Tatum's War

Tatum was average.

He was an average athlete. An average student. Average looking. He epitomized average. His small group of friends were scattered amongst the cliquish factions of high school and if you were to ask them, they would all agree he was average.

But if you asked Alexa, the shadowy goth girl he’d known since first grade, who dwelt on the fringes of school society, her opinion would vastly contradict the others. She would say he was exceptional. An exceptional person, exceptional listener, and above all an exceptional friend.

Alexa would be his closest friend. None of Tatum’s other friends, the ones he randomly acquired from elementary, middle school or high school, were friends of Alexa, much less close ones. You see, Alexa had been casted out by the very real social pecking order that accompanies the world of adolescent intrigue. Shunned by those that make the rules and shunned by those that wanted to shun the rule makers. Alexa would have preferred to be alone; left to her selfish desires to explore the deepest secrets of her inner consciousness that only the most reflective individuals discover, but there was one problem…Tatum.

When Alexa’s family moved into the vacant house around the corner during his first grade year, Tatum immediately found her intriguing. He couldn’t explain his fascination; he wasn’t prone to chasing girls at that age nor grabbing their ponytails in childish games, which his dad said he used to do when he was that age, but Alexa peeked his curiosity like no other child. Alexa did do her best to avoid him early on. Her standoffishness never deterred Tatum from appearing on her doorstep to walk with her to school, or waiting to escort her home after school. Despite never playing with her during recess or grouping with Alexa during homeroom activities, Tatum noticed, even early on, an unexplainable calm every time he was around her. Her presence was like a safe harbor in a raging storm, despite the fact there were no raging storms in his life. Alexa was just Alexa and Tatum liked that about her. But his interest in Alexa had always been an ever evolving one that put him at odds with the bullies that thought she was an easy target because she acted differently. He’d taken quite a few lumps in elementary school from older classmates, and even a few in middle school, but it never stopped him from trying to protect his safe harbor from the ravages of other people’s storms. Tatum never shied away from those individuals seeking to harm her, despite Alexa’s numerous and vocal protests that she could defend herself. And after all was said and done, and the lumps distributed amongst the defender and aggressors, Tatum would walk away from the name calling with Alexa in tow unfazed by anyone’s opinion and repeat it the next day. For Tatum, the opinions of others about his motives didn’t matter. And in truth, Alexa’s opinion didn’t really matter to a point. Though either way, for Tatum, it just came down to his inner sense of justice. No one should be singled out because someone else thinks they are different, he reasoned. Just go about your business, and let others do the same. Simple in Tatum’s mind.

His notion of justice; an evolution of his father’s belief that everyone, including Alexa and those like her, were important, grounded Tatum. Tatum wasn’t sure he truly believed in the total ideals of his father, because there were those deserving of punishment, but the basic truth rang real for him. But in Alexa’s case, the lesson ran deeper. Her calm presence represented a fundamental flaw he didn’t recognize at first in himself, but he certainly knew was buried deep inside him. An inner rage at the injustices committed by those with power, and who were responsible for the misery of others had always smoldered deep with in him. Then, when a drunk driver with a history of DUI’s killed his mother and proceeded to be enabled by a system that decried the dangers of drunk driving, but refused to actually punish them with significant jail time, his anger roared to life. Her death caused his inner rage to could come crashing to the surface in the most savage way. And if it happened to start when Alexa was around, then her easy demeanor calmed him; his safe harbor. In his grief and confusion, Tatum would spend many nights sitting with Alexa, crying and shouting to the stars on why life wasn’t fair. Alexa never offered any explanations nor offered any excuse for the drunk driver, but sat quietly and listened. She was like that. Easy to talk to. Even when they were young, Tatum found himself just telling her the most off the wall things he would think of. Alexa never seemed to mind as he rambled, even at times seeming to enjoy his random thoughts, despite her eagerness to be left alone, Tatum sensed she enjoyed his company. But what he admired most, though he would never admit it to her, was the way she acted as a surrogate mother for his younger sister, Gabriella.

