Page 22 of Finding Noah

I stood there with my back to the door, staring ahead at Soldier, and I forced my mind to replace his image with Dad’s. I thought about him hitting me, yelling at me, shoving me around. I thought about him pushing Mom and dragging her to the bedroom, locking the door behind him, and making her scream and cry until all she could do was beg in whispers.

I thought about Tommy’s house. About the gun and the kid and the BANG that had cracked against a clear night sky.

He killed that kid, I thought. He killed that kid, and one day, he might kill me.

Not unless I kill him first.

And then something furious and wild rose from my belly and ripped through my throat. It came out of my mouth with a bloodcurdling cry as I crouched and barreled forward on a surprising burst of energy. The crown of my head pummeled Soldier’s gut, and upon impact, my fists flew, hitting him with all my strength, anywhere I could reach.

He took the hit with an oof, giving me a moment to get a few swings in before taking my shoulders in his hands and holding me back.

“Okay, okay,” he said, looking me in the eye. “Easy. Take a breath.”

My chest heaved, and my fists trembled at my sides as I crashed back to earth, back to reality, and saw my friend instead of my devil of a father.

Then tears sprang to my eyes, and I didn’t know why.

I sniffled, embarrassed, and quickly diverted my gaze to the floor.

“Hey,” Soldier said quietly. “It’s okay. It’s just the adrenaline. You’re all right.”

“Men don’t cry after a fight,” I replied.

“There’s nothing wrong with crying. It only means you have a heart. Don’t lose that, and you’ll be just fine.”

“Do you cry?”

Soldier chuckled, and I looked up to watch him nod.

“Yeah, I cry.”

Then I nodded too. Because if Soldier could cry, then it must be all right.

“Okay,” he said, releasing my shoulders and taking a step back. “Do it again. But this time, focus your shots. Don’t flail around aimlessly. If you’re fighting someone bigger than you, you need to do as much damage as you can, as quickly as you can. Okay? You wanna aim here”—he laid a hand to the right side of his abdomen, just below his ribs—”and here.” He gestured at his crotch, and I wrinkled my nose.

“You want me to punch you in the dick?”

He grimaced. “No, not particularly, but …” He sighed and shrugged, then took his stance as I backed up toward the door again. “I told you I’d teach you to knock me on my ass, so that’s what we’re gonna do. But just, uh … try to be gentle, okay?”

I nodded, and again, I charged.

***

Weeks went by, and every few days, Soldier found the time to teach me to fight.

I didn't think I was very good. In fact, I knew I wasn't. Especially against someone as big and strong as him. But he taught me precision, and he taught me where to hit to—at the very least—slow my opponent down, and above all else, he gave me the confidence to try.

Over the years, Jay had become a really good friend, but I thought, over just a few months, Soldier had become the best one I'd ever had.

One weekend, the three of us—Mom, Soldier, and me—all went to Harold's department store to buy a big screen TV for Soldier's living room. He said he'd never had a big TV before, and he joked around that he wanted one to fit the entire wall in front of his couch.

“I wanna feel like I'm sitting in a movie theater,” he said as we browsed the selection of televisions.

“What about this one?” I asked, running ahead to point at the biggest TV I had ever seen in my life.

Soldier and Mom followed behind me. They walked holding hands, and it didn't bother me at all. Actually, I really liked them together. I liked it a lot.

I glanced behind me to look at them, and I thought, We feel like a family. A real one.