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“Hey, Ford look! The boardwalk’s open!”
Ford lifted his head from his novel, seeing exactly what Stan was talking about out their shared window with a raised eyebrow. They hadn’t gone to the boardwalk for ages, not since they left elementary school a few years prior. Next school year was their freshman year of high school. Which, while he knew he could probably handle the curriculum, Ford was a little nervous about. Goodness knows he’d probably be an utter loner had Stan not been coming with him. High schoolers were mean, from Ford’s experience. Crampelter was a high schooler, after all. That bully still has at least two more years before he graduates, if not three, and Ford wasn’t particularly looking forward to that. And that’s if he isn’t held back.
“You listenin’ to me bro? I said the boardwalk’s open!” Ford was jolted out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head to erase his fears of high school loneliness and bullying. Stan was giving him a smile that suggested he had plans. “I say we go con some of the tourists for tickets and go on the rides, just like old times! Whaddya say?”
“You sure we still have the ‘touch’?” Ford remembered their last escapade, scamming some beachgoers by hamming up their twinnieness and being cute. That was back when they could be considered cute little kids who ‘didn’t know any better’ and not 13 year olds going on 14 in a week with squeaky voices and awkwardness like no other. Surely that side of them won’t work as well anymore, especially not for the fact that Stanley… just didn’t know when to quit. “I mean, I see how everyone gives you side-eyes, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, yeah… C’mon Sixer, you’re such a wet blanket!” Stan tossed a decidedly dry blanket at Ford on his top bunk perch with such a teasing laugh, Ford was struggling to resist letting the laughter become contagious as it flopped to the ground pathetically. “Besides, we gotta do something fun before high school takes away our freedom to our math overlords!”
“Heh, well, in that case, I think we still have two and a half months to goof off before then,” Ford teased, lightly tapping Stan on the shoulder with a foot as an improvised method to show just how unserious he was, smiling at the grin his twin gave him before returning it with a light fist on his calf, “I guess I have one more boardwalk run in me. If you truly feel we’ll get something useful out of it.”
“‘Useful’? You’re always thinking about that stuff… this is just for the heck of it!” Stan seemed ever so slightly frustrated at the thought, though Ford was unsure if that was really such a frustrating thing to him or he’s just imagining things. Ford paid no mind, hopping down from the top bunk with a practiced grace and landing right in front of Stan. “C’mon, before Pa makes us slog through customers at the store front. You know he’s always eager to work us to death.”
“Yeah, I don’t think he would like us to mess with his ‘clientelle’ or whatever, so he’d probably keep hawkin’ us.” Ford elbowed Stan as they traveled through the small apartment to the stairs, coughing up a few laughs before entering the shop. There they spared their breaths, careful not to be noticed by their father as he haggled with a customer over by the old clocks. It wasn’t like this was an odd hour to be going to the boardwalk, or they had any housework, much less schoolwork, but both of them were always cautious around Pa. He could fly off the handle for any little thing and neither of them wanted to face his fury. Especially if he didn’t manage to get the customer to pay what he wanted them to. They were almost free when…
“You boys got any explanation for leaving without a word?” Pa’s voice was severe, as usual. Stan tugged Ford’s arm but otherwise he was frozen stock still. They looked at each other, then back to Pa, confused expressions on their faces. “Not going to say anything? Fine then, get out of my hair for the afternoon, I don’t care.”
“Oh… okay…” Ford finally squeaked out, before Stan tugged him out the door like he was in a life and death situation. Might as well have been. Ford was nervous, glancing back through the storefront window to see Pa going back to haggling before giving him a stern glare through the glass. He shuddered and hurried up to catch Stan. “What was that all about?”
“Dunno… but that doesn’t matter! Let’s go!” Stan shouted excitedly, pulling Ford along some more. The sun was blazing, the sounds of the ocean permeating the air. It was an idyllic summer day. Perfect for a day at the boardwalk. Ford half-wondered if he should’ve brought sunscreen or at least a bottle of water before he discovered that Stan had disappeared the moment they’d stepped onto the boardwalk planks. Probably to go find his first ‘mark’. Ford rolled his eyes and chuckled, before scanning the crowded area for his twin.
“Stan? Where’d you go?” Ford couldn’t see him anywhere, not through the hustle and bustle that was this boardwalk. Before Ford could find himself panicking, he saw something that made his eyes go wide with excitement. A tent promising to house supernatural creatures! He remembered the last last summer’s escapade with the Jersey Devil, wondering if it got captured by somebody else to be displayed as entertainment as he wandered in that direction. Ford didn’t know what he thought about that but it was certainly better than conning random strangers. He gave one more call for his twin, diving into the tent as it became fruitless.
“Tickets please!” A carnie called as he stepped into the darkness of the tent, startling the small nerd into stumbling into a pole, “You okay kid?”
