Minor Differences, Chapter One

November 27—Queens, New York

A door bangs open and I shoot a hundred feet upward from my place of rest. The familiar sound of footsteps seems hollow in the warehouse. My father stands outside his office, glaring at me. My gaze falls to the floor. He makes his way to the long rectangular table in the center of the room and sits at the head of the table.

I cringe. He hasn’t had such an angry look on his face in years.

He lights a cigar. The exhalation of his first drag is so deep that it fills my ears from where I sit against the cold wall. The cigar relieves me little. Although smoking has prevented him from hitting me on more than one occasion, it doesn’t always calm him down. But he does begin to slouch in his chair, which brings me hope.

“Roberto?” I ask, testing his mood. “What’s wrong?”

“Go back to sleep."

My eyes snap shut, and I lay against the freezing wall again, shivering. It has been hours since I last saw my shirt, and I am weary of the cold. Not only that, but I am also starving. Other families across the country haven’t even started to recover from their yearly feast of turkey, cranberry sauce, potatoes and stuffing. How could Roberto forget the date, when the one thing he loves to do most is cook? I pull my body closer together. There has to be a way to get his attention. Besides, there is something I must ask him before it’s too late.

After a moment of hesitation I open my eyes. It takes a lot of courage to stand, but I force myself upright anyway. I creep toward the table, being careful not to make any sudden movements. His eyes are like coals, but when I reach the table I sit beside him. Heat burns off his face like warmth from a fire. If only such strong heat filled the room.

“I told you to go back to sleep,” Roberto warns through clenched teeth. His face is bitter; his eyes are accusing. The bruises on my arm serve as a reminder that I should be lying against the wall with my eyes closed.

“I'm sorry,” I say, looking down at the table’s hard wooden surface. As much as I try, I cannot lift my eyes high enough to meet Roberto’s. “I just wanted to ask you if-”

“Where’s your shirt?”

“You made me take it off. Remember?” It’s true. And after I followed his order he began comparing my body to those of his other men. He said I’m too thin. Too weak. I look like a fag.

“It’s in my office.” Despite the hint he has given me to get my shirt, I don’t move. He has never let me in his office alone.

“What are you waiting for?” he asks. “Do you want to freeze?”

I stand quickly and walk towards the same door he opened hastily only a few minutes ago. My shiny black shoes make little noise against the floor. I wish at this moment that the guys were here; the silence is unnerving. It’s dark in the office, and the light doesn’t do much good. There is nothing on his desk. His soft leather couch looks warm, and I know why he never invites me to sleep on it; it’s because my presence irritates him. He would probably hit me a lot more. But at least I could sleep comfortably. What I wish for, though, is not to sleep on a couch, but on my bed. However, judging by Roberto’s current temperament, it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen tonight.

My shirt would also help block the freezing air. It could be in the closet. I open the door and peek inside. Except for Roberto’s jacket, it is empty. The only other place it could be is inside his desk. His desk is private. But the cold is unbearable. My fingers grip the handle to the top drawer. When I open it I find a small handgun and some loose papers. The first drawer on the side is completely empty. The second drawer has another handgun and more papers. I reach toward the last drawer and suddenly feel uneasy.

“What are you doing in my desk?”

I jump. Roberto is standing in the doorway with his arms crossed.

“I was just looking for my shirt.”

“It’s right behind you.”

I turn around. It’s sitting on his chair. How could I have missed it?

“Take it and get out.”

I snatch up my shirt and put my arms through the long sleeves, buttoning it as I go. He takes up most of the doorway as I pass.

Going back to the wall seems like the smartest thing to do, but I hesitate. I may not get another chance to confront him before tomorrow. I turn around as he makes his way back to the table and sit beside him again. He is glaring. I speak quickly to interfere with his ability to send me back to the wall.

“Can I ask you about something?” How pathetic. My voice is so fucking small. He’ll never listen to me if I don’t sound confident, but what does confidence sound like?

“What is it?”

“Uh…Tomorrow’s the last day for registering at the college, and I was wondering if I could take a couple classes.”

A bitter laugh escapes Roberto’s lips. I look up, confused with his reaction.

“It would just be for a few hours a day,” I explain as quickly as I can, “and I could make it so it didn’t interfere with-”

“Did I ask you if you wanted to go to school?”

I shake my head, breathing carefully. I’ve been thumbing through classes this entire week trying to find the right ones. Somehow just looking made the possibility of going to school seem real.

