The Basement Window
Thursday
When the school bus squealed to a stop Bryan reluctantly rose from his seat. Outside he could see that Glen, his mother’s live-in boyfriend, was waiting for him. Bryan stepped down, fixed his backpack on his shoulder, and swallowed hard. The bus door rattled shut behind him and he slowly walked up the long gravel driveway. As soon as he was within earshot Glen started in on him again.
“Bryan, you need to get this window fixed,” Glen pointed with two fingers holding a cigarette at the basement window next to the front porch that hung barely open. The latch dangled from the top edge of the pane. “It’s going to be winter before long, we’ll have all kinds of animals nesting down there. Is that what you want?”
“No… But…I don’t know how to fix it. Why can’t you do it your-”
Before Bryan could ask the question Glen grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back. Bryan’s backpack flew to the ground as Glen lifted him into the aluminum siding on the front of the house. Standing on only his right toes, his left foot kicked, desperately trying to reach the ground. Among grown men Glen lacked physical power, but among skinny teenage boys Glen was brut strength. “Boy, if I tell you to do something: you do it,” Glen said as Bryan groaned in pain. “Don’t you ever ask me no questions like that. You hear me, boy?” Glen yelled as his cigarette bobbed up and down. Spittle that flew from Glen’s lips as he yelled landed on Bryan’s face. The stench of smoke and whiskey soaked breath hung in a cloud.
“Yes,” Bryan said, his lips pressed so tightly against the siding he could barely speak. The taste of paint and metal filled his mouth. Bryan grimaced, he tried pushing away with his free hand, but it was useless. With lips pressed white together Bryan breathed deeply through his nose. A single tear began to form in one eye. He diverted his attention from the pain that seared through his shoulder and arm, to preventing tears from forming. Crying would only lead to more torment. Glen released Bryan so suddenly he fell to the ground.
“Get that window fixed. I don’t wanna have to tell you that again.” Glen went up the front porch steps and flicked his cigarette butt in Bryan’s direction before he went inside. Bryan lay on the ground rotating his arm trying to ease the pain. In the distance, movement caught his eye. A car was coming down the road. It was too far away to tell if it was his mother, Linda, but he was sure it was. Very few cars came down their road. Their closest neighbor, Glen’s friend Joe, lived a mile from them. Bryan picked himself up, grabbed his backpack and brushed away the dirt on his clothes and bag. Anguish was forced into a faux smile as she pulled in.
“Why’s your face all red on the side,” she asked when he greeted her.
“Oh,” he touched his face where it had been pressed against the house, “Glen. Uh… Glen and I were wrestling a minute ago.” He held his fists up and mocked shadow boxing.
* * *
That night Glen and Linda washed the dishes together while Bryan sat at the computer in the living room. As Linda washed, Glen rinsed, danced and sang. He turned the volume up on the radio mounted under the cabinets. “Play us a song you’re the piano man. Play us a song tonight.” Glen turned in a pirouette behind Linda to put a plate away in the cabinet on the other side of her.
Bryan turned and watched them together. Before Glen moved in with them he was much more fun. He would frequently make chores, like doing the dishes, entertaining with his antics. He almost never acted like that anymore. Bryan could see the same gleam in his mother’s eyes that she used to look at his father with. After his father died, he didn’t think he’d ever see that look again. Bryan turned back to his homework. Glen kept singing, “The piano it sounds like a carnival. And the microphone smells like a beer.”
Linda brought the fun to a screeching halt. “I hate to spoil the party, but I spoke to Mr. Kranich today,” Linda said. Bryan shut his eyes, held his breath and leaned back in the chair to hear. He pretended not to pay attention to them. “He said he’d only give us to the end of next week to get caught up on the rent we owe him. Otherwise we’re evicted.” Air escaped Bryan’s lungs.
“Oh yeah?” was all Glen offered.