“Yeah, I am…” Ford mumbled, sidestepping the pole. But before he could pass into the main area, the carnie stopped him with a firm hand and asked for his ticket one more time. Ford froze, the boardwalk normally didn’t have ticket admission to enter, so he hadn’t thought to get tickets for a specific event. Stan was planning on just pocketing tourists’ naively handed over money while Ford played ‘cute’ or whatever, but since Ford had lost sight of him he didn’t exactly know what he was doing. Maybe I should just go find Stan, this was stupid.
“I… I’ll go get one…” Ford spoke almost too quiet to hear as he stepped back outside the tent without a word from the carnie. Stan was still nowhere around. Ford walked briskly to the ticket stand just next to the entrance that he’d completely missed in his eagerness. Digging in his pockets, Ford found two dimes, 3 nickels and 4 pennies. Looking at the sign, he just barely didn’t have enough with his 49 cents. “Aw… if only I had one more penny…”
Ford sighed and walked a few paces away with a dejected frown, before spotting a penny on the ground a few feet to his right. Looking around, Ford snatched it up as fast as he could before running back to the ticket booth with a distinct feeling that he just pulled a Stan even though nobody would reasonably care about losing a single penny. But he jerked to a stop almost as soon as he’d begun running, the ones at the booth causing his blood to go cold. Crampelter and his goons… What are they doing at the supernatural creatures tent? Ford didn’t even know if he wanted to go in now that his bullies were in the picture, wondering if he should really just go find Stan like he’d initially thought.
So what, you don’t have to go anywhere near them. Stop being such a wimp and go into that tent of your dreams! Ford’s inner peptalk worked, his legs finally moving toward the tent of hopefully real creatures with the change in his hand for the ticket. Ford found strength in the knowledge that he was older now, probably able to withstand Crampelter’s jeers. So he confidently stepped over and bought the singular ticket a few minutes after the bullies had entered the tent. They didn’t know he was here anyway, if he just stayed on the down low he would be okay.
Ford took a deep breath, the door of the tent more intimidating now that he knew at least three of the patrons within had his self-esteem on the cutting rocks. Pushing back the curtain to a smell of some kind of cooped up animals, Ford offered up his ticket to the carnie. The carnie offered a welcoming smile and gestured for him to walk through to the bleachers. Ford scanned the entire tent for the bullies for the sole purpose of avoiding being caught by them, finding Crampelter’s golden bowl cut somewhere in the back. So Ford found a quiet corner where neither he nor his friends would spot him even if the other patrons around him moved. Ford refused to look up at them, not even as the show started, unwilling to give them the satisfaction of catching his gaze.
The event started with a loud blaring music and Ford sat back to witness the supernatural he was promised, with only a little bit of misgiving in the back of his mind at the presence of his bullies. Ford found himself lost in the event, watching intently as the supposed supernatural creatures were walked over to the center of the stage with fancy curtains covering them from view. With a flourish and plenty of crowd work that made Ford even more hyped than he already was, the curtains were removed to reveal… regular animals. Ford deflated, confused as to how anyone could think they were supernatural until he noticed that all of them had some sort of birth defect.
An elephant with two trunks, a lion with a sparse mane that was female (according to the announcer), and a two headed monkey. Such were the quality of the ‘supernatural’ creatures. Ford couldn’t help but feel a little bit insulted. Looking down at his hands, Ford sighed knowing that everyone around him probably thought of him as a supernatural freak like they certainly thought of these poor animals that had no choice to be born the way they were. The audience was laughing and cheering and Ford could hardly get away fast enough. Maybe that was why Crampelter and his gang entered the tent… to make fun of animals for their defects. Certainly sounded like something they’d sink so low to do.
Anyway, Ford couldn’t stand the disappointment. He stepped down the bleachers and made for the exit, only to spot concerning empty bleachers where Crampelter and his friends had previously sat. Maybe they all just needed to get concessions or needed to use the restroom all at once… Ford was unconfident in that, but he’d have to believe it was nothing suspicious since they clearly didn’t know he was here. So Ford made it out of the tent, feeling the waste of 50 cents weighing on him as he went to find Stan for real. He couldn’t have gone too far, this event only spanned a relatively short span of the boardwalk.
Regardless, Ford couldn’t find him. A common theme of today. Ford half-heartedly hoped Stan had found massive success with his schemes, it would certainly be a highlight compared to this dumpster fire of an event he’d attended. Ford kicked some rocks on the boardwalk, feeling glum. He was about to start shouting for him again when he heard the heart-stopping yell from a terrifying voice he’d squirmed away from for nearly his whole childhood. Crampelter. Ford looked back to see him just behind him, a wicked grin on his face as he picked up the pace. Ford was booking it before a single thought could process what was going on, not even giving a second thought to where he was going but away.
“Not so fast, twerp!” Ford fell flat on his face as one of Crampelter’s cronies tripped him from out of nowhere, scrambling to his feet only to be grabbed by the taller one and held in the air. Ford kicked and screamed for someone, anyone to help, only to realize he’d run where nobody could see or probably even hear him, just below the next dock a dozen feet away from the main boardwalk. You really got yourself into a big mess, Stanford. Crampelter walked up, all high and mighty at his catch, with the biggest smirk on his face.
