Say It !

“I hate it here.” Nate mumbled as he stepped from his miniscule room directly into the kitchen of the rental home. “I hate that we’re poor and have to live like this. I just want to go back home.” 

Nate’s mother fussed over the curtains she had just hung over the one lonely window on the side of the cabin-like house. “Isn’t that a bit better?” she asked, hoping to get some response from her despondent teenager. 

“No. It still looks like a shithole. This is the worst decision you have ever made.” Nate spat.

“The curtains? Well, I didn’t have much by way of options at the thrift store. These were the only pair short enough to look halfway decent on this dinky window.” Nate’s mom brushed her hands together signifying the completion of her task. “They will have to do, for now.” She stood back to admire her handiwork and scowled. Nate was right, the place was a shithole. 

“I’m going for a walk.” Nate grumbled as he headed for the front door. He zipped his navy blue sweatshirt up to his chin and donned the hood, pulling the drawstrings tight around his face. 

“Oh, what a good idea. Why don’t you try and find some kids your age around the neighborhood to talk to. I bet you’d be much happier if you made some friends. And it might be helpful if they could see your face. Just a thought.” 

“The people around here are creepy, and I’m sure they’re all on drugs. Is that what you want for me, Mom, to become like them?”

“Of course not! Listen Nate, I know you’re unhappy, but this was the best option we had. Do you think I enjoyed losing our home in Florida? Do you really believe I brought us here to make your life harder than it already was?”

Nate opened the front door, “Later.” he grumbled, rethinking his original response. Nate knew this was not his mother’s fault, but at sixteen, he wasn’t prepared to accept any responsibility for their current circumstances. All he could do was blame his mother and feel guilty for doing so. He contemplated slamming the front door, making a dramatic exit, but thought better of the idea and just pulled it closed behind him. 

Nate’s mother sat on the arm of the dingy white loveseat in the living room. She fought back tears while desperately trying to come up with a plan to once again move to what she could only hope to be a better situation for Nate. It had only been a month since they arrived in New Jersey and attempted to put their lives back together after the bankruptcy and foreclosure of their Florida home. She thought moving back to her hometown would spark some inspiration, but the once familiar surroundings no longer existed. There was something to be said for the old cliche, “you can’t go home again.” 

She looked around the dilapidated rental home, searching for something she could sell, something that would put enough money in her pocket for another move, but her resources were meager. Nate’s mother thought of the nice woman down the street, the one who drove the school bus for the elementary kids and how she went out of her way to inform her of the “bad kids” that hung out in the woods behind the house. The woman warned Nate’s mother not to let Nate wander back there or get involved with those “bad kids.” She couldn’t remember if she had mentioned it to Nate and feared for his safety. “Dear God.” she pleaded aloud, “Please keep Nate safe and away from the woods.” 

Nate shoved his hands into his pockets, resenting the cold Autumn air. He turned up the volume in his earbuds, using his playlist to drown out his negative thoughts. He kept his eyes on the ground, following his own shuffling steps. His well-worn Converse kicked through the dried leaves and needles that had collected on the ground from the scrub pines lining the path obviously cut from repetitive trudging in and out of the area ahead. Nate was too preoccupied to notice the clearing or hear the voices of the group of teens partying less than one hundred yards from the house. By the time Nate raised his eyes and caught a glimpse of the six or seven silhouettes and a few glowing embers from their lit cigarettes, he had already breached their inner sanctum. 

Nate’s mother hadn’t warned him about the woods. He thought about her suggestion on finding some friends, despite his reservations. He was brought up with “please and thank you”, he called adults “Miss and Sir”, held open doors and gave up his seat for another without being reminded. Nate was rather naive when it came to elicit behaviors often exhibited by people his age, now finding himself amidst a majority that thought he was the odd one. His classmates called him Nice Nate as if it were the ultimate insult. Clearly, he was out of his element, but the longing for friendship was stronger than his apprehension. He raised his hand and awkwardly waved in the general direction of the group. As he strode closer, the details of what was transpiring in the clearing became increasingly less vague. Two girls stood off to the side compulsively dragging from their cigarettes as four boys yelled, swore and kicked at something on the ground. Nate tried to focus on what was taking the brunt of the kicks and pokes. He thought at first it was some animal by the guttural moans emanating from the dirt. He dared to step closer and as he did, Nate let out an involuntary gasp. It was not an animal being tortured, but a person. A young man lying face down in the dirt, dried leaves and pine needles, too weak to defend himself from his tormentors, quietly sobbed and repeated, “no more.”

Nate tried to turn and run but fear froze him in his own footsteps. He reached for his cell phone, nestled in his back pocket, but the others became aware of his presence. He tried to speak but the words caught in his throat. His mouth was dry, and his entire body began to tremble, he had never been so afraid before. Nate managed a few steps back, clutching his phone in his hand, waiting to get more distance between himself and what can only be described as the crime scene. Three boys continued to beat and violate their victim, hitting him repeatedly and taking turns entering him with their hands and sticks. One boy was so bold as to unbuckle his own jeans, lowering them and threatening to sexually assault the battered teen.

Vomit arose in Nate’s throat as he was approached by one of the boys. “Hey, new guy. What the hell are you doing out here? Don’t tell me you wanna party with us?” 

Nate shook his head and took another few steps backward away from the group. The one who spoke quickened his pace and was in Nate’s face before he could convince his legs to move. “Run!”, He told himself, but it was too late. The boy had a hold of Nate’s sleeve. He pulled him closer. Nate could smell his rank breath as he spoke. 

“You want a turn with our little buddy? We call him Jeffy, he loves it.” The boy called over his shoulder, “Right Jeffy, you love it when we play with you?” 

