Is For Life: Chapter Fourteen: You Hit My Son

Chapter Fourteen

She led Sammy out of the house, with a plastic smile on her face, for Sammy’s sake. Marian wore white jeans, eight, ten at the most, with a deep brown leather belt. Her designer blouse tucked into the waistband of her jeans highlighting her slim build above and beneath the overhanging baby bulge. The enormous, square buckle proclaimed that she was a hot chick. She wore four inch stiletto heels. Shelly disapproved, she thought that Marian’s jeans were too tight, how could the baby have room to move? What if she fell over on those heels? A good mother-to-be would wear more appropriate clothing.

Sammy saw the car and the two people standing beside it and despite one of them being his father, Shelly felt him tense. Good Lad, Sammy, she thought, don’t you let me down, son. Sammy was silent, there was no barrage of questions, it was a good omen for a bad day.
‘Sammy,’ Shelly said, ‘this is Marian, Dad’s—friend.’ She was entitled to enjoy this. ‘You remember? We talked about her. Now be polite and say hello.

‘Hello, Marian Anderson Home-wrecker.’

Way to go Sammy, thought Shelly that has to qualify for a ten point start. John looked as though he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. Shelly handed her son over to his father but she didn’t go into the house and leave them to it. She leaned back against the garden gate and waited for the fireworks.

‘What have you been saying to him? Why would you want to poison his mind against me? Jesus, Shelly?’

Shelly could think of several reasons. ‘I haven’t said anything negative to him. He must have heard me talking to Joan. You know what he’s like for picking up everything anybody says. On the other hand, he might just have made up his own mind about the situation.’ She was unrepentant and saw no reason why, if this situation had to be endured, she shouldn’t play it her way.

Sammy eyes were pointing to the top right of his spectrum of vision, he seemed to be focussing on a cloud that looked like a penis; unfortunately it wasn’t positioned directly above his father’s head. Sammy had refused to take John’s hand; he needed to have his own free to make fluttering birds in front of his face.

‘Yellow car. That is bad. That is undoubtedly very bad. Yellow car people are very bad indeed.’ Sammy spoke in his default monotone and Marian looked terrified of him and still hadn’t uttered a word.

‘Sammy, stop talking rubbish and let’s get going now.’

Sammy’s vocal response was to make a dry humming noise in his throat, always the herald of a stressful episode. Talking sternly hadn’t worked, John tried being cajoling, ‘Come on Sammeo, let’s get going, son, we’re going to have a brilliant day.’

‘Samuel May does not like Marian Anderson Home-wrecker’s yellow car.’

John turned on Shelly, ‘Are you trying to make things as difficult as possible? Why didn’t you warn him about the car?’

Shelly mimicked in a whiney voice, ‘Why didn’t you warn him about the car?’

‘Why didn’t you warn him about the car?’ Sammy repeated, picking up on the unusual vocal pattern, he mimicked Shelly, Mimicking John.

Sammy stood his ground and the only movement was from his hands. John opened the driver’s door and pulled the seat forward so that Sammy could climb into the back. Sammy was used to four doors; John didn’t think he’d ever been in a car with only two before.

Marian owned a 2012 Aston Martin Virage Volante soft top convertible, in canary yellow. Her father had bought it for her for no other reason than that she wanted it. He had also bought her the riverside flat that she and John shared in Lancaster. Despite being a successful woman in her own right, Daddy still paid her credit card accounts and gave her a generous allowance. His reasoning was that he did it for her brother, a useless layabout with a penchant for white powder, and it was only fair that he treated them equally. He would call Marian, Princess, and she joked that it was because it was easier than having to get his secretary to remind him of her name. She was proud of her car and John was proud of her and the lifestyle that she had introduced him to. He felt that he fitted the Volante perfectly, he particularly liked it when he’d persuaded Marian to let him take it into work and he pulled into his private parking space, to the wonder of his entire workforce, he believed that it was a world where he belonged. Sammy, however, didn’t.