Hesitant at first, Alexa warmed to the situation as she became a mentor for Gabriella. Gabriella was four when their mother passed away, and though his father tried his best to manage work and home life, Gabriella had questions that only another girl could answer. Tatum tried to be there for his little sister, but his grief was overwhelming at times. He had been nine years older at the time of the accident. He’d spent so much more time with their mother and the pain of her loss weighed much heavier on him. At these times when his grief would consume him and his inner rage would burst forth like an angry volcano, he would search for Gabriella and upon finding her, yell at her for the stupidest things and try as hard as he could to make her cry in an attempt to alleviate his own pain. And after accomplishing his goal, Tatum would be filled with joy followed by deep anger at himself for what he had done. On those occasions when his goal would be accomplished and Gabriella would run off crying, Tatum would watch her go as guilt rose up in him like a well spring, and he’d curse himself for not being the older brother he wanted to be. Then once his storm of emotions calmed, and his guilt drove him to look for her and apologize, he would eventually find her huddled with Alexa. Gabriella would be cradled in her arms, tears pouring down her face, eyes filled with confusion and anger, but knowing she was protected from the raging storm of his emotions. At these times, Alexa had no problem screaming and chastising him for being an asshole to his little sister. Her virtual sermon would vary in pitch as she remind him that just because he was feeling the pain of their mother’s death, he couldn’t use it as an excuse to hurt others. That those like Gabriella need to be protected and not abused. Tatum would listen, knowing Alexa’s words were delivered with truth and sincerity, and wonder why he was the way he was. Then, after getting and ear full, and apologizing to Gabriella, who would rush to him and forgive him, Alexa would watch him with eyes that seemed to hold an emotion he didn’t understand. They had always been friends, and he hoped that their friendship and Alexa’s friendship with Gabriella would last after high school.

But needless to say, numerous kids and so called friends voiced their concern about a goth girl spending so much time with his little sister. They felt that Alexa’s solitude would push Gabriella into an inner loneliness that would lead her to self-destructive behaviors. But in his usual fashion, their opinions didn’t matter to him, because Gabriella appeared to have an inner light that couldn’t be quenched by the supposed darkness falsely associated with Goths. And therefore over the next three years, with Alexa’s help, Tatum learned to control his emotions, love his little sister even more, and waited patiently with him for high school to be done.

Tatum relished the idea that his senior year of high school was almost over despite being a long nine months away; since classes had only just started two weeks ago. The boring, but interesting activities would soon be coming to an end in May. That’s why, when Jackson and his little band of thugs had stopped by his house, while he sat on the porch with Alexa, he couldn’t understand the urge to go with them.

“Would someone explain, again, why we are doing this?” Tatum growled from behind the bush they were hiding near.

“Shut up!” Jackson snapped. He nervously played with the eggs he had in his right and left hands.

“Yeah. Shut up.” Timmy repeated like a parrot.

Tatum rolled his eyes in disgust.

Earlier, this band of vandals had snuck down the street to the other end of the block. Then quietly, as quietly as teenage boys could, hid behind some bushes across from a nice yellow and white ranch house that belonged to Mr. Chance.

Mr. Chance was an eccentric older middle aged man, who had lived on the block as long as Tatum could remember. His dad never talked much about Mr. Chance, nor did anyone else in the neighborhood have much to say. Likewise, Mr. Chance never mingled with the neighbors on the block, but only came outside to do yard work or to get his mail. If you talked to him, he would say something nice and chat for as long as you wanted too, but he never initiated any conversations with those walking by his home, and most people just left him alone. Tatum remembered stories when he was younger about the strange occurrences that happened at Mr. Chance’s house, but he couldn’t remember any of the details. For Tatum, he never really gave Mr. Chance much thought. But his dog, the Terror, as she was called by the neighborhood kids, now that was a different story.

