The Last Stand of Haviland Dinwiddie

Chapter 2

By Dabeagle

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I'd lain awake for some time before giving up and deciding to start my day. I wasn't surprised to find my mom sitting on the couch, arms crossed and looking out the window. She turned as I entered the room and gave me a wan smile.

“Couldn't sleep either, huh?”

“Not really.” My voice sounded scratchy to my ears. After a quick trip to the bathroom and a wash of my hands, I grabbed a leftover slice from the fridge and ate it cold, standing over the sink to avoid leaving crumbs. In the cold light the room was depressing, but it lacked my father, which made it much more livable. But the anxiety of making a mess was rooted deeply. It wasn't that I couldn't clean it up; it was that I might not clean it well enough for him.

“We should get some basics before we go to the school to get you registered,” my mom said from her perch. “I could use some coffee.”

I nodded. “Do I have time for a run first?”

She was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, Honey.”

I finished chewing and then went back to my room, changing to running shorts, compression pants and a tee shirt, then put my headphones around my neck. I put my shoes on by the door and made sure I had the keys before I left. Making sure the door had seated closed behind me, I pulled my headphones over my ears and put music on through my phone. I leaned against the side of the building to start my stretching routine, beginning with my hamstrings.

Running isn't something I really enjoy, but it's an escape. My father had instilled motion in me, whether it be dodging in a garage or running for health. He always claimed I had to overcome the blood from my mother's side of the family, and that had more than one meaning. Once when I was about twelve I'd had a flash of unwise anger and rebelliousness and asked him why he'd married my mother if she was so bad?

“Oh, that's pretty easy,” he said. “I was weak.” He'd knocked my legs out from under me, and I'd landed on my hip, feeling both pain and humiliation. I'd scrambled quickly to get to my knees, but for a miracle he wasn't bearing down on me. “You see, Harvey, men have needs. Soon you'll begin to feel the pull of those needs, if you haven't yet. I saw your mother, and I was weak. I didn't know then what I know now.”

The soles of his shoes made a small, grinding sound as he turned on the balls of his feet. His heels clicked as he walked in front of me and squatted down.

“But I made my mistake. A man has to own these things, and so I do.” He shook his head. “We met in January – did you know that? After so many months without much sun, I thought she was white. That her name was just pretty and not because she was brown. I thought I was in love,” he said with a sad expression. “I was so bewitched that I never even asked for her last name until it was too late. She was pregnant. The sun came out, and her skin darkened, and my mistake was there for everyone to see.”

I pushed off from the wall and started down the block, an easy jog away from the front of the hardware store. As my feet hit the sidewalk, I noted the town was larger than my first impression. I passed several buildings much like the hardware store: small businesses at street level and space for apartments above. There were things you'd expect, like an accountant's office, a bar and a laundromat. There was a game store for tabletop and card games attached to a store that sold comics and video-related things like video games and computers.

I started passing homes, row houses pressed together like brick dominoes. After passing a small apartment complex I saw a much more rural landscape ahead, so I turned back and then down a side street. I figured I was smart enough to find my way back. An hour later I stretched out again before climbing the stairs. Mom was still on the couch, but she had her laptop out and was staring intently.

“Can I shower before we go out?” I asked.

“Hm? Oh, yes.” She looked up at me. “Freida sent me a link for a place that does customer service as a work from home. I was just filling out the application. Freida said she's referred people there before, and it's a good starting point.”

Well, it solved the problem of some sort of income. “Okay, that works. I'll be quick, Mom.”

Being quick was more a matter of practicality than consideration, as the water tank didn't hold a lot of hot water. I was glad we had brought a few towels. After brushing my teeth and applying antiperspirant, I pulled on jeans and a polo before combing my hair. As I looked in the mirror I glanced at my 'fit, thinking it was barely allowable by my father's standards. Button up shirts were the standard, with a polo only acceptable in the heat of summer or for things like cookouts. Jeans were more of a work item, like being in the yard. It felt like an act of defiance to be wearing them. I let out a small, unsteady breath and joined my mother.