“Yeah,” Linda snapped. Bryan’s eyes popped opened when he heard the harsh sarcasm in her voice. “This is serious Glen, would you please turn that off?” The house fell eerily silent when Glen snapped the knob on the radio. “Do you have $800 to pay him? Because I sure don’t,” asked Linda.
No. I don’t have it. I don’t have $8 let alone $800…I’m still waiting for the settlement to come in,” Glen’s Zippo lighter flicked then snapped shut. “We’ll figure something out,” Glen exhaled loudly.
“How Glen? What are we going to do? I’m doing everything I can already,” Linda said. Glen let out a huff. The floorboards creaked, Bryan heard and felt Glen’s footsteps coming from behind him. Glen stood in the doorway. “Fine… I’ll go and get you $800 lady. Don’t you worry about a god damn thing.”
“Why are you acting like that? I just said I was doing all I can-”
“I know what you said!” the door slammed, the glass in the window of the door rattled. The house was silent again until the car’s engine revved and the tires threw gravel as he sped down the driveway. Tires squealed on the pavement in the road. Bryan went to the kitchen. Linda was sitting at the table with her face buried in her hands.
“Mom?” he asked. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine Bryan. Everything is going to be fine.” She patted the chair next to her. Bryan sat down.
“What about the rent money? I have some money I can give you,” he pointed with his thumb toward his bedroom.
“You don’t have to do that, Sweetie,” she sat back, “I spoke to my boss today. He’s going to let me work a couple of double shifts and come in on Saturday and Sunday. I didn’t tell Glen that yet. He’d consider that problem solved.”
“Mom,” Bryan stood up and held his arms straight out in exasperation, “you shouldn’t have to work all those hours when he only works those odd jobs here and there.” He folded his arms in against his chest.
“I know. I know. He’ll come up with some money. I don’t know where he gets it. I don’t think I want to know, actually. Truth is- if it weren’t for him, we would have been evicted months ago. Once his back heals and he gets back to work everything will be like it used to be,” Linda said.
“Mom, come on…There’s nothing wrong with his back.”
She looked into Bryan’s narrowed eyes, then quickly changed the subject, “Do you need any help with your homework? We can do it together if you want.” Bryan gave in.
They sat at the computer together. With Glen out of the house everything was so much more pleasant, even doing homework. They had their own fun, like they used to before his father’s heart attack. Neither one of them waited up to make sure Glen made it home safely.
Friday
Linda shook Bryan’s shoulder, as he lay asleep in bed. The room was dark except for the single beam of light coming from the hallway. “Bryan? Wake up,” she said.
“What? What time is it?” he mumbled, brushing her hands away.
“It’s early. Glen never came home last night,” Linda said. She sat on the edge of the bed. “Bryan? He has the car. If I can’t get to work, I won’t get paid. I can’t miss work. Not today.”
Bryan sat up. “We wouldn’t have this problem if he hadn’t let his truck get repossessed.”
“That doesn’t help the situation today, son,” Linda said.
“What do you want me to do?” Bryan asked.
“I need you to walk down to Joe’s and see if the car is there. If it is I need you to drive it home.” Linda stood up. She had to get ready for work. She was already running late.
“Mom, I won’t get my license for two more years… And what if it’s not there?”
“You can drive one mile without a license. I’m sure he’s there… My car better be there… I really need you to do this, baby, we can’t afford for me to miss work,” she gave him her key ring.
* * *
Bryan walked down the shoulder of the road unable to recall the last time he watched the sun come up. When he reached the edge of the woods near Joe’s house he could see his mother’s white Cutlass Sierra parked in the middle of the front yard. Joe’s rusty Bronco was backed into the driveway. Bryan crossed the ditch and waited by a pine tree. He looked at the house. All was quiet.