“Wh-what do you want, Crampelter?!” Ford shouted, squirming in the other bully’s grip before said grip tightened to hold him against his torso in a painful squeeze, “My brother’s gonna find me soon! He’s gonna make you pay!”
“Oh really? Will he? I believe I saw him cryin’ about you leaving him like a little jerk just a few minutes ago!” Crampelter taunted, the jolt of guilt plastering Ford’s face giving the tall bully room to squeeze him like a grape. “Eh, it was deserved anyway. Not even a freak like you should stay around that lump of stupid!”
“You leave my brother out of this!” Ford cried, kicking the bully’s knees enough to be dropped out of sheer annoyingness. Running away was useless, however, as Crampelter promptly caught him and pinned him against one of the wooden poles with a painful shove with all his bulk that would surely leave bruises. Ford was in pain and scared. The worst combination. He hadn’t even improved on his wimpiness, if this situation had anything to say about that. “Let me go!”
“Nah, seeing you cry is too fun to give it up,” Crampelter sneered, making Ford try his hardest to suck in his tears as the bully pressed him harder against the pole, the wooden splinters digging into his back. This was his nightmare. Ford squeezed his eyes closed, begging for himself to wake up from a nightmare he knew was real. “Don’t close your eyes!”
Ford kept his eyes shut, at least until sea water was splashed onto his face and stung his eyes. They cracked open to see Cramptelter winding up for a punch before closing tight once more to brace for the pain. Which he received in spades, the fist landing directly in the center of his face with a loud crack. Pain shot through him, before the next punch landed on his cheek and exacerbated it. Ford squeaked as Crampelter continued punching him, holding his hands out as the bully let him crumple to the ground with his efforts to beat him to a pulp. Ford was in no shape to run and Crampelter knew it. Ford punched out with a wild arm, only managing to land on his bully’s shoulder pointlessly.
This was it, he was going to die. Ford accepted it as Crampelter took him up and threw him down like a sack of potatoes. This was the worst Crampelter had ever done to him in his entire career of bullying Ford and it was only beginning. Ford reached out for a shard of glass that was the beach’s namesake for some semblance of a weapon, before a shot of agony raced up from his hand. The heavyset Crampelter had stepped on Ford’s hand and forearm with all his weight, the pain intensified by the sharp rocks under the appendage. Ford struggled to remove his hand until he felt how much worse the pain became. Crampelter laughed.
“You’re lucky this is one of the last summers you’ll have me to teach you your place!” Crampelter jabbed as he twisted his foot and caused Ford to nearly black out from all the added agony, “Let me just give you an advance lesson. You’re just a useless freak who will amount to nothing!
“You would be better off if your dad took you out back and shot you like a sick dog, you freak of nature!” Crampelter spat, evidently something he’d been wanting to say to Ford for a while with the passion he put into the words. Ford was inconsolably sobbing now, despite how much he knew that was only giving them the satisfaction of getting to him with their horrible words. Not like he didn’t already half-believe them already. “If it weren’t for your stupid ‘intelligence’, I bet that’s what he’d have done anyway. Both of you Pines twins aren’t gonna satisfy anyone’s expectations, even if you didn’t have deformed hands and your twin wasn’t so dumb, you hear?”
“I hear, I hear…” Ford mumbled into the sand, completely defeated and everything in his small body screaming in agony. Crampelter only twisted his arm in response, making a mockery of his surrender with a hand over his ear, “I said, I hear! Just leave me alone…”
“What’s the magic word?” Crampelter was having too much fun with this, but Ford wasn’t about to snide him in the compromising position he was in, “Then, and only then, will I let you run to mommy and daddy as if they’ll help you or somethin’.”
“Please…” Ford cried, hoping he was about to finally be left alone as Crampelter lifted his foot from crushing Ford’s hand with an obvious reluctance. Fortunately, Crampelter kept his word, even if it was just out of boredom with the unresponsive sobbing Ford was giving him. But not before all three bullies kicked him as hard as they could as a parting ‘gift’. Ford could only lie there as the laughing bullies high fived and finally left him, processing what had just happened with a shaky sob as his body throbbed and threatened to purge his lunch. There was nothing except pain. His ribs ached, his hand screamed, his face tingled, all the signs of a horrible beating.
“St-Stan…” Ford muttered weakly, unable to raise his voice much higher as the adrenaline wore off and left him as a lump of agony. Opening his eyes only revealed how much he couldn’t see right now. He was too tired to think much of why, whimpering as waves of excruciation washed through his body. Enough to feel like he was about to die. Ford wanted to see Stan one last time before he succumbed to his pain, everything going dark as he finally blacked out. But not before he heard a fearful “FORD!” in the distance.
