24/7 Friends

It was a dark and stormy night...

Just kidding. It actually was a relatively normal night. The clouds were still golden from the after waves of the sunset, a honey hue with pink tendrils floating off on distant clouds. I walked along, like I always did, with my white beat-up Converse, a band tee, and ripped jeans. The jeans hadn't always been ripped but working with all the cars at dad's shop had done my knees in. The concrete under my feet felt nice, a solid footing. I was meeting up with my childhood best friend Chucky, apparently, he needed to talk.

Chucky and I had been best friends for as long as I could remember. He lived next door to my folks and me until we were 7. We used to play this game, Tattle-Tale Kathy, on his younger sister. He and I would take turns pulling out strands of her hair and counting to see how many we could get until she ran to his mom and tattle tailed on us. We were best buds, he and I. Then his parents started to argue more and more and I could hear his father yelling all the way to my house. One day, he didn't come to school. As soon as I got off the bus, I knocked on his door. Chucky answered, half hiding his face and right side of his body. He never did explain to me what happened, but I could see the dark red bloodstain on his lip and parts of his black eye. I had never liked his father. They moved to the town over shortly after, and we hung out on the weekends.

I had seen Chucky this morning in Chemistry, but after school around 3 pm, he sent me a text saying, "I need to see you, ASAP!!" Chucky was the chillest guy and never sent texts like this; something inside me was worried about what he was going to say.

I passed the dirty window of the 24/7 Deli that Chucky and I always went to. The red leather booths, once in prime condition, were now stretched from patron's seats and worn at the seams. I opened the rusty door and saw Chucky sitting at our booth strategically placed by the pie case. Sometimes, when Nancy the waitress wasn't looking, we would sneak a piece of apple pie and scarf it down in the bathroom. She always knew what we were up to though, and let us get away with it.

Chuck was looking at his hands on the table when I sat down across from him; they were shaking and his palms were red and torn. Sweat burrowed at his temple and across his hairline; the piece of apple-pie had only been played with.

"What's up, Chuck."

"Remember how my dad used to yell Peter... like a lot? This time I just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take it."

"What do you mean couldn't take it?"

"He's been hitting mom and Kathy. He beats me up too but I don't care about that. I did something bad, Pete. Real bad. You gotta help me."

Chuck told me the story of how he slammed his dad's head with a baseball bat that night when he was abusing his mom. His mom and Kathy had driven to the motel outside of town, but Chuck didn't want to go in case his dad came after them, but, his dad hadn't stirred since. He didn't know if it was the alcohol or the baseball bat, but Chuck needed my help to know if he was alive.

We devised a plan in the old 24/7 Deli. That night we would take action.