Playing by Ear (Country Roads #1) - Chapter 1

(Rewrite 4/26/2023)

“Baby, wake up. Come on, you’re starting school today.”

I groaned as my dream vanished, the grand mansion replaced by the fake wood-paneled walls of our cramped trailer.

“I was having such a good dream,” I grumbled, rolling over and trying to bury my head under the pillow.

“I know, sweetheart, but you don’t wanna be late for your first day, and I gotta get to work. C’mon, I made you eggs,” she said with a warm smile.

“Mmph,” I mumbled in protest, as her weight lifted off the edge of the bed where she’d been sitting next to me

She flipped the light switch on her way out, the harsh light bright, even against my closed eyelids.

I lay there for a moment, wishing I could drift back into my dream world. But I knew Mom would be back, and I didn’t want to skip breakfast. We couldn’t afford to waste food, and I didn’t want her to be late for work.

Blinking against the light, I heaved myself out of bed, my feet hitting the rough carpet. I fumbled through getting dressed and brushing my teeth before shuffling into the tiny kitchen, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

Mom was at the table, nursing a cup of coffee next to a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and milk she’d set for me.

“Just coffee for breakfast?” I asked.

“You know me; I’m not really a breakfast person. I just need to have my coffee,” she replied.

“What about your lunch?”

“I’ll grab something from the cafeteria,” she said, dismissing my concern.

“Don’t do that,” I insisted, trying to give her a stern look.

“Charlie, you focus on school, and let me handle the grown-up stuff. You may be the man of the house now, but I’m still your mother.”

“Mom, things are different. We’re not living off scraps from bars anymore, and Dad’s not here to steal groceries,” I argued.

“Don’t talk about your father like that,” she scolded.

“It’s true. I heard Uncle Tony say it once.”

“That man isn’t your uncle Charlie, and gossip doesn’t help anyone. Your dad did what he had to do for us,” she sighed.

“By drinking every dollar he made?” I muttered under my breath, knowing she heard me.

She let it pass.

“Baby, I promise I’ll take care of myself. Okay?”

“Fine. I just worry about you.”

“And I worry you won’t finish your breakfast and catch the bus. Hurry up,” she chided.

I rolled my eyes but scarfed down the rest of my eggs. Glancing at the stove clock, I realized she was right. Grabbing my backpack, oddly light because I hadn’t received any of my school books yet, I headed for the door.

“Bye, Mom. Have a good day at work,” I said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

“Have a great day at school, sweetheart. Make lots of friends,” she called after me.

I waved goodbye as I pushed through the screen door of our trailer and hopped down the worn wooden steps. Our trailer was tucked away in the farthest corner of Oakdale Estates, a pretentious name for the single loop that made up the aging little trailer park. We’d only moved in a few months ago, and most of our neighbors were either young adults starting out or older folks living on a fixed income. There were a few families, but all the kids seemed much younger than me.

I figured I was the only public school aged kid here since there wasn’t even a bus stop on the main road leading into the ‘mobile home community.’ Mom had called the school to ask about adding a bus stop, but they said they couldn’t create new stops unless there were none nearby. They considered the stop just a few hundred yards from our trailer close enough, despite the fact that I had to walk through a stand of trees, jump a creek, and then navigate around twenty houses or cut through someone’s yard to reach it.

I circled around the back of our trailer and entered the small patch of woods. The ground was spongy from last night’s rain, and water droplets fell onto my head and soaked my shirt as I brushed past tree branches. Since no one had been through these woods often enough to make a path, I made a mental note of my entry point and planned to clear some obstacles each day to create a shortcut.

The lack of a trail did confirm was that there weren’t any other kids from my new school living in Oakdale. It also suggested the kids from the fancy houses on the other side of the creek never visited the trailer park. Not a shock. I knew what to expect from people who lived in those kinds of houses.

As I jumped over the creek, my worn sneakers slipped in the mud, plunging my right foot into the chilly water.

“Shit,” I muttered, now stuck with a wet sock for the morning.

I was shaking off the excess water when I heard a child’s high-pitched voice shout, “Hey, stop it!”

At first, I thought it was just some kids arguing in their backyard. But as I got closer, I heard an older voice say, “Harry saw the money, kid. Just give it to us.”