An indeterminate amount of time passed before Ford began to rouse to consciousness, first becoming aware of lying in a bed that wasn’t his own and then something holding his arm to his chest. A deep breath and Ford blinked his eyes open with a sudden jolt as he realized where he was. He had been hospitalized, bandages covering what felt like every inch of him with braces on the worst injuries. Most notably his entire left arm, which was immobilized so tightly to his chest that Ford could only imagine how bad it was. Looking around, Ford discovered quickly that he didn’t have his glasses. From the scattered memories he still had about the incident, he recognized with a small sigh that they had probably broken from the pummeling.
“Ford! You’re awake!”
Ford startled and looked over. Stan was now standing over his bed, dried tears in his eyes as he wore the brightest smile he could reasonably have. Ma was in the corner, a tired smile at her son betraying her stress. But Stan brought his attention back to him with a simple touch on his hand, a questioning expression replacing his relieved smile. Ford could see the worry etched on his face and… was that guilt? Why did he feel guilty?
“What happened after I lost sight of you?” Stan frantically questioned, confusing Ford endlessly as from his point of view it was Stan that had disappeared, “The last I saw of ya was after we got to the boardwalk and then I find ya an hour later broken and bleedin’ under the dock!”
“I… I lost you in the crowd, and… and,” Ford felt ashamed to mention his little walkabout into the tent of the supposed supernatural, curling in on himself before it aggravated his wounds, “...I saw that tent about the supernatural and went inside because I was curious… I know…”
“You left me to worry for one of your nerd things?” Stan sounded betrayed, Ford could feel it in his tone and his gaze, “I hope it was worth all… this.” Stan gestured generally at Ford’s body of bandages, a furrowed brow that Ford could only see as annoyed.
“Not… not really. The ‘supernatural creatures’ were just animals with birth defects everyone laughed at, super disappointing…” Ford cringed, knowing he really didn’t have an excuse to go to that tent when he should’ve been looking for Stan, “I thought that was why Crampelter was there with his friends, but-”
“Wait, Crampelter?” Stan was incredulous, pieces clicking behind his eyes as Ford fell silent at his interjection, “Did Crampelter do all that to you? Tell it to me straight, Sixer!”
There was a few beats of silent staring before Ford found the courage to nod an affirmative. He didn’t have the courage to actually speak his bully’s name any more and it frustrated him. Stan gripped Ford’s non-braced up hand tightly. Almost as tight as my other hand being crushed by Crampelter’s shoe… Ford instinctively thought, before shaking it away with a fearful shudder. Glancing back up at Stan, he saw tears pricking his eyes.
“I… I’m sorry. I should’ve… I should’ve been there,” Stan’s voice twisted into a guilt-ridden choke as the weight of what had been done to Ford hung over them, “I shouldn’t have begged ya to come with me to the boardwalk…”
“t’s not your fault…” Ford managed through his ravaged throat that flared up at all the fear running through his lungs, “I shoulda looked for you better than I did, if anything.”
“But, Ford… Crampelter could’ve killed you easy! I should’ve protected you…” Stan stubbornly asserted, everything in his eyes betraying a guilt that Ford hadn’t seen in him since forever, “I couldn’t handle it if you were taken like that… I failed you, I failed my promise!”
“I’m alive, aren’t I?” Ford tried a chuckle, finding a pain rumbling within his body at the attempt that caused him to cough heartily, “It’s okay.”
“Ford… I… You scared me,” Stan looked to his feet, his body trembling, “I saw you there face down in the sand an’... an’ the first thought that came to my mind… was that you were dead… you were so… still, an’ bloody…”
“I know…” Ford saw patterns in the ceiling, focusing on them so he didn’t have to relive the horrible memories already creeping into his vision, “You got help, and tha’s all that matters.”
“Right…” Stan seemed like he still had something on his mind. Something that was bothering him. “I’m such a lousy brother… I let you get hurt while I spent all my time scammin’ tourists for money like a little sea urchin…”
“How well did that turn out?” Ford cracked a smile, almost to tell Stan that he wasn’t mad at him for doing the same thing he’d done with the tent despite Stan’s protests that Ford should be mad at him for making money over looking for him, “I mean, since we both essentially did the same thing. Would be hypocritical to be upset, right?”
“I guess…” Stan dug into his pockets, pulling out a tiny handful of quarters and a few small dollar bills, “This was all I could get out of tourists on my own. You really should’ve seen how they fell for my act!”
Stan grew more vigorous as he recalled what he’d been doing while Ford had been away, relaxing as he told the silly stories that would make anyone laugh. Ford laughed along, finding comfort in Stan’s words about something that didn’t make him afraid to think about. The hospital’s bright lights, the IVs, and the bandages didn’t seem all that scary when he had his twin to comfort and be comforted. They still had the rest of the summer to recover from the afternoon they had today, plenty of weeks and even months for Ford to heal up before school started up in the fall.