“That’s right,” he spits, staring so far into me that even my soul is shivering. “I didn’t ask you. You fucking think you can do whatever the hell you want, is that it?”

“It’s not that, it’s-”

“No, I know exactly what it is. You’re always trying to piss me off, Danny, always trying to see how far you can get before I lose control. You think I don’t know about last night?” A shock of terror electrocutes me, and suddenly I want to throw up. No wonder he is so angry. I swallow slowly.

“Nigel said you got drunk. He said you attacked him. He said you were rude to everyone.”

“It was only because-”

“Ever since I took you in you’ve been nothing but trouble. You know how much of an embarrassment you are to me?”

With my eyes I trace a pattern ingrained in the wood. My heart is pounding. The sound clots my ears. Roberto can probably hear it, too.

“Nigel said you were bragging about how tough you are,” Roberto continues with a scowl. “You think you’re some tough guy, huh? Well, don’t even think about pissing me off; I’m in no mood for your disrespect. You’ve already ruined my Thanksgiving. So unless you wanna spend the rest of your life in a hospital, shut the hell up and go back to sleep.”

I don’t move. It’s taken me months to gather the courage to even bring up the question of my pending education. I don’t even have a GED. And now because of my cousin’s ratting, Roberto’s too pissed to even consider allowing me to go to school.

“Did you hear me? Get out of my face.” Last warning. Countdown in t-minus 10 seconds.

“Why can’t I go to school? Is it because of Nigel? Or because you hate me?” I ask softly, looking quickly into my father’s eyes before just as quickly looking away. I already had goose bumps from the cold in the room, but the coldness of his eyes is making them worse. I fold my hands together under the table and try to keep my fingers steady, without success.

“Now isn’t that a smart question?” Roberto sneers at me, and the sarcasm causes me to flinch. “My son, the genius. Take a guess. I told you to go to sleep, and what did you do? You ignored me and instead sat over here. Then I told you again and you still didn’t listen. Shit. Almost 18 years old, and you still haven’t got it. I thought you’d figure it out by now.”

I stumble out of the chair and nearly loose my balance. Roberto’s hand darts out and he grabs my arm before I can escape. I try to tear free, my eyes watering from the tightness of his grip. I twist around and am met by a fake smile.

“Still trying to get away, even when you know it’s pointless. I warned you.” He pulls me toward his chest. My eyes widen and I twist, desperate to break free. Even if I could succeed, I don’t have the courage to leave this place. Not after what happened the last time I left without permission. Roberto closes his free hand into a fist.

“Let’s see how tough you really are.”

“R-Roberto, I-”

“Shut up.”

“But-”

I see his fist flying toward my face and try to block the punch. Not fast enough. My jaw is crushed beneath the weight of his hard knuckles. I cry out from the pain of the blow. My head jerks backwards and my feet fall beneath me. Roberto releases my arm.

As soon as I can feel the hard cement against my body, I scamper across the room on my hands and knees and crawl underneath a table next to the wall where I had been sleeping. It hurts to breathe. I pull my knees to my chest and use my hands to block my face.

I can hear the heavy body of my father coming toward me in quick, long strides, and my heart freezes. He’s coming. Now all I want is to go back and redo this night again. I would have ignored the cold and forgotten about my desire for an education.

Light shines above me as Roberto lifts the small table and throws it across the room. It thuds loudly, the echo reverberating into my ears and making me jump.

Instinctively I grab one of the chairs beside me and use it as protection from the oncoming fist. It is ripped from my hands and thrown to the floor.

Roberto’s steel-toed boot comes out of nowhere and strikes me in the shin. Electricity moves up my leg. I use the hands protecting my face to soothe my skin. I will never get used to it, no matter how many times I’ve felt it. The feeling of hardness slamming into soft flesh. Crashing into frail bone.

I look up, but by the time I notice the fist it is too late. Roberto is bent over, and he punches me hard in the cheek, causing the back of my head to smash into the floor. A headache appears, a siren that fills my head. I struggle to stay awake. My world is enveloped in fuzz, and I blink several times in an attempt to regain focus. Is that a peanut floating around the liquid iron in my mouth? Oh God. What will my friends think? I feel the back of my head and bring my hand to my face. Red stains my fingers. My eyes drift beyond my hand, and once again I can see Roberto towering above me. His eyes are on fire, burning me with fear.

I cover my arms over my face, knowing I haven’t even begun to feel the burden of my sentence.