Mom preferred to do shopping with me. She could be nervous around men and just felt more secure with me around. We used the phone to search for a place to buy groceries and some small home goods; we didn't have a ton of cash on hand, so we had to be frugal. The courts had provided access to some funds, and Freida had helped us get those transferred to an account in my mother's name, so my father couldn't find us by seeing where money had been spent.

I watched the town as we ran our errands. There were very few people on the sidewalks. A town crew had pulled up a storm drain cover and appeared to be cleaning it out. It was a three person crew: an older man with a large gut and suspenders leaned against a truck looking at his phone, a middle-aged woman was adjusting the height of a sign indicating work was going on, and a young man with an attractive face and muscular arms was bending down to reach into the drain.

We passed a parking lot with a rope hanging from two traffic cones where children in school uniforms played. The market was not a chain and was clearly worn. Machinery for keeping things cool or hydrated labored under the sheet metal, kicking on with enough volume to startle someone. We bought some canned goods, given the shortage of freezer space, and other necessities. I think we were pretty efficient, given we weren't familiar with the place.

Once home, my mother picked up a folder with my paperwork, and we went to locate the high school so I could be enrolled for the remainder of my senior year. The school was brick, with large windows that had primary color panels set above or below depending on the floor. It almost looked more like a building for clowns or where people went to finger paint and drink wine. The front door had a buzzer that let you into a sally port, just like a prison. I knew this because my father had made the comment in reference to my old school, and I had looked up what the heck a sally port was.

My mother had quietly said it sounded like a middle-aged cooking wine.

We were directed to the main office and met there by a pleasant woman with braided hair extensions and bright purple-framed glasses.

“Hello. I need to enroll my son?” My mother had a habit of framing statements or requests in the form of a question, not through words but through the tone of her voice.

“Well, you've come to the right place,” the office person said with a smile. “Let me get you some paperwork, and I'll call Mrs. Stafford over from the guidance office to get things all taken care of.”

“Oh. Thank you. Thank you,” my mother said, sounding mildly relieved.

“No problem! We got you!” the woman said with a smile and reached under the counter. I heard papers being rustled, and she straightened up, a few folders in hand. “I know it's in...where...here we go.” Looking up at us, she handed my mother a stapled set of papers. “Let me get you a pen and a clip board.”

My mother made her thanks again and accepted the papers, pen and clip board, and we sat down. I looked around the office space while my mother began filling out the forms. A bell rang, and I could hear doors banging, the squeak of shoes on a floor and the hum of voices blending together in an enclosed hallway. The noise began to taper, and the bell went off again. I glanced toward the door, then to my mother as she filled out another page of information, then to the clock on the wall.

“Hi. I'm Mrs. Stafford.” The greeting was delivered flatly. My mother and I both stood up. Mrs. Stafford was just over four feet tall, jowly, with glasses hanging around her neck, held in place by a sparkly chain. Her hair looked like cotton candy: brittle, and if moisture got close it would clump and shrivel.

“I'm Consuela Diaz,” my mother said, and I shifted on my feet. Her using that name was recognizable to me as defiance, and it gave me some measure of confidence but also raised my anxiety, as if my father could hear. “This is my son, Harvey. I realize the name on his records is different, but he also prefers Diaz.”

“We don't do that here,” she said dismissively. “They use the name on their birth certificate and the gender they were assigned at birth.”

My mother swallowed visibly. “I see. It's just that-”

“It's district policy.”

Quietly I said, “Then you may want to let your teaching staff know I won't respond to that last name.”

She glanced at me and went back to the paperwork. The door opened, and a guy stormed in and threw himself into a chair. He was in joggers and a tee shirt, neither new, and his hair was shaved down as if done in a mirror at home. Sweat stood out on his forehead and streaked down one side of his face, which was flushed red. He crossed his arms and scowled as Mrs. Stafford turned to him.

“Really, Rigby? Was it another fight?” she asked.

Rigby didn't respond right away. Grudgingly he nodded his head.

The first woman walked up to the counter. “Rigby? Mr. Carlson will see you now.”

He stood up and stalked behind the counter to a door in the far corner.