Nate tried pulling his sleeve from the boy's grip, “Let me go.” he managed. 

“Oh, what’s the matter nice boy, don’t you have the stomach for our kind of party?” The boy spat as he spoke, landing a significant amount of saliva right on Nate’s chest. Immediately, the vomit returned, and Nate swallowed hard to avoid expelling it on the boy. He knew that would only exacerbate his already dire situation. “Listen newbie, either you stay and play, or you leave and never, I mean never say a word about this to anyone, you got that?” 

“Nate agreed, “I swear.” 

“No, no, I want you to say, “My lips are sealed.”, go it?”

Nate felt his cheeks flush and an unexpected surge of adrenaline as he broke free from the boy’s grip. “I said I won’t say anything.” 

“I want to hear “My lips are sealed.”” the boy shouted. “If you don’t say it, I promise you, you’ll regret it. I’ll come after you, but not before I make a playdate with your mother. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Then say it!” 

Fine, just stay away from me and my family. My lips are sealed. Satisfied? Can I go?” 

“One more time, or your mommy will be our next party favor. You think Jeffy has had enough? Your pretty little mommy will wish she was Jeffy. Oh, the things I can imagine doing to her makes me want to follow you home right now.”

Nate backed up and shouted, “My lips are sealed.” as he turned and began to run toward the house, only pausing to puke just before the gate leading to the side yard. He fought to catch his breath as he climbed the porch steps leading to the back door. The kitchen light was off and the one single lamp from the living room cast an eerie glow in the doorway. Nate’s imagination got the best of him, even though it was irrational to think he was beaten home by the drug addled delinquent in the woods. He threw open the door and reached into the kitchen drawer for the largest knife they owned. “Mom?” 

“In here.” she called from the couch. The rental had only one proper bedroom which she graciously gave to Nate. She knew the importance of privacy, especially as a teen. Nate’s mother didn’t mind sleeping on the couch, keeping her clothes in the linen closet, and waking up early for her turn in their shared bathroom. She would have done anything to make this move just a little easier for her son, but somehow the more she sacrificed, the more miserable Nate grew. 

Nate rushed into the room and stood in front of his mother. Frantically, he begged her to consider a fast move, “Plese, Mom, if you never listen to me again, listen now. We need to get out of here, immediately!”

“You’re scaring me! What happened? Are you hurt?” She jumped to her feet and grabbed her son by the shoulders, realizing he was trembling uncontrollably and smelled of vomit. “Dear God Nate, talk to me!” 

Nate began to cry. He didn’t care about showing his emotions, he embraced the weakness of spilling tears and hugged his mother for the first time in months. “Mom, please.” he sobbed. “I can’t tell you, but I need you to believe me when I tell you, it’s time to go. We have to leave as soon as possible, ok?” 

“Ok. Give me some time to figure it all out, but if you feel this strongly about leaving, then that’s what will happen. I’m afraid for you.”

“I’m afraid for both of us,” he admitted between sobs. Nate fell to his knees, dropping the knife on the floor. His mother picked it up and placed it on the end table. She took a few deep breaths and helped Nate from the floor on to the couch. He rested his head back as he attempted to compose himself. Nate’s mother covered him with a throw blanket and told him she’d be right back.

 “I need to make a call. Will you be ok here for a few minutes?” 

Nate nodded as she took her phone and closed herself in the bathroom. She dialed her friend in Florida and recounted the events of the past few minutes as best as she could without many details, “We’re coming home. I don’t know how, or when, but I need to get Nate back to Florida as soon as possible.”

In the days that followed, Nate and his mother sold everything they owned save their clothes and a few personal mementos. They were left with no furniture, no appliances, and no jewelry. With the fifteen hundred dollars they managed to scrape together, Nate, his mother and the dog climbed into the rickety SUV and headed south.

It had been two weeks since Nate witnessed the tragic and violent acts. The neighborhood was abuzz with gossip after the police found the boy they called Jeffy, bloodied, and barely alive. Two officers banged at the door wanting statements from Nate and his mother, both claiming to have no knowledge regarding the boy. Nate’s mother put the pieces together but chose not to add to her son’s trauma by asking him for the truth. Some day she would revisit the subject, someday when she felt he was ready to talk. She prayed for the boy they found and prayed to express her gratitude that it wasn’t her son left for dead that night. 

As they drove out of town toward the highway entrance, Nate asked his mother to make one last stop. “Mom, can we just pull into the post office parking lot, please?” 

Without question, she obliged, “Sure.” 

Nate exited the SUV and pulled a crumpled envelope from his sweatshirt pocket. It was stamped and addressed to the local police department. He dropped it in the box, just outside of the building and got back in the car. “I’m ready.” 

Two days later, the postman dropped a large stack of mail on the police dispatcher's desk. As the dispatcher sifted through advertisements and bills, one handwritten envelope with no return address caught her attention. She carefully opened it and read the letter inside. 

“To the officer that’s reading this, 

In regard to the boy found in the woods, I pray he recovers. I was there that night, not to participate, but by accident. I have no idea why I was spared, but I was threatened. I regret not coming forward with all I witnessed, but I feared for my and my mother's safety, I hope you understand. 

One boy made me repeat the phrase, “My lips are sealed.” as he warned me if I spoke out, he’d come for my mother. However, I never promised I wouldn’t write it all down and send it in a sealed envelope. Enclosed are the names of the teens involved in the crime as well as every detail I can recall. My mother and I have left town, so I am no longer afraid. I’m sorry for not being brave, but I’m not sorry for keeping my family safe.

Here are the names and what I personally witnessed each of them doing that night: 

The letter was unsigned.