“I’ll go back to sleep, I swear I will. Please stop,” I beg, choking on blood and pushing the tooth to the side of my mouth. It’s humiliating to sound so small; it’s always humiliating. But sometimes doing so makes the punishment less harsh. Although never when my father is especially angry. “I’m sorry I disobeyed you. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Roberto drops to his knees. He pulls my arms away from my face and shoves them underneath me, wedging my hands between the cement and my buttocks. I stop breathing. He is going to scar my face again. It was easy to predict that Roberto might get angry with me for defying his orders and asking a favor rather than sleep, but I had never anticipated this.

“It has nothing to do with you sleeping. Forget about that. What it is, is this idea you’ve got in your head that you’re better than everyone else. Just because you live with me doesn’t mean you’re better.”

“I know it doesn’t.”

“Then why the fuck is it every time you leave the house I get bad news?”

I start to sit up. Roberto pins me down. I pull my hands out from underneath my body and cover my face again. “Nigel is the one giving you bad news,” I insist, talking fast before he cuts me off. “He lied to you about yesterday. I didn’t-”

Roberto grabs my hands and moves them away from my face. “That’s funny, because I heard Gaetano helping you to your room. I even heard you puking all over your bathroom floor. The only way you could have been more obvious was if you drove yourself home and crashed through the fucking door. You’re trying to tell me now, you weren’t drunk last night?”

I close my mouth, and this is the only answer he needs.

“I thought so,” he spits, and I flinch. He puts my hands underneath me again. “You’re always making me look bad. You think I like it when I’m trying to do business with someone and they tell me they heard my son is a goddamned troublemaker?” He shakes his head with resolve. “It’s time you learn.”

My father sticks his fist in the air, and again I cover my face. If the force of the next blow knocks me out, he will stop hitting me. I will wake up the next morning in bed, with warm blankets surrounding my body. The headache is worth it.

I hold the severed tooth tightly between the tongue and roof of my mouth, bracing for impact. This isn’t like him. A few years ago, if I had been in this same fight Roberto would have used his belt on my back or kicked me in the chest. Anywhere other than the face, where others could see. But it’s different lately. This is the second time this month that he has hit me in the face. He is becoming less careful. Less careful and less sympathetic.

Anticipating and even hoping for a harsh blow to the skull makes me impatient. Wearily I open my eyes, and Roberto’s fist uncurls. Instead of hitting me he sighs and turns away from me. I start to breathe. Maybe I was wrong, maybe he does have some sympathy left. I can hear him exhale loudly through his nose. I open my mouth and the tooth I had been holding suddenly slides down my throat and stops halfway. My eyes open wide and I cough, trying to force it out. It won’t budge.

I sit up and grab my throat in panic. “Roberto,” I try to say, but nothing comes out.

I crawl toward him and pull on the hem of his pant leg. He doesn’t seem to notice me and I claw at my neck, coughing and crying at the same time. Oh god. He’s going to let me choke to death. The world starts to fade, and I continue tearing into my throat for air, to no avail. The world becomes gray and I see the world falling for a split second as my arms buckle and my head hits the floor.

Suddenly his hands are under my arms, pulling me to my feet. His fists sit below my ribcage and he pushes roughly inward. Nothing happens. He repeats the motion, and the tooth shoots across the room. He slaps my back twice and I hit the floor. I cough up liquid and take in all the air I can, finally able to breathe.

He just saved me. I don’t know what I expected him to do. To laugh? To put his hand down my throat and shove the tooth further inside? Whatever I thought his action would be, he didn’t go through with it.

I suddenly wonder what I must look like to him, how pathetic I must seem. He is standing over me silently, probably wondering when I’m going to toughen up. I look up to confirm this and he walks fast into his office and slams the door.

I follow after him through fuzzy vision and dizziness. I can see him through the blinds, sitting behind his desk. I hesitate. Although I want to further try and convince him to change his mind, I know if I don’t stop bothering him he’ll fulfill that threat of putting me in the hospital.

So instead of knocking on the door I walk back to the wall, wondering when we’re going home. We have a long day tomorrow, especially since I have to think about the fact that I am again missing my chance to get out of this place.

I notice my tooth on the floor, covered in blood. It seems strange that I could recognize it outside my mouth, where it does not belong. I bend down slowly and pick it up before lying against the wall again. I close my fingers around the tooth despite its stickiness.

I touch my cheek lightly with my fingertips. Everyone is going to wonder what happened. I’ll tell them I got in a fight. And won.