‘You would be better off if your dad took you out back and shot you like a sick dog…’ Ford’s face fell at the awful words coming back to his memory, wondering how long he could keep those words a secret. It would horrify Ma, but Stan… Stan knew best about Pa’s short temper and high expectations and would only become inconsolable if he knew what Crampelter had said to his twin. Ford could see the anger behind Stan’s eyes, fearing his twin taking it out on Pa if he felt that Crampelter’s threat had any merit. It was silly, of course Stan would be angry at Crampelter himself and not their own father for what their bully said, if Ford told him about that.
But then again… Ford didn’t know what his father would do if he had the opportunity to rid himself of either of them. Would he resort to taking them out of their misery? Wouldn’t he have a reason if he did? Ford glanced down at his hands, flexing all six fingers of the relatively uninjured one as he remembered how Pa had angrily burst out that he should’ve gone for the cosmetic removal of his extra fingers no matter the cost when Ford’s weird hands caused customers to avoid the shop from being freaked out at their freaky weird son the one time Ford had taken the opportunity to come down and help Pa sell stuff, costing him a lot of money for their more ‘rare’ antiques that hardly ever got sold. Ford had never done it again, but he still felt the hurt of knowing he was useless to his father if he was weird.
So Ford didn’t speak a word of it, giving Stan a soft smile as he grew concerned at his silence. If Pa really felt like taking him out for anything, Ford would feel it was deserved. He was a freak and always will be. Anybody could be excused for killing him, even if it was down to the hands of bullies. Stan grew all teary eyed and nearly rushed the bed for a hug before Ford flinched at the sudden contact. At least I have Stan… he thought before returning the hug with his good arm as Stan began to retract himself. Ma walked over and joined in as soon as Stan was finished, hugging Ford with all the love in her heart.
“You stay safe, alright?” Her voice was surprisingly harrowed and soft, almost as if she was more freaked out at what happened than Ford was, “I don’t wanna have ta perform a séance for ya anytime soon.”
“You… you betcha…” Ford chuckled at the grim implication, half-heartedly glad that she didn’t need to do such a thing for him. Ma wasn’t even a real medium, more like a half-baked psychic with too much mistruths stuffed within her phone business. But it was one of her offerings in her deals regardless, no matter how ridiculous it was to try performing a séance over the phone. “I’m glad he stopped hurting me before that would be necessary.”
“Oh, you poor baby…” She helped him sit up as she wrapped him up in her arms as softly as she could reasonably hold him even considering her many bracelets, and Ford could hear faint sniffling, “You shouldn’t need to be so scared that that could happen to you… I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“For not being there,” Ma responded simply, ending the hug by holding his bandaged up cheek in her palm. Ford simply sat, absorbing the love his family was giving him with a sob escaping without permission. She wiped them away and Ford could only cry harder. A few moments later and they were interrupted by the door opening to receive a new visitor. One that made Ford cower slightly, though he tried his best to hide it as he wiped the rest of his tears away. Pa. He didn’t speak a word on entering, merely walked over to the other side of the bed and looked down on him with that menacing presence Ford was familiar with.
“You haven’t been taking your boxing lessons like I told you to, have you?”
Ford shrunk, refusing to meet Pa’s intense gaze. It wasn’t like Ford didn’t try, but he was just… not cut out for fighting. Not like Stan is. So Ford kinda maybe just gave up and let himself be benched every lesson. He had Stan to protect him anyway. Though today is proof I won’t have him around *all the time*... Ford sighed, knowing this incident would be enough to make Pa force him to apply himself to boxing like he applies his intelligence to his more academic endeavors. It was a daunting ask and one that Ford wasn’t looking forward to. Especially not since Crampelter was probably still going to them even though he’s years older than most of the class since they meet at the high school for the bigger gym.
“Speak to me, boy,” Pa spoke, snapping his fingers before Ford could spiral through his thoughts, “You won’t be slacking in your boxing lessons if I have anything to say about it. I won’t have a wimp in my household.”
“Filbrick!” Ma snapped, coming to Ford’s fearful rescue with a clipped tone reserved for particularly ornery patrons. She gestured at the various wounds covering Ford’s small body, as if to try knocking some sense into her husband. “I hardly think this is the time to be concerned for Ford’s defensive skills. He’s hurt!”
“Well it wouldn’t be an issue if he wasn’t slacking, now would it?” Pa’s voice was steely and cold, pointing a finger at Ford’s hand like it proved something, “He let that kid crush his hand, I say he should take it as a lesson to take these things fighting more than he very obviously has!”
Ford cowered, it had been a surprisingly long time since Pa had last yelled, much less at Ma. He was no longer listening to the words his father was spitting, until he heard another voice join the fray. One that made Ford afraid for the owner of said voice. Stan. He was snotty and sobbing but he was angry. Angry at Crampelter and now his dad. Ford stayed quiet as he began a tirade, hoping Stan wouldn’t get himself hospitalized like he had been. You don’t fight the dragon when he’s already going. That’s a good way to have his wrath turned upon you and you don’t know what you’re going to get. Ford had seen it with Ma on some sparse occasions and multiple with Stan.