Completely black in color and larger than any Great Dane or Irish Wolf Hound he had ever seen on the Westminster Dog show, the Terror stood a head taller than the five foot chain linked fence around the yard. Broad in shoulder and long in length, the Terror preferred to stalk its territory at night. If seen during the day, the Terror was a black lump lying next to Mr. Chance as he weeded his tulip bed. At night, like a demon from the deepest depths of hell, the Terror’s glowing red eyes were the only indication of its existence while it protected its domain. Occasionally, when unsuspecting couples were out for an evening stroll, absorbed in each other’s presence, talking about their undying devotion to each other, professing promises of their fidelity, captivated by the soft and lustful images in each other’s eyes; that’s when they would stray into the hellhound’s domain. Like the unsuspecting harbinger of nightmares, the Terror would patiently wait until they were by the front gate. Slowly advancing with the creeping shadows of sunset, silent as Death whispering his song of summoning to the old couple nestled in their bed; the Terror would make its presence known with a terrifying howl of a wolf. The chilling howl reverberated through the neighborhood with piercing clarity. Many commented that it sent shivers down their spine anytime they heard it; like the Terror had a tormented soul full of incredible sadness and loss. The howl appeared wretched from the very souls of the forsaken, who were wronged in their previous lives; a sound that could bring a sane person to the brink of despair. The gut wrenching sound sent courageous men scurrying completely forgetting their chivalric code and making women cry in anguish for the loss of their love. Tatum thought it was sad and funny, but he knew enough to stay away from the yard at night. That’s what made this foray to the Terror’s domain so ridiculous.

Jackson’s eyes nervously watched the yard along with his thugs. Each of them were testing their wills, seeing how far they would go in approaching. Tatum shook his head again. Why did I agree to this? He knew he had no answer. Even Alexa had given him the stare of ‘you are being a moron’ after he agreed. But in her usual fashion, she said nothing and let him be taken from her side. He looked down at the egg in his right hand, then back at the yard. Like a flickering torch in a windy hallway of a castle, a lone porch light burned in the night.

“I think the Terror isn’t out.” Link whispered.

Link was a spindly kid that had been a transfer student. He immediately fell into Jackson’s grasp, for he had the spine of a gnat.

Jackson nodded in agreement. “Yeah.”

Tatum sighed. His earlier misplaced enthusiasm of the adventure began to quickly drain away as reason started to force its way into the front of his brain. “Why are we doing this?”

Jackson turned to him. “Because that stupid fucking dog is a fucking bitch! I hate that fucking dog!”

Tatum understood Jackson well enough to know that that simple reason was good enough for Jackson to do what he wanted. They’d known each other since kindergarten and up until their third grade year, no one paid much attention to him. But the summer of their third grade year, Jackson had grown and became bigger than most of the boys in their class starting the fall of their fourth grade year. And just like any bully, once he figured out his size could gain him notoriety, he abused it and became mean.

“Jesus, this is stupid. Let’s get this over with.” Tatum flipped the egg over in his hand.

“You don’t give the orders here, Tatum.” Jackson growled.

“Yeah, goth lover.” Timmy whined back.

Timmy was another gutless wonder that belonged to Jackson’s thugs. Like the fish that fed on the underbelly of sharks and other predators, Timmy’s tiny frame and wispy hair made him the butt of many jokes, mostly Jackson’s. But as with most adolescence with self-esteem issues, Jackson was more than happy to give him an identity to replace the one he didn’t have.

“Shut up Timmy before you get hurt.” Tatum growled.

Timmy’s face turned mean.

“Tatum, I’d watch that mouth of yours.” Jackson warned. “Or you’ll be the one getting hurt.”

“Yeah, stupid goth lover.” Timmy squealed. “You’ll get hurt.”

Tatum wasn’t afraid of Jackson. They’d already had their battle of wills back in ninth grade. Tatum understood he wasn’t much of a fighter, and on that day they’d finally duked it out, Tatum’s brawling style had been fueled by his anger and grief. The fight ended in a tie because of the intervention of a teacher, but each of them knew who had won. Jackson had pretty much left him alone after that.

“Let’s just go.” Tatum said annoyed.

“Afraid…ow!” Timmy yelled.

He rubbed his arm where Jackson had hit him. Link laughed.

“Shut it, Tiny.” Jackson told him.

Timmy cowered like a beaten dog and nodded.

