my mom was working in the night, I went to sleep at my grandparents'.
Not that night.

When mom left I took my backpack and I sneaked to the door, but I found it closed.
I grabbed the doorknob with both hands and pulled it.

“You're out of time.”

Marc stood beside me, holding the key with two fingers, swinging it in front of my face.

I didn’t want to get into a fight with him. That would have just been a new chance for him to make me a criminal in the eyes of my mother.
I dropped my head, moving to go back to my room.

He took me by my shoulders and he pressed me to the wall.

His face was far too close. “Leave me…” I said, trying not to shout
Keeping me pinned with one arm, he squeezed my face in his opposing hand, and putting his mouth on mine he pushed his tongue in, looking for mine.

I tried to shout, but he slapped me. He pulled me up, took me into my room and threw me on the bed.

“For the next two hours you are not going to make a sound, little bitch, or I am ruining you” his hand was pushing on my mouth and nose. I was suffocating and convulsing, trying to free myself.

He beat me down, my nose was bleeding. He made with his finger a sign to tell me to shut up.

I began crying silently while he had his way with me.
That was the first time, but not the last one.

The day after, I got out early and I skipped school.

I didn’t feel like seeing anyone. I wanted to avoid questions about the marks on my face and I felt like I wanted to do something rebellious.

I got to some weed and I walked to the barely-populated place out of town.

Among the woods there was an old house. Nobody occupied it, and I would go there for a smoke from time to time.

I opened the door and headed to the back of the house, where I sat on the porch.

I lit my blunt and inhaled deeply. The smell of weed surrounded me. I lied on the bank and kept on smoking, eyes closed, enjoying the moment.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?”, queried a voice as I sat bolt upright.
In front of me there was a guy who could be my age; from under a fall of honey blond hair I could see his grey eyes, his expression didn’t show any emotion.

I suddenly felt rage possessing me; my fist flew but before I could reach him a blade was grazing my neck.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
I dropped my hand.
“Go ahead and kill me. It's not like things can get any worse.”
“That would make me a murderer. I don't want that, so don't give me a reason.”
“Whatever…”

He put his knife away and sat on the bench “Sho… my name is Sho.”
“Boris.”
I picked up from the ground what remained of my smoke and I stepped to the door.
He took my arm
“I don’t know what makes you gravitate towards death like that, but remember this: It takes true courage to keep on living.”
I dropped my head.
“I’ll remember it.”

I left and, since school was already over, I went back home.

My mother was waiting for me, sitting at the kitchen table, hear head in her hands. They had called from school to ask about my absence.

“Can I have an explanation?” she asked, calmly.
My mother had always been like that, caring and understanding.
I didn’t reply.

“I don’t know what to do with you Bo… we give you all you need. Why do you insist behaving like some lowly punk?”
Hearing the word “we” caused something to snap.
I slammed my hands on the table.
“Why have you become so blind? Don’t you see what he is trying to do to us?”

“Why in the world are you blaming Marc for your behavior?” she said slightly raising her voice.

“Because that’s how it is! He's a liar!.”

“Mind your mouth, Bo! You know that he does a lot for us!”
“He's manipulating you! Why can't you see it?”
“That's enough…I thought I knew you. I was wrong. Go to your room, you’re grounded, and tomorrow I'm going to take you to school myself.”

“But, you’re wrong…I didn’t do anything wrong…”
“I can see it written all over your face,” she said with her eyes fixed on me, “should I expect a visit of the cops?”

I felt the tears burning in my eyes; I lost control.

“What did he do to you!? Is it just for a fuck!? You could have asked for it before going to fetch that asshole!”

My mother stood up, neared me and slapped me across the face.

“Go to your room, Boris. Now!”

I ran away.
I couldn't take staying in that house a second longer.
I grabbed a bag and threw some of my things in it. I put my jacket on and sneaked to the door.

“Boris! Where are you going? Come back, Bo!”
I heard her shouting.

I ran out and without realizing it, I headed to the old house in the rural place outside of town.

It was dark when I arrived.

The house was not illuminated.

When I neared the door I saw someone sitting under the front porch. It was Sho.

“Hi” I said, standing where I was.
“What brings you here? Still in a suicidal mood?”
“Screw you. I'm outta here.” I barked, turning away
He ran to me and grabbed me from my arm.
“Hey, I didn't mean anything by it. Do you need help?”

“I… I don’t know...”
I felt like I'd just been shot in the chest. I was crying, my body shaking as I fell to my knees.
He came over close to me and put a hand on my shoulder.
“Are you ok?”
“I ran away. I don't have anywhere to stay. ...Is it alright if I stay here? I'll be gone by first light.” I asked with trembling voice.
He didn’t answer. He helped me stand, and we entered the house.
“I'll go get you something to drink. Just wait here…” he showed me a mountain of cushions filling the corner of the room. I put my bag on the ground and sat.

After a few minutes he came back holding a cup, the scent of the tea filled the room.

He crawled on the pillows and sat on his heels.
“Here, drink this, it'll do you good.”

I took a sip and, suddenly, the tiredness from the night's ordeal caught up with me.

I looked at him sitting there, hands closed in a fist on his legs, his head down his eyes closed.
“Are you some kind of Samurai or something?”
He threw me a stern glance, “You should get some rest.” he said.
He went away and returned after a while with a blanket. I looked at him, hoping that my eyes would tell him my thoughts without having to utter them as words. “It’s alright,” he said, “sleep now.”
As far as I can recall, I fell asleep immediately, and the face of Marcus haunted my nightmares. I woke up, gasping for breath. Sho was looking at me. He was sitting, leaning against the wall, legs crossed, arms folded.
“Wanna talk about it?”
The shallow light filtering in through the broken blind told me that it was dawn.
“...I need a smoke.” We went to sit under the back porch and, almost without realizing, I began talking to him. It was as if I'd known him once before, from a long time ago.
He listened to me without commenting, or even changing his expression.
“So, what are you going to do now?” he asked me.
“I don’t know…”
He stared at the ground, pensive. It was true, too. I didn't have the faintest idea.
“I think you should go back home until you have a plan.”
I knew he was right, but the idea of seeing that jerk again really didn't excite me.
“Listen,” he continued, “I know you love your mother… why don't you try to talk to her again? If it’s not working…you…” he hesitated “...you can always come back here.” he concluded, staring at the ground.
I can still remember the gratitude I felt for that guy who gave me so much help without knowing me, without asking for anything in return.

I came back home that day, made it up to my mother, but the situation didn’t change.
I kept on living there and he kept on abusing me at his will.
But every time I felt that I was sinking, every time I felt like doing something really wrong, I could go to Sho. He would always listen to me, helping me understand what I really wanted to do, without telling me what was right or wrong.
“So,” Sho came lie next to me on the cushions, “wanna talk about it?” he made me smile.
In all the years that we were together he didn’t change of a bit, always cool and understanding.
After many years he was still the one helping me to stay on my path.

“I'm just tired, don't sweat it.”

I put a hand behind his neck, pulled him towards me and kissed him.

“Mmmmh,” he moaned, “I like it when you're tired.”

I smirked, “How about you make me use some energy, then?”
It was almost dawn and a sunbeam filtered in through the broken blind, obscuring my vision.
I pulled myself up and pushed him down on the cushions.

“We should fix that blind, you know.” I said, grazing his cheeks with my lips

“Mhmh,” he said languidly, letting himself be undressed, “later… I’ll… do it while you’re sleeping…”

You know what? We still have to fix that…