Bryan approached the car as quietly as he could. It was unnecessary, he could have sounded a fire alarm and the drunks asleep inside wouldn’t have woken up. Slowly, he opened the door, slid behind the wheel, and then gently pulled the door closed. All four locks clunked in place when he hit the door lock button. He turned the key in the ignition switch and breathed a sigh of relief when the engine turned over. Biting his lip, he stepped on the brake and pulled the shifter knob into ‘drive.’ He eased his foot off the pedal. The car lurched forward and rolled on the grass toward the driveway. Bryan looked back over his shoulder expecting to see Glen and Joe chasing after him, but no one was there. Just as he was about to clip the edge of the Bronco’s front bumper he jerked the wheel and narrowly missed the truck. Once on the road he stepped on the gas and drove home.
When he pulled up the driveway, Linda was outside pacing. Bryan parked and emerged from the car. His mother hugged him tighter than she ever had before. “I won’t be home until late tonight, honey. Will you be okay if Glen doesn’t come home?”
Bryan let out a small laugh, “I’ll be fine either way mom,” he chose not to tell her he’d actually be better off if he didn’t come back at all.
“There’s going to be some changes around here, real soon,” Linda said.
“What does that mean?” Bryan asked.
“We’ll talk about it later, okay? I’m late for work” she started to get in the car.
“Are you breaking up with him?”
“We’ll talk about it later.”
* * *
After school Bryan cautiously walked up the driveway. He stopped when he saw tire tracks: extra wide twin ruts driven into the gravel. When he was closer to the house the music playing told him Glen was inside. Bryan went up the front steps and attempted to open the front door. It was locked. Bryan lifted the doormat and unlocked the door with the key they kept hidden there. He lifted the mat to return the key. Before he put it down, he heard Glen’s voice from inside shouting over the music.
“HEY! GET OVER HERE!” Glen was in the basement at the window that hung slightly more open than it had the day before. Bryan stuffed the key into his pocket then walked down and squatted in front of the window. He could barely make out Glen’s image through the glare of the sun on the glass.
“I TOLD YOU, YESTERDAY, TO FIX THIS WINDOW!”
Bryan rolled his eyes and walked away from the window and went in the front door. As Bryan walked down the hallway toward his bedroom Glen rumbled up the stairs. The basement door swung open and clanged against the wall. Glen stood in the doorway. His eyes locked on Bryan’s. Glen’s eyes were bloodshot red and full of rage. His teeth were clenched. The corners of his mouth turned into a grin. Like a dog, Glen could smell fear.
Bryan had never seen Glen like this. He ran into his bedroom. Holding one foot against the door and the other braced behind him, he squeezed the knob and leaned his shoulder into the door.
The knob slid against his hand, he held as tight as he could but the sweat on his palm prevented a solid grip. The door moved open against his foot, just an inch or so. Glen hurled his body into it. Two, then three more times, the door opened a bit more each time. On the fourth Bryan could no longer hold him back. Glen lunged into his room, then suddenly turned calm. Collected.
“Don’t you walk away from me when I’m talking to you, boy.” Glen’s hands balled into fists. Bryan backed against the wall. He glanced around the room looking for something he could use as a weapon. Before he could grab his bowling trophy, Glen came at him and punched with a quick left at Bryan’s stomach. Doubling over he blocked most of the punch with both hands. Then Glen’s right connected with Bryan’s cheek with such fury his head lurched back and collided with the wall. His head cracked the drywall and he fell to the ground in the fetal position, wailing in pain. With his knees drawn up against his chest Bryan covered his head with both arms.
“Get up you fuckin’ cry baby,” Glen swung his foot back. As he was about to kick he stopped, then turned and walked away. “What a pussy,” Glen said on his way through the door. The basement door latched shut again. Bryan lay in a heap and cried, his head was pounding on the back and throbbing on the front. His pain fueled anger.
* * *
Bryan checked the lock on his bedroom window. Then made sure all the windows in the house were locked. He locked the backdoor at the knob and turned the deadbolt. Slowly, he opened the basement door and started down the rickety wooden stairs. His chest heaved up and down with each step. The basement of every house he had ever lived in had always given Bryan the creeps. In the middle of the room Glen sat on a crooked reclining chair that had a stack of books for one leg. He had an old TV and a stereo set up, it was his private lair.