‘Sammy get into the car,’ John’s voice had become brittle. Shelly turned and went into the house. She wanted to scream at John for his harsh tone, she wanted to tell Sammy not to get in the car. But it wouldn’t be fair, Sammy needed a relationship with his father and John had every right to discipline him. She firmly shut the front door behind her and began counting the minutes until Sammy’s return.

‘Sammy, I mean it, move. Now.’

‘Samuel May cannot get in Marian Anderson Home-wrecker’s yellow car because it does not have a roof.’

‘It’s a convertible, Sammy, its fun.’ He moved towards his son and Sammy held himself rigid and, much like as a toddler having a tantrum will do, his arms went stiff and with all of his muscles tensed Sammy’s head and face shook dramatically.

‘Oh, I’ve had enough of this.’ As on many other occasions, he took hold of Sammy and physically made him move. He put one hand on his head, bent him in the middle and man-handled him into the car, quickly pushing the driver’s seat into position and slamming the door so that he couldn’t get out of it. Sammy shuffled over to the other side of the seat and John thought that he was simply going to climb over the side of the car.

Sammy began to scream. He screamed high. He screamed loud and he screamed as though he was being murdered. Shelly was in the lounge and heard her son screaming. She saw the drama unfold in her mind as clearly as if she’d still been watching. She had heard Sammy screaming like this a million times before and she had seen John use force to make him comply almost as many times. He never hurt him. He was never abusive, but sometimes, there was no other way to make Sammy do as he was asked. She turned up the television and then put her hands over her ears and rocked backwards and forwards in her armchair like a traumatised child.

While Sammy screamed he hit himself continually in the face. John moved fast to get himself into the passenger seat. He had to hold Sammy’s hands down to stop him seriously damaging himself and struggled to get his son’s seatbelt on at the same time.

‘I don’t think we should do this John. I’m frightened.’ Marian had spoken for the first time. Her voice trembled and she looked close to tears.
‘Just drive,’ John yelled at her.

‘Is he all right?’

‘Just fucking drive, will you?’

Marian stalled on her first attempt to move and then pulled away with a loud screech of tyres.

Sammy didn’t progress into a seizure, but he did continue to scream. John fought to restrain him and to prevent him from hurting himself or anybody else. Marian’s driving was erratic but he didn’t have time to pacify her, as well. ‘Just keep your eyes on the road and watch what you’re doing,’ he snarled at her as she missed a corner completely and drove over the pavement.

John knew that Sammy couldn’t scream for long. Everybody they passed stopped what they were doing to stare. He saw one woman grabbing for her phone and wondered if she was calling the police to report a potential kidnapping. Sometimes, in public, John had had to fight Sammy to the ground and lie on top of him. Good Samaritans had called the police on him before. ‘Come on Sammy, count it out son. Count with me, come on now. Everything’s all right. One, two, three, four…’

Sammy didn’t count with him, but, although it took several minutes of craziness, he did eventually calm. He screaming became a squeak, his squeak became a rasp and his rasp lapsed into exhausted panting. Ten minutes later John was still counting six hundred and twenty-three, six hundred and twenty-four, six—’ Sammy’s eyes were fixed on the sky to the right of his vision. His hands were red, welts standing stark against the crimson where John had restrained him. His face was pale, his top lip swollen, and a bruise turning purple on his left cheek.

Sammy was calming but was still deeply agitated. Marian was breathing hard, too. John was able to look at her for the first time. She was shaking and tears shone in her eyes. He risked turning in his seat to face forward. If Sammy was going to act up again his first action would be to hit himself or head butt the back of John’s chair. He could quickly turn back to attend to him. He tried for a grin and failed. He made do with putting his hand over Marian’s on the steering wheel.

‘I can’t do this,’ she whispered, as though hearing her voice would set Sammy off again.

‘Yes, you can. Its okay, the worst’s over. Everything’s gonna be okay now. Isn’t it bud?’ he said over his shoulder to Sammy. ‘We’re all A-okay now aren’t we big guy?’