Jackson turned back to the yard. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Tatum scanned up and down the street for any cars coming at them before moving out into the middle of the road. A few parked cars along the street would be the only witnesses to the miss deeds about to play out. Swallowing down his fear and excitement, Tatum reared back to throw his egg, when two red evil eyes blinked into existence just to the left of him, near the end of Mr. Chance’s yard by one of the parked car. Frozen in terror, the red eyes glowed menacing at him, burrowing into his soul. Fearing his life was at an end, Tatum’s brain took several seconds before realizing that a cat had meandered out from under the parked car, and its eyes, lit by the surrounding house lights, was the source of his fear. Tatum let his body relax for several seconds before rearing back to throw the egg at Mr. Chance’s house. Each egg crashed into the house with a sickening thump. Jackson’s group laughed maniacally as each egg splattered and oozed down the siding. The two eggs Tatum threw, felt like heavy stones, and his gut wrenched each time one hit. He knew this wasn’t right, and he cursed himself inside for being so stupid. Just as another salvo of eggs were about to be thrown, the door to Mr. Chance’s house opened. Nothing loomed in the sudden light of the doorway, nor did Tatum see where the others ran while his own legs propelled him back up the street as fast as they could.

He reached his house in record time. The porch swing sat empty. Surmising that Alexa must have went home, he raced up the front side walk. That’s when he felt the hot breath of the Terror breathing on his neck, and realized that death was only a mere fraction of a second away; he leaped at the door, fear seeping into every part of his body as the door flew open, startling those inside. Before shutting it, pain erupted in his hand; it had caught in the door in his attempt to keep the Terror out. Carefully removing his hand, and peeking to see that the Terror wasn’t at the front door (his imagination having played tricks on him) he shut the door, nodded to everyone, and quietly walked towards the kitchen massaging his hand. Gabriella watched him with concern on her face, Alexa had a blank stare, and his dad seemed surprised. Tatum gave them a weak smile as he entered the kitchen to get a drink.

“You okay?” Gabriella came running around the corner. Her face filled deep with apprehension.

Tatum poured himself a glass of orange juice and drank deeply before answering. “Of course, Gabby.”

Uncertainty played in her eyes. “You’re not lying to me are you?”

“What makes you think I’m lying?” Tatum asked puzzled.

“Mommy told me she was okay before going to see Grandma.” Gabriella’s voice broke. Her little brown eyes held uncertainty as she tried to hold back her tears.

Surprised, Tatum placed the glass on the counter before getting on his knees. Their grandmother had died when Gabriella was just two and too young to understand the meaning of death. When their mom died, their dad had tried his best to explain to her why their mother wasn’t coming back, and decided to tell her that she had gone to see grandma when the concept of death couldn’t be conveyed to her. Gabriella appeared to understand after that.

Tatum looked into her eyes that brimmed with tears. “No Gabby. I’m not lying to you. I’m fine, I was just out running.”

He gathered her up in his arms and hugged her. His dad stood at the kitchen entrance, Tatum saw the pride and sadness in his eyes.

The doorbell rang.

His dad turned to answer the door. “Who could that be at this time of night?”

Tatum began squeezing Gabriella in his bear hug a little bit more forcefully as his dad’s footstep receded towards the front door.

“Tatum,” Gabriella gasped.

“Mr. Chance.” Tatum heard his perplexed father’s voice say. “Of course. Tatum!”

“You’re crushing me. Tatum!” Gabriella wheezed with her final breath.

Tatum held Gabriella for one more heartbeat, almost like she could shield him from the coming onslaught, before slowly letting her go. She breathed big gulps of air in relief. Tatum rose; his stomach knotting with guilt and walked to the kitchen door.

Tatum looked at Alexa sitting on the floor where she had been reading to Gabriella. Her eyes held his for the briefest moment before looking at Mr. Chance. Mr. Chance stood just inside the door. The Terror watched Tatum from the front porch with the eyes of a predator, knowing full well that he was the villain that had defile its home.

“Here.” Mr. Chance tossed something to him.

Tatum caught the egg.

“I think that belongs to you.” Mr. Chance’s laughter filled the house.