“IT’S NOT FORD’S FAULT, IT’S CRAMPELTER’S, YOU HEAR ME!” Stan’s first words were so loud it made Ford’s ears ring. Pa fell dangerously quiet, a vein on his neck throbbing. Ma was visibly trying to stop a physical fight as Stan continued in a more level tone, placing herself between them. “I don’t care how wimpy my brother might be to you! He was jumped before he could react! Crampelter’s huge compared to him! Look at what he did!”
“Listen here, boy,” Pa snarled, jabbing a finger at Stan from across the room that would kill if such a thing could do damage, “You’ve got a lot of nerve trying to talk back to me. Have you tried to get your brother to fight in a boxing match, any match at all? No, you have not.
“If it weren’t for his smarts I’d have waved him off as a total failure. He’s lucky he’s got that going for him,” Pa gave a look at Ford that brought his mind back to the words Crampelter had said once more with a squeak of horror, “As for you, you better not cross me again or you’ll regret it.”
Stan growled and almost made to jump through Ma before Ford cried out in pain at a sudden sharpness from his broken hand, making a heel turn on the cold slippery floor of the hospital to ask if he was okay that almost made him stumble. Ford couldn’t focus, pain returning with a vengeance as he recoiled from the first return to agony. All he was conscious of was a nurse asking his family to leave the room, especially Pa, before checking up on him. Ford saw them leave from the corner of his vision, swearing he saw the murderous expression on Pa’s face as he slipped to the other side of the door.
Well, Crampelter was right, he was screwed.
Recovery was a long process, one that Ford wouldn’t wish on anybody. Not even his bullies. Okay, maybe he wished it on them a little bit. But mostly not. Ford was kept isolated in his room, or sometimes the couch for meals, his only consolation being his books and Stan’s penchant for telling stories. He was glad when he finally got out of the hospital a couple nights after the incident, though sometimes he wished he didn’t have to endure Pa’s blatant disappointment everytime he was ‘forced’ to give Ford lunch or a snack when walking hurt too much and Ma was away. The nurses were much more accommodating and they didn’t even let him eat the snacks he wanted! Or even sleep very well!
Anyway, Ford was enduring it. His pain meds helped, though he was always drowsy afterwards. Something he didn’t mind, seeing as sleep was the most effective way to heal after injuries. Ford knew this from health class and hadn’t really paid attention to that until now when he was seeing the effects of longer sleep on injuries. But he didn’t want to sleep the day away. Ford wanted to do everything he could to keep this summer interesting. The worst encounter he ever had with Crampelter (heh, that rhymed) was the only thing holding him back from venturing outside. What if he came back to finish the job? What if… Ford had fleeting thoughts of letting him do just that run through his head? Ones that terrified him to his very core? So he didn’t go outside.
Right now, it was night. The ocean outside his window was choppy, an evening storm blowing through it. It looked beautiful under the starry sky and even the street lights, like a classic painting. Ford touched the glass with his good hand from his hard-climbed spot on the top bunk, a longing in his heart rushing through him. Maybe tonight he could break the rule he had in his head not to go outside, when nobody else was around. A quick look to the bottom bunk and Stan was still asleep. So were their parents by the snores that rumbled through the walls. Ford just had to meet the ocean, just this once before he fully recovered.
Ford was not one to back down from his plans if he was the one to make them, no matter how inconsequential or silly they may seem upon first glance. So he was already down the ladder with a careful slow slide down with only one hand to catch himself with and checking the door for movement before anyone could blink, wincing softly as he bumped his injured hand on the frame. Ford padded through the apartment as quick and quiet as he could, though the door leading to the store always made an awful noise. So he took the back exit, breathing heavy as he burst out the door into the musty alley. One glance up at their room’s still closed curtains assured him that Stan hadn’t woken up.
Ford couldn’t celebrate for the successful escape before he was running out in the direction of the ocean. One look, then he’ll come back before anyone would notice his disappearance. That was the plan. Though he clearly underestimated how cold it would be in the dead of night and right after a storm that was still affecting the ocean ahead, shivering with every step as he finally met the sand with his bare and ravaged toes. Right, he’d also forgot footwear. Oh well. Ford frowned briefly at the recklessness he’d brushed off for something so inconsequential as looking out at the ocean like he very well could’ve from his window. Before finally looking at his goal with a smile. The ocean was rough, angry at something Ford couldn’t be able to parse.
There it was. Ford wandered close, not realizing how close he was getting until the sand under his feet became frozen from the cold of the water licking the toes. And then he was splashed, which found him not recoiling from the cold like he normally would, feeling it as a pleasant sensation on his aching body. Ford raised a hand and cupped some of the saltwater, stopping himself just before he tried to drink it, his academic side reminding him of how paradoxically and dangerously dehydrating the ocean water is from all the salt. It wouldn’t taste nice either. So Ford simply let it filter through his six fingers, looking out at the horizon with a satisfied smile. The cold was so soothing, like a balm to his injuries.
