In Laymon's Terms

“There was this little girl in the forest and this big bad wolf...”

“Never mind. Walker?”

“I’m not much good with stories.”

“Then I guess it’s up to me,” Neal said. “I’ll bet I’ve got one that will scare the pants off you.”

“Uh-oh,” Casey said. “I got holes in my underwear.”

“Do you guys want to hear this, or do you want to hit the sleeping bags?”

“It’s not even nine o’clock.”

“So what’ll it be?”

“Tell us the story,” Travis said. The other two nodded glumly.

“Now settle down and listen up...”

The boys exchanged a look and arranged themselves as comfortably as possible on their side of the dying campfire.

“There was a little boy named Robin...”

“This isn’t going to be Winnie the Pooh, is it?”

“No, it isn’t. Anyway, that was Christopher Robin.”

“Oh, right.”

“Robin was not any kind of special little boy. He was a lot like you guys. He could be a smartass sometimes.”

“Who does that sound like?” Moons smirked, nudging Casey.

“And he wasn’t the brightest student in class.”

Casey gave Moons a slug on the shoulder. “How about it, Brainiac?” “And sometimes he was very quiet, and didn’t want to talk to anybody.” Casey and Moons pointed exaggerated fingers at Travis.

“So far this is about as scary as Casper the Friendly Ghost,” Casey observed.

“Just wait. The story starts when Robin is about three years old.”

“Oh Jeez,” Moons observed, “this is going to be a long one.”

“He lived in a large city with his mother, who worked in a department store. ‘What about his father?’ you are probably wondering.”

“Not really,” Casey said.

“Well, Robin’s father was not a nice man. Not like your fathers. He never held a regular job and he gambled away what money he did make. One day he told Robin’s mother he was going to the race track, and never came home.”

“Don’t those disappearing husbands usually go out for a loaf of bread?” Moons asked.

“This one went to the race track. Robin was too young at the time to understand what happened, but he did know that his father wasn’t there anymore.”

“Bright boy,” Casey commented.

“The neighbors all knew what happened, and they discouraged their own kids from playing with Robin, as though it was his fault.”

“Aww, child of a broken home. Boo hoo.”

“If you want to pay attention, Poole, it gets better.”

“I hope so.”

“When he was about six, Robin’s mother, whose name was Barbara, met a man named Kurt at a party. Kurt was tall and good-looking in a slick kind of way, and had a smooth line of talk that women seemed to like.”

“Here comes the sex,” Casey said.

“Shhh!” Travis shushed him. “This is getting good.”

The dark branches of the surrounding trees rustled as the night wind took on a chill. Everyone moved closer to the fire.

Neal went on with the story...

Robin’s mother was a soft, pretty woman. She had honey blond hair and eyes as brown and shiny as a horse chestnut. She was as good a mother as she could manage, what with working all day at the store. Robin stayed inside most of the time, playing by himself, and didn’t miss his father all that much. That all changed after his mother met Kurt. She cared only about pleasing him, and had little time for Robin anymore. Barbara’s problem was she had lousy taste in men. First she picked Robin’s father, who abandoned them, then Kurt, who turned out to be even worse.

Robin mistrusted him from the start. He saw the way the man’s face changed when Barbara left the room and the two of them were alone. Kurt was all Mr. Nice while the three of them were together, but when it was just him and the boy, the smile dropped away and he turned ugly.

Barbara didn’t see it. She was in love, and Robin did not have the words to explain why he distrusted the man. Kurt moved in with them and took over. Barbara kept her job at the store and gave most of the money to him. Kurt always claimed to have some kind of deal working, but he was at home most of the time drinking beer and reading girlie magazines. He got bored easily, and when he was bored he took it out on Robin.

It started innocently enough with tickling. Even though Robin didn’t like it, Kurt would grab him and tickle him until tears came, pretending it was a game. When Robin tried to get loose Kurt would dig his fingers in hard enough to leave bruises on his ribs. And there was the hitting. Worthless as he was, Robin’s real father never struck him. It was different with Kurt. At first he had a reason, so he said, for smacking Robin with the flat of his hand. Any little thing, like leaving his clothes out or not cleaning his plate. Pretty soon it was his fist, and there didn’t have to be any reason at all. The boy tried to tell his mother what was happening, but Barbara didn’t want to hear it, so she refused to listen.

It was, “Robin, Kurt is part of the family now. It’s up to you to do what he tells you.”

“I try, Mom, really. He just doesn’t like me.”

“That’s foolish, of course he likes you. Now let’s not hear any more about it.”