“This is all complete,” Mrs. Stafford said, lifting the papers my mother had filled out. “Let me make a few copies, and I'll get a schedule printed for you. Mrs. Garvin will give you a hall pass so you can see where your classes are and start in the morning.” She didn't wait for us to reply but walked away.

“Well, she's a delight,” my mother said softly.

I grunted in agreement. “She wasn't very impressive.” We waited for Mrs. Stafford, and in the meantime I looked around the office again from boredom. The door to the hallway opened again, and a girl walked in with long hair that she brushed back with her hand, thighs that could probably crush watermelons and a firm stride. Her lips were set in a narrow line, and her teeth were clenched.

“Can I-” Mrs. Garvin began.

“Is the little asshole here?” she snapped. “I'll kill him!”

Mrs. Garvin sighed, maybe so she didn't choke the life from this girl. “Why don't you take a breath?”

“I'm going to beat his ass!” she replied, gaze roving like a wild animal.

As luck would have it, from the far corner where Rigby had gone a moment before, he reappeared and began to point at the girl and yell. She began shrieking in response. The noise set my teeth on edge, but I recognized it for what it was – noise with no real danger. I'd learned the difference at home. Danger isn't always loud.

Mrs. Garvin herded the girl out the door and into the hallway while Rigby was corralled by the guy – Mr. Carlson – in whose office he must have been before.

A few minutes later Mrs. Garvin came back into the office, smiling in apology. “Little rambunctious here today.”

“That girl has a set of lungs,” my mother replied.

“Yeah, I know. If you ask me, when they came up with the idea of a banshee, they'd been hearing some teenage girl lose her mind,” Mrs. Garvin said with a chuckle. “In some ways boys are easier.”

“I'm guessing they just broke up.” My mother nodded her head toward Mr. Carlson's office.

“Oh, maybe. Or it could be because it's Thursday.” She smiled and headed back to her desk. We glanced at each other and then sat quietly until Mrs. Stafford returned with a folder. She sat down next to my mother and pulled a sheet from the folder before handing the folder to my mother.

“Here's all your paperwork back, and I made a copy of the forms you filled out for your records.” She turned her gaze to me and handed me the single sheet. “This is your schedule. Stop by the tech lab to get your school laptop, and there will be a copy of your schedule in your email. Mrs. Garvin will write you a visitor pass, and you can walk around to find your classes.” She stood up. “It was nice to meet you both.”

“Thank you,” my mother said to Mrs. Stafford's back as she'd already dismissed us. We exited the office, and my mother leaned in to me. “Do you think she's married? If she is, I feel sorry for whoever has to live with her.”

“Maybe they're alike,” I replied.

“Those kids were certainly loud. Do me a favor? If you find a boyfriend, make sure he's not loud, will you?” she teased, lacing her arm through mine.

I glanced at her and rolled my eyes. She let go of me as we started up the stairs to the second floor and began walking from classroom to classroom. My classes were fairly close together, sometimes just the difference between going to another floor. It took about twenty minutes to walk the halls and find all my classrooms. The third floor had a cafeteria in the center and classrooms clustered around it on the outer wall of the building.

“Oh, the library,” my mother said, a smile in her voice. “Let's go look.”

I followed her into a room that was obviously an old space that was modernizing in fits. Bookshelves made of old, dark wood lined three fourths of the space with clusters of desks with four chairs apiece interwoven between the rows. The other part of the room held computers set up in carrels. The space was comfortingly quiet, even with an excited whisper of “Harvey! Hi!”

I turned toward the voice, surprised anyone knew me. Behind the counter stood Daphne, and across from her stood a tall boy, slender with a bowl haircut, leaning on the counter. I nodded and gave her a small wave, but she started waving her hand to come to her. With a quick glance at my mother, I headed to the desk.

“Hi!” she whispered, smile as wide as I'd remembered.

“Hi, Daphne,” I said quietly. I glanced at the boy, and we nodded to each other. He straightened up, and I saw he was actually taller than I'd thought and thin. His nose was narrow and long, his mouth in a friendly smile – though not splitting his face like Daphne.

