The Bully Read Free

whole body fell out of view.
     
    My father stood still for a few seconds, dazed, staring at the broken railing. Then he looked toward me, realizing for the first time that I’d been watching the whole time. I don’t remember exactly what was going through my mind, but I know I didn’t budge—I just stood there perfectly still. My father went toward the railing and looked over. Then, cursing to himself, he went down the stoop, and around to the driveway to where Billy had fallen. I couldn’t see what was happening, but a few seconds later my father returned to the porch, looking terrified.
     
    My father came into the house. He grabbed me by the shoulders and bent over, looking into my eyes.
     
    “Listen to me, just listen to me,” he said, talking very fast. “We have to make up a story—a good story, do you understand what I’m saying? We don’t have much time so listen to me, damn it. You did this, okay, not me. I’m an adult and if anyone finds out that I…they just can’t find that out—they just can’t, okay? So when they ask, when the police ask, when
anyone
asks, you say you did it. Say it was a fight—you were fighting. You and that kid Johnny Owens or whatever the hell his name was. You were fighting today at school so they’ll believe that. Say he came over, this kid came over, and you were fighting. Then you pushed him and he fell down. That’s all you have to do, okay? Say you pushed him and he fell down. They’ll ask you questions, but that’s all you say, that’s the whole story—you were fighting, you pushed him, and he fell down. Do you understand that? Can you remember that?”
     
    “You mean,” I said, stuttering. “You mean…he’s
dead
?”
     
    “Yes, he’d dead, you idiot. He’s fucking dead. And you killed him, not me.
You
killed him. I didn’t do it, you did. Can you remember that? Can you fucking remember that? No one was watching except you—you were the only one who saw. No one else saw so if you just stick to the story…if you just stick to the story—” He started shaking me. “Listen to me, Jonathan. Listen to me, damn it. This is the only way it can work—do you understand that? This is the only way. You’re a kid and it’s okay if two kids fight, but I’m an adult so no one can know what happened. It has to be our secret, okay? Besides, it was all your fault anyway. I mean, I don’t even know this kid. You killed him, Jonathan.
You
killed him. Just get that into your head and everything’ll be okay. It’s very simple—you were fighting and then you pushed him and he fell down. It’s all very simple. But you’ll need a bruise to make it look good. Otherwise they won’t believe you—they won’t believe you were fighting if you’re not bruised.”
     
    My father stood back, then punched me as hard as he could in the nose. Before I had a chance to scream he punched me again, even harder, and I thought I heard a bone breaking. My nose was gushing blood and then I was crying hysterically.
     
    “That’s good,” my father said, “cry. That’s perfect. Cry. Keep crying.”
     
    * * *
     
    I was on my knees, wailing into my bloody hands, while my father called 911. He told the operator that there’d been an accident, that his son had been fighting with another boy and that the other boy had fallen and seemed to be dead. Then my father gave the operator our address and hung up.
     
    “Come on,” my father said. “We have to go outside.”
     
    “I…I can’t,” I said.
     
    “God damn it,” my father said. He went into the kitchen and came back with a dish towel.
     
    “Here, put this over your nose,” he said to me. “Just do it.”
     
    I held the towel over my nose, but it was still bleeding and the pain wasn’t stopping.
     
    “We have to go outside now,” my father said. “If we’re in here when the police and ambulance come it’ll look suspicious. Come on, let’s get a move on.”
     
    When we went outside to the driveway,