The room was dark, other than the beam of sunlight shining through the partially open window, despite the pull string to the light hanging next to him. Next to his chair was a pedestal ashtray packed so full of butts that the trapdoors couldn’t close. An empty pint bottle of cheap whiskey was at his feet. A cloud of smoke hung in the air.
“How come you don’t act like you used to?” Bryan asked him. Glen tilted his head back and gave Bryan a puzzled look with those searing red eyes. “You used to make my mom laugh all the time. You used to take us camping and fishing. We were more like a family before you moved in. Why can’t it be like that anymore?”
“I ain’t your dad. I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, but I ain’t no one’s dad,” Glen said, palms extended out in front of himself.
“I know you’re not my Dad. My dad would have fixed that window himself. You’re nothing like my dad.”
“Well, Bryan.” Glen hesitated, nodding his head in agreement, “You’re right about that.” Glen took exaggerated deep breaths in and out. “I’m breathing, ain’t I?”
“You’re an asshole.”
Glen bolted from his chair knocking over the whiskey bottle. Bryan turned and ran. Glen was right behind him, his face flushed red. Halfway up the stairs Glen grabbed one of Bryan’s feet, but he kicked free. Glen chased him as he ran through the door at the top of the stairs, then through the living room and out the front door into the yard. Bryan circled the house. His adrenaline and young legs quickly put distance between he and Glen. Glen was older, out of shape and spent much of his time smoking. Bryan ran across the backyard. Glen lagged further and further behind. Around the other side and to the front Bryan jumped up the porch stairs, through the door and locked it.
He closed his eyes and leaned against the door, his chest rapidly rising and falling. Within a few seconds Glen was shaking the doorknob. Bryan took a step back. Glen’s head had gone from being flushed red to almost purple. A single vein stood out and throbbed on his sweaty forehead.
“YOU…LET…ME…THE…FUCK…IN…RIGHT…NOW!” He beat his fist against the door between the window and the frame with each syllable.
Bryan didn’t move as he watched Glen through the window of the door. Glen squatted and for a moment disappeared from Bryan’s sight. Horrified, Bryan realized he had forgotten to get the key from under the mat. Suddenly the welcome mat flew through the air and landed in the grass. Bryan was sure Glen would be unlocking the door any second but instead he started yelling inarticulate grunts of frustration. It dawned on Bryan: he had the key in his pocket. He pulled the key out and clenched it in his fist. Fate had smiled on him. When Glen reappeared in the window, foam had started to gather at the corners of his mouth. Bryan showed Glen the key he was searching for holding it between his thumb and forefinger.
Enraged, Glen drew back and punched the glass in the lower corner near the doorknob. Bryan gasped at the unmistakable sound of glass breaking. Tiny shards of glass flew at Bryan; he jumped back from them stunned. Glen was still yelling but his voice was suddenly higher. Childish. Panicked. His arm reached through the glass, blood ran down the door.
Streams of blood spewed from Glen’s arm like a garden sprinkler. Blood covered the wall next to the door and the floor. Glen tried to pull his arm, cut to ribbons, from the hole in the corner of the window. It was caught on a shard of glass. He turned his wrist, blood pulsed out of his arm reaching the ceiling. A dagger of glass fell to the ground freeing him. Glen ran from the porch with his cut arm pressed tight against himself.
Bryan ducked into the bathroom, the only room in the house with a lock on the door, and locked himself in. He sat on the edge of the bathtub and waited for Glen to pound on the door.
* * *
Bryan waited behind the bathroom door for what seemed an eternity. When his back was too sore to sit and his feet ached from standing, he slowly opened the door. He kept himself ready to make a quick retreat if he needed to. He poked his head out and then stepped into the hallway. In his mother’s bedroom there was no sign of Glen. The kitchen was undisturbed. The front door was still locked and the sweeping gasket attached to the bottom edge had not touched the shards of glass on the tile entryway. Bryan unlocked the deadbolt on the back door then stepped outside and went around to the front yard.