“Aunt Jennifer!” the kid shrieked, but not loud enough for anyone to hear.

I moved closer and spotted three guys around my age standing over a much younger child, probably seven or eight years old. He wore a costume with patches on one shoulder and a toy space gun holstered on his hip.

The kid sat on the ground, looking scared but unharmed. The three older boys loomed menacingly as the little guy tried to scoot away. When one of them reached for him, I knew I had to do something.

Normally, I avoided getting involved in other people’s business, but I couldn’t stand bullies. Despite being tall at six feet, I was rail-thin, mostly due to our less-than-stellar diet. I wasn’t a fighter, and it was pretty clear that I wasn’t the ideal person to step in. But I couldn’t just stand by and watch these jerks torment a little kid.

“Leave him alone,” was the cleverest thing I could think of as I tossed my backpack onto a patch of seemingly dry grass.

“You’re gonna get your ass kicked too if you don’t back off,” the largest of the three said.

“Really? Three of you against this little guy?” I challenged.

“Listen, you …”

He never got the rest of his sentence out. Years of tagging along with my dad to his gigs had exposed me to a number of brawls in bar parking lots. The one trick I learned? Always land the first punch. Unfortunately, I hadn’t gleaned much else from those experiences, since Dad usually ended up on the losing side.

Gathering momentum, I sprinted up the last couple of steps and threw a wild left hook that caught him totally off guard. My punch connected between his nose and right eye, sending a searing ripple of pain through my hand. He dropped like a sack of wet cement.

Things went downhill from there. His buddies wasted no time in returning the favor. A fist collided with my cheek, while another connected with my gut. Doubled over in pain, I had a strange realization: the stomach punch hurt way more than the face punch. But before I could dwell on it, I received another blow to my opposite cheek, sending me crashing to the ground.

“Run!” I managed to choke out before a foot slammed into my chest, nearly lifting me off the ground.

Desperately, I grabbed onto the shoe that kept slamming into me, yanking hard, throwing the guy wearing the shoe off balance. His flailing arms knocked over their now-rising leader, sending both sprawling to the ground.

As I tried to stand, another blow to my stomach sent me spinning and crashing to the ground again. A sharp pain shot through my leg as a heel stomped down on my foot. I ignored the agony and struck my fist out at the attacker, hitting him square in the nuts. He collapsed, buying me a few precious seconds.

Their leader, blood streaming from his nose, snarled, “I’m gonna beat you to death.”

I swung wildly once more, but he dodged and countered with a punch to my temple. The force sent me tumbling, my head smacking the muddy grass. Struggling to push myself up, I knew that if they pinned me down, I was done for. I managed a few more desperate swings, grazing one of them on the hip and missing the other entirely, but I couldn’t evade their relentless assault.

A kick grazed supporting knee, sending me crashing down again. Thankfully, I narrowly escaped a direct hit, which would have caused serious damage. Back on the ground, the trio closed in. I curled into a ball, arms shielding my face as they began to wail on me.

“Hey, get off of him!” a distant voice yelled. “I called the cops.”In that moment, I wished I had thought of that instead of taking on these three behemoths alone. As their feet retreated around the side of the house, another pair of blurry legs appeared in my line of sight. Overwhelmed by pain, I vomited and lost consciousness.

***

The low hum of hushed voices and beeping machines stirred me back to consciousness. The sterile smell of disinfectant immediately filled my nostrils. I attempted to breathe in, but a wave of pain crashed over me, bringing back memories of my brutal ass kicking. Opening my eyes, the room’s harsh light intensified my headache. I groaned and sank back into the pillow.

“Are you okay?” A girl’s voice asked from somewhere close.

I froze for a moment. I hadn’t realized there was someone nearby and I didn’t recognize the voice. Opening my eyes again, I saw a girl sitting in a chair by the bed. The beeping machines and disinfectant smells made sense now. I vaguely remembered someone mentioning they’d called the cops while I was being pummeled.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I’m Hanna. You were fighting Aaron Campbell and his buddies in my backyard.”

“I didn’t get his name. I saw him bullying some kid and tried to help. Got my ass kicked instead.”