“Harvey the Rabbit, this is my boyfriend, Chickenshit.” Her hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes widened as she looked at my mother. “Oh! I'm so sorry! I was just...giving my boyfriend a hard time. I apologize!”

My mother smiled politely and cleared her throat. “Don't worry, my dear.” Her gaze slipped to the boyfriend. “I'm guessing there is a story behind your name? Farming family?”

Daphne's hand, which had begun to drift down, was suddenly clamped over her mouth as she tried to hold in a laugh. I smiled at her efforts while her boyfriend flushed, but smiled.

“She likes to make fun of me, because she likes gory things, and she likes to jump scare me when we watch movies only she likes,” he replied. His gaze shifted to me. “Hi, Harvey. I'm Tony.”

I repeated my little wave and said hello. I looked to Daphne and said, “You're very mean to your boyfriend, you know.”

“But he likes it,” she said, smiling and glancing at him. Turning back to me, she asked, “Are you starting here?”

I nodded. “Tomorrow. I just got registered.”

“I'm sorry, how did you two meet?” my mother asked.

“I work in the hardware store. I was there when Harvey came in for some cleaning stuff last night,” Daphne replied, then adopted an embarrassed expression. “I cleaned your apartment before you moved in, but I don't think I did a good job.”

“It's not that,” my mother said smoothly. “When you're in a new space, you don't know when things were last really cleaned, so it's a good idea to scrub things for your own peace of mind. I do the same thing in hotels, even though they have a cleaning staff.”

“Right?” Daphne's face lit up. “We were watching this true crime thing, and they put a black light on in a motel room-”

“So gross,” Tony groaned softly.

“It was!” Daphne agreed. “But it really proves your point.”

I looked at my mother. “We're not getting a black light.”

My mother patted my arm and smiled at me.

“So...you must have met Mrs. Stafford?” Tony asked.

“Oh yeah!” Daphne grinned. “What did you think?”

“Oh, she was a delight,” my mother said while I rubbed my temple. They both giggled softly. “Although we were treated to a free show. A couple broke up, I think. Very dramatic.”

Daphne and Tony looked at each other and then back to us with curious expressions. “What did they look like?” Daphne asked.

My mother looked to me. “You're better at descriptions. What did they look like?” My mother was evading; I had a feeling she was getting to the edge of her social meter being full. I turned my attention to Tony and Daphne.

“She was short and loud. Long light brown hair. Muscular thighs,” I said, trying to sound like I wasn't judging her body. “He was about five eight, buzzed hair – I think someone said his name was Rigby.”

“Oh,” Daphne and Tony said in unison, glancing at each other. Whatever might have been said afterward would have to wait, as the bell rang. They both glanced at the clock as they grabbed their bags. Daphne told me to come down to visit her in the store, and Tony said it was nice to meet us. Daphne called out that it had been nice to meet my mother also as they ran out the door.

“Okay,” my mother said quietly. “I need to get out of here.”

“Same,” I muttered. We made our way from the school and back to our car. I didn't think much about anything from my visit at the school. Daphne and Tony seemed nice, and it would be good to recognize a face or two in a new school. Too late, I remembered about the school laptop and figured I'd have to get it the next morning.

“Daphne and Tony seemed nice,” my mother said as we drove. “You didn't mention meeting her last night.”

“Yeah. It was just talking to a clerk; I didn't think about her going to the same school as I would.”

“They make an interesting couple, physically,” she said, switching on the turn signal. “She's conventionally pretty, and she looks high maintenance, even though she doesn't have that kind of energy. He, on the other hand, is so thin – and that haircut doesn't help. If I saw her alone, I'd assume she'd have a more conventionally handsome boy on her arm, maybe an athlete.”

We fell into silence, but I thought about what she'd said. My father presented a version of himself to the world; I suppose we all do. He wasn't satisfied with that, however. He'd wanted my mother and me to fit a mold as well. We were made to cover our skin for the most part; exposed skin was only allowed if we used sun block. He didn't want anyone to see my 'weak blood'.

