HIDING - every scar has a story

17. The Jon he knew.

{Pete}

Pete could see his son pacing on the school steps as soon as he turned into the parking lot. Jon came towards the car and swung inside before Pete could get out.

"I signed out sick." Jon said. His face was a thunderhead--Pete registered the smell of cigarettes.

"Are you sick?"

"I had a nosebleed." Jon plucked his shirt. There was blood on the front. "I need to change."

"Okay." Pete pulled away from the curb, anger prickling his skin. It was like this a lot now with Jon: anger and fear and love all mixed up and lodged so deep they hurt. "I got a call from Rob Klassen before I left. He said you and Cary were involved in a fight this morning, and Cary threatened his son with a knife. Is that true?"

"Did he mention the part where Todd gave me a bloody nose and crammed me into a locker?"

Pete's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "No, he didn't." They were at a red light. Pete looked over at his son. Jon had his fists clenched and his arms crossed. His face was turned away but Pete could hear from his breathing that he was crying.

Father have mercy, Pete prayed, taking a breath. I don't know what to do here.

That moment made it possible to speak without anger. "Have you had lunch yet?"

Jon slapped tears out of his eyes. "I couldn't eat."

"Let's get a burger." 

///

Pete ordered for them both. Jon stared up at the Dairy Queen menu boards with his arms tightly crossed, not speaking. Pete eyed the skull on the back of Jon's hooded sweatshirt as they made their way to a table. The Jon he knew was still inside that sweater, right? How was it possible that a few months could have changed his son beyond recognition?

At the table Jon picked at his food, putting his eyes on his fries or the kids coming in the door—anywhere but Pete's face.

"Jon, can you start from the beginning?"

Jon shot him a look. His eyes were red-rimmed and his freckles stood out on his white face.

"What happened today?" Pete asked.

"It was my fault." Jon's fingers tore one of his fries into smaller and smaller pieces. "Cary was fighting Todd because I wouldn't. Because Todd wouldn't leave me alone."

Pete tried to catch his eyes. "Todd has been bullying you?"

Jon nodded. "Him and his friends. Since we moved."

Pete's mouth opened but for a moment no sound came out. "Jon—why didn't you tell us?"

Jon made himself small inside his sweater. "I didn't want to stress you out. I wanted you and Mom to be happy and to think that I was happy."

Pete sat back, angry with himself. He should have known this was more than a rough transition to a new school. He should have seen something was really wrong. As he asked the calm questions he used when he counselled people in his office at the church, anger churned away in his gut. "Was Todd just calling you names, or has he been physically hurting you?"

"Both." Jon didn't look at his dad. The bruise above his eyebrow looked green in the bright restaurant lighting. "He stuck me in a locker today. Hit me a bunch. Called me...a fag." The word pressed to a whisper.

The pieces snapped together for Pete. The sick days. The time Jon came home with a black eye and said it happened in gym class. For a moment Pete's anger flared so white-hot he could have destroyed the who had done this to his son. It took all his strength to wrestle that anger into submission.