“That kid was my cousin, Sam. He ran inside, saying big kids were trying to steal his money and you’d jumped in to help. He was impressed.”

“Well, if he’d stuck around, he’d have been less impressed.”

“I saw that part. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got my ass kicked. Everything hurts.”

“You’ll have some massive bruises, you know?”

“Don’t girls find bruises sexy?”

“Nope, that’s scars. Bruises, not so much.”

“Damn! I can’t catch a break.”

“What?”

“Something my dad used to say. I don’t know what it means exactly, but …”

Our conversation slowed as we ran out of things to say. I tried not to be too obvious as I studied her. She seemed a bit older than I was, with wavy brown hair and a school hoodie.

“Shit, my backpack!”

“My mom has it. Sam saw where you dropped it and went to get it.”

“I need to call my mom. She thinks I’m at school.”

“My mom’s doing it. She found your mom’s number on some paperwork in your backpack.”

“Oh, so you go to Carr?” I asked, pointing at her sweatshirt.

“Yeah, I’m a senior.”

“Today was supposed to be my first day.”

“Did y’all just move here?”

“At the beginning of the summer.”

“What grade are you going into?”

“Tenth.”

“Ahh.”

Having nothing in common, conversation lagged. I groaned, attempting to shift into a more comfortable position.

“Are you okay? Should I get the doctor?”

“No, it just hurts to move. Thanks for calling my mom and getting my backpack. You don’t have to stay.”

“Actually, I do. My mom would freak if I left before she came back.”

“Well, I appreciate you sitting with me.”

“No problem. We’re grateful for what you did for Sam.”

“Next time, I’ll try to get help first.”

“Might be a good idea.”

I tried to laugh, but a groan escaped instead. The curtains slid open to reveal a doctor and a woman who resembled Hanna quite a bit. The other beds and curtains explained the constant hum of voices I’d been hearing since I woke up.

“How are we feeling?” the doctor asked, studying the bag of fluid dripping into my arm.

“Really sore and my head feels like it’s gonna explode,” I groaned.

“We’ll get you some Advil in a bit. You have a pretty nasty concussion.”

“Is it serious?”

I’d read somewhere that concussions were what drove football players and wrestlers crazy.

“Probably not, but we were a little worried when you took so long to wake up, so we’re going to keep you here a few more hours just to keep an eye on you.”

“How long was I out?”

“About an hour. That’s why we’re worried. Being out that long could indicate a moderate brain injury. But you seem pretty coherent, which is good. When your mom gets here, we’ll talk to her about getting you a CT scan. She’ll need to watch you for any delayed symptoms.”

“But could there any long-term damage?”

“As long as you don’t have any other symptoms like nausea, blurry vision, or confusion, you should be okay. Just don’t go getting hit in the head again, all right?”

I tried to sit up, but the doctor gently pushed me back down. “Lay still, okay? We’re gonna get some x-rays soon. I want to check your ribs and foot. Just hang tight.”

Suddenly, the curtain flew open, and my mom burst in, her eyes wide with worry. “Charlie! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” I lied, knowing she could see right through me.

“Fine my ass! Look at your face! They said you were in a fight.”

“Mrs. Nelson?” the doctor said.

“Yes. I’m Charlie’s mother.”

As they began to talk, another man in blue scrubs appeared.

“Take him to x-ray,” the doctor instructed before turning back to my mom. “We’re gonna check his ribs and foot, make sure nothing’s broken.”

The orderly wheeled me into a hallway, leaving my mom and the doctor behind. The whole process of actually getting the x-rays was annoying. The orderly pushed me against a wall outside of the radiology lab and went off to move someone else. Apparently there was a whole position in the hospital to just push people from one place to another, which meant I had to just sit there until the actual x-ray tech showed up, only to have to sit more as the process reversed itself.

Eventually, the x-rays were taken, and I was brought back to my mom, who was now talking to a police officer.

Here he is now,” she said as they spotted me.

“Son, can you tell me what happened?” the officer asked, his voice firm.

“Sure. I was cutting through the woods behind our trailer to my bus stop. When I came out of the woods, I could hear some kids arguing and came across the three kids pushing down a little kid, telling him to give them his money. I told them to get away from him, and when they didn’t I got into a fight with them. They knocked me out, and I ended up here.”