What if I just walked into the ocean, if it’s so nice? The thought hit him like a truck, almost too enticing for its own good. After a moment to think, Ford reasoned with it like he did with the saltiness being bad to drink, he would probably get sucked into it from all the waves and drown. That wouldn’t be good.
Wouldn’t it? Ford shook his head, though he couldn’t look away from the nigh infinite ocean even if he tried. Before Ford could stop himself, he was thinking about his encounter with Crampelter once more. How he had told him his Pa should’ve took him out by now. Ford didn’t know how false that was, having experienced Pa’s wrath at his inability to defend himself and resignation with the intelligence he had being the only thing making him not useless in his eyes. What Pa would do if he found him utterly useless was anyone’s guess. Wouldn’t it be more clean to get rid of him? They could just make Stan pretend to be both of them somehow, right? Or make some dumb excuse as to why he wasn’t going to school anymore?
Maybe I should save Pa the trouble. If I’m just useful for my intelligence, there’s no reason why he wouldn’t get rid of me the moment that part of me slips. Ford hated how logical that sounded to his addled mind. It was stupid, perhaps a sign his intelligence was slipping. All the more reason… Ford shook his head once more, the ocean couldn’t be the answer. Could it? Maybe he should just run away. Stan would understand, wouldn’t he? Either way he wouldn’t have to worry about protecting him anymore. Stan should live his life without the burden of his freak of a twin always needing to be defended, right? Wasn’t that the right answer?
Ford’s teeth clenched, if he was going to do this he should just walk in and get it over with. The ocean was eager, licking his front with its now chilly fingers of near ice like this was all it wanted him to come over for. Ford took one step that raised the level of the ocean from his ankles to his calves before a loud shout and splashes could be heard behind him. A shout that sounded suspiciously like…
“FORD!”
Stan. Ford looked and he was nearly bowled over in a hug that Stan quickly backed away from before he could push him into the water biting at their legs. A rush of fear for Stan’s safety managed to bring him somewhat to his senses, seeing the endless depths he’d have been subjecting himself to with a whimper. Backing away with Stan, Ford wondered when his twin had woken up. Was it when the door closed? Or was it just luck? Ford didn’t have the time to wonder, for as soon as he stepped on dry ground he began to break down. Was he really about to…?
“What’s gotten into ya?” He was so concerned, Ford didn’t know how to answer. He could just say he wanted to look at the ocean, but how true was that really? Ford shuddered, though he still felt those thoughts swiping through his head like vultures. Stan was about to lead him home when Ford collapsed to his knees through all the tears. The sand grit into every crease in his skin, freezing what it touched under the cold moon. Stan wrapped arms around him and simply held him tight.
“I… I don’t know…” Ford broke the silence with a shaky voice that betrayed all his emotions, “You… you’ll think I’m a wimp..”
“Hey, there’s only one wimp out here and it’s surely not you.” Stan reassured, though Ford didn’t quite catch what he meant by that. At his confusion, Stan explained. “If anything, it’s Crampelter that’s the wimp. Beating up on kids younger than he is isn’t very brave of him if you ask me. Cuz’ they can’t fight back as hard.”
“...thanks a lot,” Ford felt the sarcasm dripping in his tone, “...that’s easy for you to say, you always win fights.”
“Hey, I wasn’t all that great at it either before we started boxing…” Stan’s face grew contemplative, before an idea popped behind his eyes that made him wilt slightly, “...maybe Pa’s right. Maybe you should actually start applying yourself at boxing or somethin’...”
Ford fell quiet. It’s always about what Pa wants, isn’t it? Never what he wanted. Ford didn’t know if he wanted to try doing better at boxing if it was going to be what Pa wanted. Doesn’t he want what’s best for you? Then why do I feel like he’d go through with Crampelter’s threat? Tears slipped down his face, he was about to do Crampelter’s dirty work just now and telling Stan about that would only break him. Ford pulled out of the hug, curling up on himself. Stan put a hand on his shoulder in response. Ford didn’t remove it.
“Hey, what’s wrong? I’m sorry if I said somethin’ wrong… I do that a lot,” Stan looked down at the sand between their knees, some kind of sadness behind his eyes, “But can you tell me what’s going on in your head? I don’t know what’s going on and you’re scaring me, Sixer.”
“Will you promise not to tell Pa?”
“...Sure,” Stan looked less and less like he was sure of what he was getting into as time went on. Ford knew he should’ve just… done what he was about to do, or at least not began talking about it. He hid behind his hands in shame. “What is it?”
“As he was beating up on me, Crampelter, he…” Ford swallowed a lump in his throat with painful thickness, “He told me something.”
“What did he say?” Stan looked murderous already, seeing that it really affected Ford almost immediately, “It wasn’t just callin’ you a freak, was it?”
“He… he… I can’t bear to say!” Ford practically wailed, thoughts stabbing him like a knife. A knife you could be using right now… No… Stan held himself closer to Ford, a comforting presence. “It was bad… something about Pa doing something awful to me.”