The porch was soaked, blood trailed down the steps. Bryan walked in the grass following the trail. The blood continued onto the front walk, cut diagonally across the grass, and then picked up again down the driveway. The trail led all the way to the road, where it abruptly stopped. Bryan figured Glen must have gotten into a car. What a stroke of luck that would have been that a car happened to go down their road at the exact moment he was bleeding to death. Bryan thought that it was also possible that Glen had somehow managed to stop the bleeding and made his way to Joe’s house. Only one thing was certain: Glen was gone.
* * *
Bryan went inside through the back door and duct taped a sheet of cardboard up over the broken window. In the kitchen he pulled the broom, the mop and a bucket from the closet. He swept up the bloody glass and dumped it into the metal trashcan in the garage. Then he mopped the small section of tile flooring at the entryway. Using a wet rag, he wiped blood from the walls and scrubbed the carpet. He stood on a chair and wiped the ceiling. For a moment, Bryan took guilty pleasure in knowing the man who had tormented him relentlessly had injured himself so severely.
The mess was as clean as it was going to get, short of a fresh coat of paint and replacing the carpet. It was dark outside; he snapped on the porch light and went out the back door and around to the front. He uncoiled the garden hose from its rack on the side of the house and pulled it to the front porch.
Bryan sprayed the door, the porch, the steps and the walk. A few stubborn spots remained despite the water pressure. He pulled the hose as far as he could to spray the driveway but the water only reached the beginning of it. It was cleaned up enough so at least they wouldn’t have to walk through blood to get inside.
Linda pulled into the driveway as Bryan was coiling the hose back up. He ran from the opposite side of the house to greet her so she wouldn’t panic when she saw the broken window and the blood that remained.
The first thing she noticed was that Bryan had a black eye. “Did Glen do this to you?” she asked running her finger along his cheekbone and eye socket where it had begun to swell. Bryan had forgotten all about that altercation.
“Yeah, but he’s gone. He cut his arm and he took off.”
“What are you talking about? What happened?” Linda asked.
Bryan showed her the broken window in the front door, the blood that remained and told her about the trail to the road. “I just wanted him to leave me alone. I wanted him out of our house. He was really pissed. I’d never seen him so angry.”
Linda caressed Bryan’s cheekbone with the back of her hand. “Well, he and I are through. I promise you that.”
Saturday
Bryan was asleep when it occurred to him that annoying bell he kept hearing was the doorbell. He jumped into his jeans and ran for the door. Outside a red van was parked in the driveway. A man with a navy blue work uniform and a name patch that read, “Bud” stood on the porch.
“You don’t have to be a detective to figure out what happened here,” Bud said. “No. My mom’s ex-boyfriend did all this.”
“Yeah, your mom called me this morning, I’ll get you all taken care of.”
“Thanks,” Bryan said and sat down on the living room couch. Bryan watched Bud quickly and efficiently remove the stops holding the broken glass in place. With thick gloves on he pulled what was left of the glass out and brought it to his van. Minutes later he returned and hung the new pane.
“This glass has a shatterproof coating on it. Iron Mike Tyson couldn’t even punch through this,” he rapped the glass with his knuckles.
After Bud left, Bryan decided to vacuum all of the carpets, which his mother usually did on Saturdays. With the machine running he repeatedly thought he heard the sound of a car coming up the driveway being mostly drowned out. Each time he checked for cars there were none.
In the laundry room, he was loading the dryer and a loud clang startled him. He cried out and dropped the wet clothes; Glen was standing before him. Or so he thought. It was actually one of Glen’s flannel shirts on a hanger. The noise was merely the water softener next to the dryer beginning a cycle. Bryan waited for his heart to stop racing before folding the clothes.