“Did you actually see them push the other kid?” the officer questioned.

No, he was already on the ground when I showed up.”

My mom, her voice filled with frustration, asked, “Can we press charges for what they did to Charlie?”

The officer sighed. “We were told your son threw the first punch. Is that true?”

I reluctantly nodded, avoiding my mom’s gaze.

“We’ve talked to the other family involved, and they’ve agreed to not press charges if the three boys don’t press charges on your son.”

“So they put Charlie in the hospital, and get to walk away scot-free?”

“Ma’am, all the parties agree, and your son admits he was the aggressor. If they decided to press charges on him, he could end up in juvenile court. This seems like the best scenario for everyone involved.”

“But I was just trying to help!” I protested, my voice cracking with emotion.

“Next time, find an adult or call the police. Taking matters into your own hands isn’t the solution,” the officer said before leaving.

Mom shook her head, her frown heavy with disappointment.

“That’s how things seem to go around here,” the woman I’d noticed earlier chimed in from the doorway after the cop left.

What?” Mom asked, her eyes still glistening with tears of frustration.

“Sorry,” the woman apologized, “I was stopping by to thank you personally and overheard what the officer said. They talked to me about Sam pressing charges, but made the same point that if he did, then the boys would press charges against you.”

“It’s almost like they are protecting these kids,” Mom muttered, shaking her head.

“There’s no almost about it,” the woman agreed, her voice firm. “Around here, high school sports is a religion, which gets these boys special treatment. Of course, his being the son of the district attorney probably helps, too.”

“That’s not right. My son was just standing up for someone else. I don’t have insurance through the factory yet. There’s no way I can afford …” Mom trailed off, her voice cracking as she turned away, covering her mouth with her hand.

Her shoulders trembled as she tried to hold back sobs.

“Oh, honey,” the woman said gently, “you don’t have to worry about that. I was just down in billing, and we’re taking care of it.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Mom protested, her voice shaky. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Maybe not,” the woman replied, “but the people who did, aren’t going to do anything about it, and you helped out my nephew. As I see it, that makes this my responsibility.”

Mom hesitated, torn between her pride and our precarious financial situation.

“Besides, I’ve already paid. It’s a done deal,” Hanna’s mother added.

With a sigh, she finally relented.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Yeah, thanks,” I chimed in, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt.

“My name’s Jennifer Philips,” the woman introduced herself, smiling warmly. “You met my daughter, Hanna, earlier.”

“Well, thank you very much, Jennifer. We really appreciate your generosity. I’m Rebecca, and that’s my son, Charlie,” Mom said, gesturing towards me.

“How would you folks like to have dinner with us tonight?” Jennifer offered.

“I appreciate it, but I actually have to be at work at eight,” Mom replied, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

“I thought you said you worked at the factory?” Jennifer inquired.

“For my night job,” Mom clarified.

“Well, then we’ll have Charlie over for dinner,” Jennifer decided. “That saves you the trouble of having to figure out dinner and get to work after being here all morning.”

“I don’t …” Mom started to say, but I quickly interrupted, “That sounds great.”

Most nights, dinner was a sandwich or a can of soup as Mom rushed out the door. It might be selfish, but I couldn’t pass up the chance for a better meal.

“Excellent,” Jennifer beamed. “I don’t want to have to worry about you crossing the creek if you’re still hurt, so Hanna will come by at six to pick you up.”

Mom shot me a knowing look, but smiled and agreed, “Okay. We’re number two-eleven.”

“Great. We’ll see you at six,” Jennifer said before leaving us alone.

“Charlie …” Mom began, her eyes filled with concern.

“Mom, I’m really sorry. I know this puts us in a bind, or it would if it wasn’t for Mrs. Philips, and you had to take off work.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m happy that you got into a fight, but I’m proud of you for sticking up for someone else. You’re a good boy. I just hope you learned a lesson, and next time go get help instead of biting off more than you can chew.”

“I definitely learned that lesson.”“Okay. Consider yourself chastised. Let me see what I have to do to spring you from this joint.”