In some ways coming out had been an act of foolish defiance. While I hated my father and what he'd done to us both, I also had some form of twisted love for him. So when he'd been 'making his point' about me not passing on my genes to some unsuspecting girl, I thought he'd be happy to know I'd realized I was gay. That was definitely not the win I hoped for. Instead it was just a big example of how schools had made me think this was okay, how damaged I was from my mother's side of the family and...it was depressing and exhausting.

As much as my father controlled and terrorized us, my mother and I found he wasn't infallible. She and I became closer, over time. Not right away, not in my early teens, because I still thought there was a way to please him. Over the course of the year I turned fourteen I finally realized that just wasn't possible for me, and then I figured out he was holding my mother to artificial standards as well. I listened and repeated back to him what he wanted to hear, watched things he prescribed from places that thought being gay was a disease.

The thing was, he'd already lost me. In my mind, where he couldn't reach, I'd already decided to go the opposite of the direction he pointed me, no matter what it was. Maybe I couldn't date or even come out at school, since I didn't know who might say something that would get back to him. But I looked, and in my own way I loved, helping someone here or being kind there. It wasn't much, maybe went completely unnoticed by the objects of my affection, but it was enough to sustain me.

At least it had been.

I'd gotten sloppy. Horny. Desperate for some kind of affection outside of my mother. I'd met someone through an app and gone to meet him in a public place to hook up. I think most police would have just run us off, but the guy was older, and the cops knew who I was. That night I began to realize that my father's fellow officers possibly didn't hold him in high regard. The patrolman that brought me in had a smile on his face. I later decided that he had been enjoying the idea that he was going to embarrass my father; of course it may not have been personal. Maybe it was just the idea of making fun of someone at work.

I don't think any of them knew what he was doing to his family behind closed doors; otherwise it may never have happened. Instead there was some ball busting when my father got there, and while he was calmly unamused with his fellow officers, the set of his eyes promised everything that came later. I think...I always thought his cop buddies would be complicit in covering up his abuse, or that they were aware. Thinking about it later, I wasn't so sure. In the days to follow I wondered more than once what would have happened if I'd spoken up. If I'd begged him not to tell my father because he'd beat me.

I'll never know if that would have changed anything. Maybe it was for the best, as we got away. If I'd begged and they'd let me go for my own safety, would we have ever left? Or would I have gone to college or run away when I turned eighteen, and would my mother have stayed behind, trapped? Sometimes the road you end up on is the right one, no matter how many potholes it has.

Once home, we took time to have lunch and then looked at local listings for used items, like a TV. While our apartment had come with some basics, like the worn couch and tired beds, not to mention a tiny table with two mismatched chairs, there were useful odds and ends we decided to be on the lookout for. For example, a nightstand would be nice or a chest of drawers, not that we had that many clothes. We'd hung what we could, but socks and underwear aren't really made with hangers in mind.

“You know what I just thought of? How are we going to get a dresser in our car?” my mother asked.

“I guess we could tie it to the top? Or see if they deliver?”

She shook her head. “I don't want any delivery men knowing where we live.”

Well, that was fair. Mom had a bigger fear of men than I did, though we both had our issues. We ended up going out to get some plastic bins to hold clothes like socks and underwear and found a TV we could afford, though when we plugged it in it had a line in the screen they hadn't mentioned. We got it for dirt cheap, so we figured we'd just live with it.

There were other small things we got, like laundry baskets, assuming we'd have to go to the laundromat down the street I'd spotted on my run. Once back to the apartment, we organized what we had, and I decided to open the plastic bin of my belongings I'd brought with me. My clothes had all been in garbage bags, like my mother's, and we each had a tote and a few loose items.

We were startled by a knock on our door. We relaxed when we heard Sandy calling out that it was just her. I stood in the doorway to my room while my mom opened the door.

“Hi! I hope you two are getting settled in,” Sandy said, stepping inside and letting my mom close the door.

“We're making some progress,” my mom said. “Did some grocery shopping and got Harvey registered for school.”

“Oh, that's good!” She smiled at me. “Well, maybe you don't think so, right?” She laughed her smokey laugh. “Hon, I forgot a few things last night, and I wanted to just come follow up and make sure to answer any questions. So as you know, we have an arrangement with Freida and her organization. Because of that, we like to limit the bills and things that come up in your name.” She handed my mom an envelope. “This gives you a few details. The power is on its own meter, and we provide you a copy of the bill each month, but we leave it under a generic name and pay it directly. Water is covered as part of rent.”