‘Samuel May does not believe that we are A-okay in Marian Anderson Home-wrecker’s yellow car with no roof. Lightning could strike Samuel May while he is sitting in the back of Marian Anderson Home-wrecker’s yellow car with no roof. A bird could poo on Samuel May’s head while he is sitting in the back of Marian Anderson Home-wrecker’s yellow car with no roof. A plane coming in to land could have engine failure and come down on Samuel May’s head while he is sitting in the back of Marian Anderson Home-wrecker’s yellow car with no roof…’

Sammy continued to list all the improbable things that could possibly happen to him, while riding in a convertible. His high IQ meant that his imagination was inexhaustible. John didn’t try to reassure him because while Sammy was incanting the worst that could happen he wasn’t screaming or hurting himself. The rest of the drive to Alton Towers passed relatively easily. When John and Marian could take Sammy’s constant drone no longer, she pulled into a lay-by and raised the roof of the car. Sammy lapsed into silence after that and Marian recovered some of her composure.

Sammy refused to go on any of the rides. He spent an hour, the length of time that they were in the theme park, listing every fairground accident he’d ever read about, most of them in the last twenty-four hours when he was reading up on the safety of this kind of attraction. Wherever possible, he also gave the names and ages of people killed or injured. He wore his epilepsy helmet because people in vast numbers upset him. The crowds were dense and the day was far from successful. They paid a fortune and stayed less than an hour.

Sammy ate and drank. He had chips, a burger, a hot dog, candy floss and an ice cream, a large Coke and a Sprite.Shelly would never have allowed him to have that much food. John just wanted to resurrect what was turning into a terrible day.

He rammed the food into his mouth, washed it down with pop and barely took the time to chew before swallowing. At home, Sammy ate almost normally, a little fast sometimes and he had to be reminded to slow down, but within the acceptable limits of normal.

In social situations, the way he crammed food into his mouth like an animal was just another symptom of his distress. Marian worried that he was going to vomit. John knew that he was going to and held a carrier bag at the ready. As the half chewed food in his gullet came back up, Sammy was still cramming more into his mouth.

He vomited into the bag and over himself as he struggled against John. John cleaned Sammy’s mouth with wipes and told Marian to take the remainder of the food away from him. He could see that she was disgusted, and, in equal measure, embarrassed by the stares that they were drawing. Marian took the last bite of Sammy’s burger away from him. He reached for it, growling and glaring balefully at her. John handed her the carrier bag with the vomit in the bottom and she screwed her face in horror before taking it in finger and thumb. She turned and put it into a waste bin behind them. Sammy was standing up with John wiping at his trousers when he lurched towards Marian. He grabbed her wrist, his mouth still slick with vomit, and bit down savagely on the flesh of her upper arm.

Marian screamed. Sammy had his teeth in her bicep and wouldn’t let go. John prized him off and almost as an extension of the act of Sammy’s face leaving her skin, or certainly as a reaction to the action, Marian’s arm came up and she slapped Sammy hard across the face. The sound of the blow rang out across the food-court. It was as though a ring-master had cracked his whip.

Marian gasped and her hands flew up to cover her mouth. Instantly contrite she said, ‘I’m sorry, Oh, God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do it.’

Sammy covered the red hand mark on his face with his own hand and whimpered. John shook his head at Marian and instinctively went to take his son in his arms, but Sammy tensed his body and John backed off. ‘You hit my son,’ he said, as though he was a man in a dream.

‘I’m sorry John. I didn’t mean it. He bit me.’

‘I can’t believe that you hit him. He’s handicapped, Marian. He’s fucking handicapped.’

‘What can I do, John? What can I do to make it right?’

‘Nothing. There’s not a thing you can do. I’m going to take my son home now. I’ll see you back at the flat after I’ve explained to his mother what’s happened.’

‘What? Don’t be stupid. How are you going to get home?’

‘We’ll take a train.’

‘Oh, John please, there’s no need for that. I’ve said I’m sorry. Let me drive you.’

‘That won’t be necessary. I need to get him back to his mother. It will be best if I take him alone.’

Sammy had stopped holding his face. The clear impression of a handprint stood out in relief from his cheek. His hands fluttered in front of his face and he comforted himself.