These were words Dad lived by.
This was also a philosophy that meant him living in Carnal with what had been going on for as long as it had been going on had made his life a living hell.
He’d lodged formal complaints (twelve of them) against the Carnal Police Department. He’d also encouraged others to do the same, blatantly and with intent, even going so far as to go to their house and have a chat (or chats, plural, if need be) if he heard something not right had gone down. He’d also visited Mick Shaughnessy, the head honcho of the Police Force in Gnaw Bone and a buddy of my Dad’s, about how he could intervene and he did this more than once (in fact, five times that I knew). He’d further told Arnold Fuller, the dirty cop ringleader, the police Captain then the Chief of Police, and now a dead man (literally), exactly what he thought of him on more than one occasion both publicly and privately.
As well as all this, even though everyone agreed, Dad was one of few who speculated openly and widely (in other words, to all who would listen, including Mick Shaughnessy) about the fact that Ty Walker was extradited to stand trial and then went down for a crime my father was certain (and he was right) Ty didn’t commit.
And last, my Dad had been pulled over and had more tickets than any other citizen in town and once had been arrested for drunk and disorderly when he was neither. And all this happened because he did all of the above.
Every single ticket, as well as the arrest, he fought loudly, boisterously but not always successfully.
But he never gave up.
And I knew, looking at that boy, wrong was being done to him. I also knew, with his eye swollen shut, I had to stop doing the little I was doing, letting him get away with stealing books (essentially) and I had to start doing something more.
I searched the immediate area, noted no patrons were close to approaching the check out desk and I skirted it to move out into the library. Cautiously and quietly, I moved up the steps then, like a super-sleuth, feeling more than a little idiotic, I rounded the shelves and stopped. Hiding my body, I peeked just my head around the side to check the aisle to see if he was there.
I found him three rows in.
I pulled my head back, pressed my back into the side of the shelf and took a deep breath.
Then I peeked just my head around again and called softly, “Please don’t run. You aren’t in trouble.”
He was squatting to the bottom shelf, a book in his hand and his head snapped around and up.
It was then I saw the full extent of damage to his face.
Not only a black eye, swollen shut, and a bruised cheekbone but a swollen, painful looking nose and a gash on his lip that glistened, not because it had been treated with ointment but because it was gaping and exposing flesh.
My stomach clutched, my frame froze and my throat closed. He dropped the book, shot up straight and dashed down the aisle the opposite direction from me.
At his movements, I came unstuck, quickly turned on my boot and raced down my side, clearing the shelves and seeing him darting down the stairs. No, jumping down them three steps at a time, taking him down in two big jumps that made my heart jump with him because I feared he’d harm himself.
“Please! Stop! You’re not in trouble!” I shouted. “Promise!” I kept shouting as I ran down the steps after him. “I just want to talk!”
Out the door he went and out the door I went after him, down the sidewalk to town.
The pavements were cleared, my boots had low heels and I belonged to McLeod’s Gym. I didn’t do those boot camps they had at McLeod’s because they weren’t at times I could attend (not to mention, I’d heard about them and they scared me). But I did go four times a week to spend half an hour on the Stairmaster, treadmill or rowing machine.
“A body takes care of itself or a body finds they don’t have a body no more.”
This was more of Dad’s wisdom. So I took care of mine.
This meant, I might not be ready to attempt my first Iron Man, but I wasn’t in bad shape.
Even with all this going for me, I was no match for the boy. He sprinted three blocks gaining more and more, darted around the corner into town and by the time I darted around it after him, he’d disappeared.
I stood there, breathing slightly heavy, my gaze scanning the area to find any trace of him but he was gone.
“Darn,” I whispered, hoping I didn’t scare him into never coming back at the same time knowing that was not all I should do.
He was nine or ten and regularly beaten by someone. Bullies or, God, I hoped not, family. I knew it. And I had to do something about it.
I stood in the cold without a coat, my breaths coming out in visible puffs, my mind sifting through my possible next steps.
First, I had to get back to the library. I was the only one on which meant there was no one there except patrons.