Justin rolled himself into the fetal position as he hit the livingroom floor, his hands around his waist. His father scowled as he looked down at him. "I can't believe what a disappointment you are!" Craig Taylor kicked Justin in the side. Justin got onto his hands and knees, trying to crawl away.
Craig grabbed Justin by the arm, yanking him up until they were facing each other. He ignored the fear and anger in his son's eyes. "You going somewhere?" Craig demanded as he slapped Justin hard across the face. With that, he proceeded to hit Justin with his fist.
Justin just prayed that the beating would stop soon. He didn't know how much more he could take. The next thing he knew, his father was being pushed and landing on the couch. Justin raised his bloodied face and saw that his mother and his sister Molly were back from the grocery store.
He was deaf, had been his whole life, but he had learned to lip-read. He could make out a few words and saw that his mother looked angry. And, his sister looked scared. Even though he could feel a wetness seeping into his right eye, he could still lip-read what his father was shouting. "I want that good for nothing queer out of my house. NOW!"
As his mother's eyes turned to him, he could see fear and compassion in them. But, all he could think was, 'What am I going to do?'
Justin was in a daze as he walked down the steps of the house that had been his home for the past seventeen years. Well, as good a home as it could be with Craig Taylor as his father. Craig had not allowed him to take anything, but when his father wasn't looking his mother had pressed some money into his hand.
I love you, his mother had mouthed before his father had slammed the frontdoor shut. He hadn't even been able to tell Molly goodbye. He sighed as he walked down the dark and quiet Hazelhurst, Mississippi street. He was debating with himself about what to do. Where to go. He looked down at the money that was tightly clapsed in his right hand. Stopping under a streetlight, he quickly counted the money. One hundred dollars.
He knew that would get him somewhere away from Mississippi. But where? Suddenly a name popped into his mind. Emmmett. His cousin Emmett lived in Pittsburgh. He and Justin would write each other ocassionally, and he had said that Justin could visit anytime. Now seemed as good a time as any.
After four blocks, Justin was at the all-night bus station. Walking inside, he quickly made his way to the restroom. Looking in the mirror, above one of the sinks, he cringed at the damage that his father had caused. He wet a paper towel and wiped off the blood from over his right eye. Fortunatly, the cut wasn't bad enough to require stitches. Then, he wiped away the blood from his split lips. He was going to have a black right eye for a few days, his nose was slightly swollen but not broken, and his left cheek was red and puffy. His father had always had good aim.
He felt the tears burning behind his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He had learned at an early age that crying accomplished nothing. Usually, it just resulted in more pain. Sometimes he wondered if he even knew how to cry anymore. He threw away the bloodied paper towel and walked out of the restroom, heading toward the ticket counter.