No More Kenny

this story won 2nd prize in the category Outstanding Prequel Story

“Why do I have to come?” the voice of the blond, lean boy in the backseat of the car was drenched with unwillingness.

“I told you Kenny, you can’t stay home alone.” The blonde woman in the passenger’s seat, every detail in her appearance very well taken care of, answered somewhat impatiently.

“Why can Mary stay then?”

“She’s going over to Sherry.”

“I’m twelve. I can manage alone.”

“You’re not staying home and that’s that.”

“I don’t like it there. Mrs Redman looks like a horse and her husband smells like--”

“Watch your mouth, young man!” The man behind the wheel snapped. “And don’t let me have to repeat that again, is that understood?”

The boy sulked.

“Is that UNDERSTOOD, Kenny?!” The voice was suddenly so harsh that Kenny flinched.

“Yes, sir,” he replied softly and obediently. The rest of the ride Mr and Mrs Hutchinson calmly chitchatted but the boy in the back of the car didn’t engage in their conversation. He sat down on his trembling hands until the shaking had subsided and tried to forget his father’s outburst.

Mr Hutchinson had a mind of his own. He didn’t often raise a hand against his son, but sporadically he lost his temper and then young Kenneth got the full load. A small scar on his right buttock, caused by the buckle of a his father’s belt, was a silent visible mark that would remain proof of such an outburst.

It changed Kenny, for he learned by trial and error that his father was predictable in his unpredictability. There was no telling when or why or about what he would snap, so Kenny adopted an alert modus that came as swiftly as necessary. He was always on edge, always aware of his father’s presence, which turned the young, blond child in a closed, introvert boy, not understood by the people around him.

Those thoughts were not even conscious ones, as the tarmac disappeared under the tyres of the Buick and the Hutchinsons, as they drove to friends in New York.

Mrs Redman did indeed resemble a horse, and Mr Redman drank so much that he carried a smell of alcohol with him like cheap after shave. They didn’t have children, but today a group of children his own age were playing baseball on a lawn near the Redman’s house. Kenny asked if he could join them and the adults were apparently all too pleased to have him away for a while, so they immediately said yes.

Kenny liked pitching. He was already quite tall for his age, but the proportions didn’t fit yet. He was agile and lean and much stronger than most people would take for granted in that almost skinny kid.

The kids in the field were somewhat reluctant and suspicious of him at first, but once he got into the game, his unfamiliar face was soon forgotten and he became one of the players.

He stood on the imaginary plate and threw a ball at a boy who had a great swing. The ball made a perfect curb through the air and landed in the glove of a backfield player.

“Next time,” the boy said with a laugh, acknowledging Kenny’s throwing arm, “I’ll hit you a homerun.”

“You think so?”

“You’ve got a great arm, tall guy. What’s your name?”

Tall guy. That didn’t go well with ‘Kenny’, did it? “Kenn—Ken.”

“Righto, Ken. You’re with the Redmans?”

“No, they’re friends of my parents.”

“I’m Brad. Did you ever notice Mrs Redman looks like a horse?”

Kenny laughed. It didn’t take long before it was Brad’s turn and he was facing him again.

“A homerun, remember?”

“Sure,” Kenny nodded.

“Come on then! Hit me with your most difficult ball,” Brad called and was ready. Kenny threw and Brad hit the white ball. It went high, higher, higher… the players held their hands over their eyes to shield them from the sun as they followed the trajectory of the ball.

It flew over a fenced playground, bounced a couple of times and then vanished in the shadows of the buildings that stood there.

“Shit!” somebody muttered.

“Home run!” Brad called and calmly made his round. Kenny nodded approvingly.

“That’s the second ball, Brad,” one of the kids said angrily. “You hit one in the bushes, that’s gone, and now this one! Asshole, showing off all the time.”

“Hey, hey…” Kenny put his hands up to calm down the red-haired, red-faced boy. “No need to get angry.”

“It’s always the same!” red-head snapped. “We’ve got new balls and Brad hits them to Kingdom Come.”

Brad folded his arms over his chest. “Don’t know my own force,” he commented, unimpressed by red-head. Kenny sensed an upcoming tension, with more children mingling in the argument. He was so used to finding ways to avoid rows that his self-defence mode kicked in unnoticeably.

“Hey! Come on, no need to argue. Brad, if you try to find the one in the bushes, I’ll get the other one. I’m pretty sure where it went to.”

Before anyone had a chance to say anything, Kenny took off and jogged passed the fenced playground, went around the building and took another corner in the shades to in search for the ball.

Abruptly, as if he stepped into another world when he got in the shadows, he found himself in an alley. It was a place you read about in newspapers and saw in bad police movies. The alley was narrow, smelled of urine, filth and boiled cabbages. Black plastic garbage bags were piled high against one side of the alley, together with rusty trash cans. Not visible from the street a dirty man was asleep in the shades, his arms firmly wrapped around an emptied bottle, his unwashed body spreading a penetrating, unpleasant smell of poor quality booze. A vicious scabby dog grunted and then took off quickly, tail between its legs.

Kenny squeezed his eyes to see something in this place that seemed bereft of daylight. Where was that damned ball?  He walked further into the alley, scanning the trash, letting his eyes grow accustomed to the dark. There! There he saw it, lying amidst some dirty crumpled up newspapers. Relieved, he made his way through the trash and the rubble to the back of the alley. He picked up the ball, turned around and stood face to face with a gang of boys who were kicking the drunken man he had just passed.

“No…! No…! Help...Get away from me!” The man crawled backwards, as if he could push himself into the wall and disappear from his attackers like that.