“Oh, that's...that's a relief,” my mother replied.

“You're not our first,” Sandy said, taking one of my mother's hands for a moment before letting her go. “So I don't know if you noticed that folding door out in the main hallway? No? There is a pair of washer dryers in there. We just ask that you clean the lint filter once you dry and to not leave things out there once the cycle is finished.”

“Oh. Glad we won't have to go to the laundromat,” I commented.

“Right? Carrying your laundry down the block in the snow is a real treat, let me tell you,” Sandy said and laughed again. It was almost like it was her response to nearly everything. “In the envelope is also the WiFi password. The account is for the business, but it's shared for the apartments. There is a line item on your rent for your portion of that, and again there is no bill in your name to track down.” She pressed her hands together. “Uh, I think that's everything. Can I answer anything for you?”

I glanced at my mother and she to me before looking back at Sandy. “I can't think of anything right away – this is actually a lot!” my mother said, her tone grateful.

“You're going to be okay here,” Sandy said, nodding to each of us and letting herself out.

I couldn't help but think this group of apartments was sort of like the underground railroad, smuggling abuse victims to safety the way that network had worked to help enslaved people be free.

I went back to my room and tried to organize my room a bit more, using my tote as a table for my phone charger and headphones. As I did I kept thinking about my analogy of enslaved people escaping to freedom like we were, and I was struck by a thought. What form will this freedom take? What things will I now do differently? Friends? I'd had friends in my old school, as much as you can without spending any time outside of school with them. I'd lost them when we ran; we'd left our phones behind and bought pay-as-you-go models to avoid being found.

I was tempted to add in some of my social media accounts, but the chance that my father would be monitoring or find one of them made it just too risky. That didn't mean I couldn't make new friends, though. Maybe ones I could see outside of school. Maybe...one who had regular movie nights? Daphne seemed very friendly and probably didn't need any more friends, but then what did I lose for trying?

I heard my mother in the kitchen and smelled something cooking, so I left my room to join her. “That smells good.”

She looked over her shoulder at me and smiled before turning back to the stove. “Well, I haven't gotten to make this in a long time. We just needed to fill a hole last night, but I wanted us to have a special meal tonight!”

I smiled at her enthusiasm. “What can I do?”

“Oh, well you can grate that cheese for me while I finish chopping these chilies.”

“Okay.” I dug into the bags of items we'd picked up that afternoon and fished out the grater. After giving it a thorough wash, I started grating cheese onto a paper plate. “What are we making?”

“Something your abuela used to make for me and I haven't had it in years,” she said, her tone soft. I'd never met her parents, and needless to say, the food of her youth wasn't made in my father's home. “It's called Rajas de Chile con Pollo, which is-”

“Chicken with Chilies...in a cream sauce?”

She nodded and smiled. “Very good. With two of us it should go quickly.”

I worked with her as she cooked from memory and privately celebrated spurning another of my father's rules – I was doing 'women's work'. Once the ingredients were compiled and into the oven, I decided to share some of my earlier thoughts.

“Mom, do you think...since things are supposed to be different now...I was thinking it would be nice to have a friend or two? Is that too much? Too soon?”

She continued to wipe down the counter, cleaning up the evidence of our cooking session. She rinsed her hands off in the sink and then wiped her hands. Holding the dish towel, she said, “More than anything I'd like to say to run free, to make up for seventeen years of such limited social opportunities.” She pulled the towel between her fingers and looked to me. “I can't help but feel apprehensive about new people in our lives, but I think there's going to be a lot of that.”

“I don't have to...I mean, I'm sure it wouldn't be right away,” I said quietly.

She shook her head slowly. “You deserve the chance for normal relationships. Maybe falling in love won't happen here, but you deserve the chance.” She gave me a tight smile. “Just be careful who you trust. I don't think everyone needs to know.”

I nodded slowly. “Okay.”

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