Linda was delighted when she came home that afternoon. She went through the house marveling at all the work Bryan had done for her. The house already felt happier than it had in longer than either of them could remember. They spent the evening watching movies and eating popcorn together.
Sunday
Bryan awoke to his mother calling his name from the living room. “You’re home early,” he said as he emerged from his bedroom.
“Right. My boss said we didn’t have enough work to do to justify working the overtime. Now I don’t know how-” She stopped, closed her eyes and shook her head. “Never mind about that. Come outside with me for a sec, will you?”
“Sure mom.”
Outside she stood next to the front porch, “do you think you can fix this window for me?” She pointed at the same window Glen had complained about, only now it hung completely open. “Some animal is going to go in there when it gets cold out, if they haven’t already.”
“Sure mom, I’ll do it right now.” He was the man of the house now.
He opened the basement door. His palms suddenly dripped with sweat. As he went down the stairs Bryan stepped into a wall of odor. He took air in only through his mouth. The smell of urine and feces filled the room. “Great, some animal already came in,” he said half to himself, half to his mother upstairs. He reached through the darkness for the string to switch on the light that hung from the ceiling. Faint, shallow breaths rose up. He thought it must be a raccoon or some other animal hiding in the darkness. Bryan found the string and pulled.
Bryan’s stomach leapt into his throat when the light revealed Glen slumped against the damp cinder block wall directly below the window. Bryan gagged and doubled over. A string of saliva escaped his mouth. He tried to spit out the bitter taste that had rushed to the back of his tongue as he slowly accepted the fact that this was indeed what was left of Glen. A tourniquet that used to be his shirt was tied around his arm. Bryan’s eyes squinted in concentration as he took a good long look. Glen’s skin that wasn’t caked in dried blood was as pale as a ghost’s.
The dead man against the wall was breathing. Barely. Using what appeared to be every ounce of strength he could muster, Glen tilted his head toward Bryan. He lacked the strength to speak. Glen tried to lift his good arm in a gesture to ask for help. His hand only lifted inches from his lap. The scratch of Glen’s throat struggling for air rang in Bryan’s ears. A brown puddle of dried blood surrounded him. Clumps of his hair were matted with dirt and blood. Glen was the source of the foul smell. He sat in his own waste.
Momentarily ashamed by the thoughts going through his mind, Bryan hesitated. If he left Glen for even another few hours, surely death would take him away. Thoughts of being punched, lit cigarettes being flicked at him, being teased and tormented ran through his mind. Then he remembered the smile on his mom’s face when she looked at Glen. Bryan couldn’t escape the sound of Glen struggling to breathe or the sight of the man too weak to lift his arm. Bryan lacked the ability to watch a man to die.
As much as he hated Glen, he considered it only briefly. Bryan darted up the stairs to the kitchen. Glen was merciless and cruel; Bryan was decent and compassionate. He grabbed the phone from the wall and dialed 911.
“What’s going on? Is there an animal down there?” Linda asked smiling.
Bryan ignored her. He waited for the phone to connect to the emergency dispatcher. He took a deep breath, licked his lips, then slowly and surely enunciated his words, “There is a man here who is bleeding to death…” Linda shrieked and ran down the stairs.
Linda’s shrieks of terror floated up from the basement for the rest of the phone call. Bryan sat down at the kitchen table and didn’t move until the paramedics were hauling Glen away. Bryan watched from a distance when they wheeled the gurney outside into the back of the ambulance. In the sun Glen’s skin was a grayish purple, the color of death. Linda climbed into the back with Glen. The paramedics closed the doors and the truck sped away.
* * *
That night Linda returned from the hospital. She broke the news to Bryan that Glen’s right arm had been amputated and he had received several blood transfusions but he would survive the ordeal. She also informed Bryan that Glen would be staying with them through his recovery.
“Mom, NO! You promised.”
“Bryan, he lost his arm, and almost died. I can’t throw him out into the street now. Not like this.”