The poor bastard doesn’t stand a chance, Kenny realised in a split second.

“Hey! Hey! Stop it!” Kenny didn’t hesitate. He ran to the five boys who were laughing loudly, kicking and hitting and beating the poor man on the ground, whose cries got thinner as he was hurt more and more. Kenny didn’t stop to think about his actions or the consequences and ran to the rescue. He grabbed without looking something from the ground – an old chair leg. He jumped to the biggest guy of the five and swung the leg up as skilfully as a professional baseball player, aiming for the boy’s shoulder.

The biggest attacker slouched to the ground without a sound. Kenny had hit him out cold with one blow. Instantly, two of the other boys turned on him and began hitting and beating him, but Kenny fought them off with unexpected fire. He was so enraged that a red haze clouded his vision. He could only fight, his fists up. Boxing lessons steered his movements.

But four to one – the homeless man was too frightened to help or intervene and swayed off - was too much, even for fury that had been unleashed in Kenny. A blow to his forehead made the alley spin, and when hard fists came in contact with his stomach and his ribs, it felt like his intestines were split in half. His knees began to falter – three held him while the fourth used him as a punch ball.

“Hey! Hey! Four to one? What kinda fight is that?”

Just when Kenny thought wasn’t going to win this one, he heard angry cries and he felt the pressure on his arms release. He blinked his eyes. There, in front of him, was a boy with dark brown curls and flashing dark blue eyes, fists up, ready to take on the world.

“More snotties? You’re a friend of blondie here?”

That was all the boy needed. He screamed a raw cry, and attacked the boys who had been working over Kenny. The blond boy found new strength from this unexpected helper and fought off his tormentors.

Back to back they stood, two boys, not knowing each other but bound by a mutual sense of justice. The blond put up a fight that wouldn’t go bad in a boxing ring and the curly boy fought like a tiger – mean and nasty, with an unmistakable touch of self-preservation.

Two began to back out, taking the dizzy one with them, taken aback by the combined force of the two boys. Number three was under Kenny’s hands, who couldn’t stop beating, planting his fists in the perp’s stomach.

The fourth tried to escape the wrath of the curly haired guy. He pulled himself free from those small, strong fists and ran away.

“Hey, enough…” the boy panted, pulling at Kenny’s arm.

But Kenny couldn’t stop. All the frustration, bottled up from years of silent bullying, found their way to his arms and his fists. The face of his father swapped places with the face of the boy he was on top of. He just couldn’t stop and hit him wherever he could.

“Hey – enough!”

He couldn’t stop.

“Hey! ENOUGH!” The other grabbed him firmly and pulled him backwards. Kenny finally got off his attacker, who scrambled to his feet and stumbled away.

“Come on, pal. Don’t waste your energy on him. He’s a scumbag.”

Kenny’s chest heaved up and down as he panted for air. Now that the fight was over adrenalin was rapidly wearing off. His knees felt wobbly and the walls of the alley around him began to spin.

“Bunch of regular pain-in-the-asses,” the other said, unaware of Kenny’s discomfort. He wiped a hand over his lips, noticed a tiny line of blood and licked it uninterestedly. “They’re real heroes, them. Five to one? Yeah, real cool dudes.”

Then he noticed Kenny being very quiet.

“Hey… hey, pal? Are you okay?” He put his small hand on Kenny’s arm. “Lemme see that face of yours. You’ll have a shiner tomorrow.”

Kenny had to sit down and allowed the other to help him.

“I’m alright. Just a bit out of breath.”

“Yeah,” the other grinned, “just got the wind knocked out of ya, right?”

He wiped his hands on his jeans and leant back against a trash container. Kenny waited for the dizziness to subside and looked at the boy who scrutinized him thoughtfully.

“Thanks,” he said, still wheezing a bit. “Where’s that man?”

“What man?”

“A drunk or something. Just sat there. They took a go at him and…” he stopped, coughed and winced as a stab flashed through his chest.

“Ah… and you thought you were Superman…”

Despite everything, Kenny chuckled. “Yeah.”

“You wanna come home with me? Have a coke?”

“No, thanks.”

“Piece of chocolate?” He held out a candy bar that he produced from God knows where.

“No, thanks again. Too sweet for me.”

A female voice came from a lot further away, somewhere behind them. “Davey! Davey! Dinner! Davey!”

The boy jumped to his feet and Kenny noticed his sports shoes, jeans, red and white shirt and a broad, lively grin that lit up his face. As far as he could see, he was about the same age, only a lot smaller, as if growth hadn’t kicked in yet.

“Gotta go. Sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Kenny got to his feet and he and Davey walked to where the alley ended and the relative safety of the street began.

“Where d’you live?” Davey asked.

“Not in New York. Just visiting.”

“Oh. Pity. Well. See ya, then.”

“Dave, right?”

“Yep. Dave. Davey. David. Take a pick. What’s your name?”

“Ken.” No more Kenny. Ever. “Ken Hutchinson.”

“That was a helluva fight.” A grin appeared. “See ya, Ken.”

“See ya, Dave.”

Ken watched the sympathetic boy taking off, bouncing his way back home. A strange glow came over him. He couldn’t tell why, but he was sure he was going to meet him again. Not today. Not tomorrow. But one day, they would meet again.

He turned around, handed the baseball to a surprised Brad and friends and went to the Redman house. When he rang the front door, the face of his father popped up in his mind. Suddenly he knew that his father would never raise his hand against him again. Ever.

No more Kenny.

The End

Elsa, May 2004