‘You would be better off if your dad took you out back and shot you like a sick dog.’ It echoed in his head as Stan held him tight with a tremble in an emotion he could only tell was fury. Stan held a hand on his mouth, barely holding in the rage as he continued the hug. It was then Ford realized he’d whispered in Stan’s ear, the horror in his eyes right now could only be initiated by the actual quote, not the vague description he’d initially tried to give him. But something within him just couldn’t keep the memory inside no matter what. So Ford cried harder, the words hurting even more now that he knew Stan was aware of it now. Hopefully he doesn’t think it of himself… I shouldn’t have said anything…
“Ford. If I see that jerk one more time I swear I’m punching his lights out and then some,” Stan gritted through his teeth before tightening his grip like the most comfortable vise in existence, “Don’t you dare believe that… I know Pa’s rough and maybe too angry for his own good, but those words aren’t even close to being true…”
“Logically, I know that must be true… but,” Ford turned away, looking out at the ocean with all its dark waters fighting back and forth for dominance, “You heard what he said. He only cares about me if I’m smart! Well what if I’m not, actually! What would he do then?
“Look, you’re great at boxing. He’s probably rooting for you to win a championship or somethin’,” Ford couldn’t stop the tears from rolling, “I can’t even defend myself properly. What’s the use of bein’ ‘smart’ if I’m just gonna be beat up to death sooner than later? I’m just a freak and Pa knows it.”
“Whatever you think about your nerd smarts or your hands aren’t gonna mean Pa’s gonna resort to… that, Sixer. Since when have you been believing that fart-brained Crampelter so hard?” Stan had his pep talk voice on, the one he’d given after they’d found the Stan O’ War those couple summers back, “C’mon, I know you. You are smart. I… I can’t even come close to how smart you are, if I’m bein’ honest.
“I promise that day was a fluke. I’ll be there to protect you like you’ve been there to help me with my math!” Stan announced in his ear triumphantly, “Then you and I will go on that adventure I’ve always promised! We’ll have a good life, no matter what those jerks have to say about it. Including Pa.”
“...thanks… I’ll try to remember that next time I get mocked or something…” Ford shivered, the water had not helped with the cold. In fact it had exacerbated it. He didn’t need to speak a word before Stan was leading him to his feet for them to trudge back home. Hopefully neither Pa nor Ma would notice their absence. The thought brought a question he’d been meaning to ask to his mind. “Wait, how did you figure out I was gone? I thought I was quiet enough…”
“I dunno…” Stan put a finger on his chin, clearly wondering the same thing, “I guess I just have that sense…
“Or maybe you jostled the bunk bed like you were leavin’ and it took way too long for you to come back for it to be a bathroom break or somethin’,” Stan had a smug expression, Ford correcting his initial assumption that he didn’t know with a sheepish grin. “But who knows. Whatever makes you feel better, silly bro.”
“Right…” Ford lightly tapped Stan with a punch, lighthearted once again on this awful day, “Now let’s get home, yeah?”
“Yeah. Let’s get into somethin’ more comfortable than the sand of glass,” Stan remarked as he shook off a shard of glass that had managed to harmlessly stick itself to his calf with nothing but a few red lines from the pressure, “Glad I saw you out here from our window, I don’t want to think about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t…”
“Me neither,” Ford smiled, the assurance that he at least had Stan as an advocate washing away his painful thoughts as they joked the entire way home. At least until they made it to the back door in that quiet and eerie alley, a chill running down both their spines despite the already cold weather, almost as if there was something more significant about this side of their apartment for reasons undecipherable. They both stepped into the building as quiet but as happy as they could be, their beds inviting. Though they still spent at least an hour just talking about what just happened.
“Stan?”
“Yeah Ford?”
“Let’s promise not to let ourselves be separated like that again, okay?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good.”
Ford woke up from his fitful sleep, a few stray tears leaving his eyes without permission. The memories of that day almost four years ago swirled in his mind like a stab of painful irony. Looking at the pamphlet for West Coast Tech still crumpled in his hand, he wondered how he could ever forget that last exchange without wondering where it all went wrong to the point that Stan would feel like sabotaging his only shot at real success for his own desires. For how could that have been the mistake Stan had sputtered that it was, when he’d clearly expressed his desires that Ford not go to college but rather run away with him on a logistically improbable trip? He ruined everything and it couldn’t have been anything but on purpose.
Whatever. Ford drifted off to sleep once more, forcing his dreams into imagining anything but his current situation or his previous relationship with Stan. Tomorrow would come and maybe he’d have to reckon with the consequences of tonight, but right now he’d rather pretend he hadn’t been betrayed by the one he thought he could trust as deeply as he had than suffer through all the bittersweet memories digging themselves up from the depths of his mind and be reminded that the person in them was never coming back and making him inadvertently cry. He shouldn’t cry, Pa always told him so. He also said he didn’t need his twin holding him back.
And Pa knows what’s best for him.