15-year-old Bill is unable. Unable to obey, unable to live in peace with others, and ... unable to cry.

~o~O~o~

A 1975 burnt orange El Camino carefully wound its way through the well-kept roads of North Montanas, the “new money” area of El Paso. The old car seemed out of place in this part of town; it even moved like it felt anxious, hesitantly turning at forks, going only 21 to 24 miles per hour in a speed zone of 30.

“Please, God, don’t let me get pulled over,” the driver muttered. He’d already seen two North Montanas police cars, each idling at different spots. He was sure that the cops would find a reason to stop him – not signaling a turn, going too fast, going too slow, driving while latino – but amazingly both cruisers let him pass without any problem.

The houses here were big and pretty, all in the $1 – 2 million range; that provided for a nice home, though not enough for large acreage or huge fences and gates. The neighborhood had been erected over the last 5 years and its newest school, Montclair Senior High, was operational in its 3rd year now. They had an aggressive security and police force; gang activity had yet to gain much of a foothold here. The upper-middle-class denizens here hoped that this would always be so. El Camino boy was not in a gang, yet he knew his appearance might stereotype him as a member. Or at least it would if he was noticed by anyone; all of the yards were empty. Do these yuppies hate the outdoors? he wondered.,

Finally, he reached his destination – 4701 Las Hongas. This place was an exception to its neighbors; it sat in the middle of 10 acres, with an 8-foot wall around it. The driveway to the house was accessible only by a gate with an electronic code.

The Camino drove up to the keypad/voice speaker box. An arm extended out the driver’s window and punched the ‘call operator’ button. The speaker crackled, and a woman’s voice came on: “Hello? May I help you?”

The driver stuck his head out the side window to speak into the box. “Ah, Mrs. Eiken? I’m Bernard. Bernard Andujar. We’ve never met; I’m a friend of Willie’s. Can I see him?”

The box was silent for a few seconds, then: “You don’t mean William, my husband, right? By ‘Willy’ you mean my 15-year-old son Bill, correct?”

“Uh, yea. Willy – I mean, Bill –we know each other from Montclair High. When he went there, we were best buddies. That is, before –“

“I know very well what happened, Bernard. I remember hearing about you now. Bill is here, but we don’t allow him to interact with any of his friends who were involved in the trouble he had with the drugs and the law. I’m sure you know all of this already. So I’m sorry but no, you cannot talk to him.”

“Okay; um, can I give you something to give to him, then? I have a birthday present for him. I know his 15th birthday was last month, so it’s kind of late …”

Gwendolyn Eiken sighed as she stood in the foyer of her house, listening to Bernard through the speaker. She still looked far younger than her 38 years suggested, with a thin fit body and a long, layered blonde hairdo. The only things that betrayed her overall presentation were the eyes, framed with multiple wrinkles from the stress of the last few years. They squinted once more as she struggled with this new decision.

A present?! No. He simply needs to leave. Can’t he just take a hint?

“Hey, Mom. Who’s that?”

Gwen turned her head to see the second of her three children, a short muscular boy named Bill. For some reason, his school friends the last few years had taken to calling him "Willy". He’d walked up behind her undetected. “It’s no one, Bill. Get back to your reading, please.”

The crackly voice came through the speaker by her head. “Uh … Mrs. Eiken? You still there?”

Bill’s face lit up with recognition. “That’s … that’s Bernard! Mom, let me speak to him, please? He’s my best bud! Hey, Bern!” – he reached for the intercom panel.

“NO.” Gwen’s hand blocked the transmit button. “Now you know the rules! Go to your room while I finish telling him to leave.” She pointed down the hall.

Bill’s face screwed up in anger, yet also defeat. “My life is SHIT! THIS HOUSE, THESE RULES, THIS FAMILY – THEY ALL SUCK,” he shouted as he turned and stomped towards the bedroom wing of the huge house.

Gwendolyn turned back to the intercom and again pressed the speak button. “Bernard, I’m still here. Leave your gift right outside the gate. I’m coming down in the golf cart and I’ll get it right away. If I don’t approve of the gift, Bill won’t get it. Please leave before I get there.”

“Um, OK. Hey Mrs. Eiken; I’m sorry for my part in what happened. Helping him break the law and all. I’ve tried to go the straight and narrow since then. But I wanted to ask you to … um … forgive me?”

Out at the gate, the intercom box remained silent for almost 30 seconds, then: “I’m sorry too, Bernard. And I forgive you.”

Bernie’s voice rose in anticipation. “You … you do? Does that mean I can talk to him sometime?”

“No, it does not.” The steel in Gwen’s voice returned. “Forgiveness means I am not going to sic the police on you with that confession you just gave me. Nothing more. Goodbye, Bernard.”

When Gwen arrived at the front gate in her golf cart, Bernard and his El Camino were gone as requested.

~o~O~o~

Bill (“Willy” to all of his ‘playa’ friends) Ramos sat in his room and fumed. He needed to destroy something, but couldn’t figure out how to do so and not make his own life more miserable.

Shit I need to kick a hole in the wall or break out a window. Something so Mom knows not to diss my friends ever again. He grit his teeth and growled with futility. Yeah, right. And then get my axe taken so I can’t even jam on it. And she’ll STILL diss me or my friends whenever she feels like it.

As an alternative to carnage, Willy picked up his guitar – his “axe” – and turned on the power. He put his headphones on, as the speaker amp had been disabled. No matter. He turned the volume on the ‘phones up as loud as they’d go and started to riff in rapid, angry chords.

Gwen knocked on Bill’s door, but he didn’t hear it over the jamming. She carefully opened the door and took in the sight.

Her son had his back turned towards the doorway; he thrashed at his guitar as if it were a prisoner that he was torturing with rapid-fire strikes from a whip. His young adolescent body was muscular and defined, a result of lifting weights (he had dumbbells in the garage) and possibly also some over-the-counter “men’s supplements” that he’d taken without her knowledge when he was 13 ½. His arrest 12 months ago, the stay in juvie and his severe home grounding had eliminated any access to anything like that in the past year. Still, Gwen wondered if those nutrition store supplements had contributed to her middle child’s aggressive personality. Worse every year since age 13, she mused. Also, his 5 foot 4-inch height may have caused him to act more macho to compensate.

He continued to thrash as he played, then turned and saw his mother. He stopped bolt-still and angrily glared at Gwen, grunting and growling as he tried to show her how much he hated her right now.

The stare shook the blonde woman internally, but on the outside she remained implacable. Then she smiled slightly and produced a large plastic sack, which she extended towards her son. “Bernard got you some late birthday presents. I looked at them, and I’ll allow you to have them.”

The glare became a confused look for about a second, then morphed into cautious optimism. “My birthday? What would he … OH DUDE! COOL!”

He pulled some model car kits out of the sack, each still boxed and sealed. There was a Dodge Viper and a NASCAR racer, Dale Earnhardt Jr.’s original DEI No. 8. Bill liked the challenge of gluing, painting and faithfully decorating a plastic model; he wasn’t into ready-made die-cast cars. At the bottom of the sack laid the coup de grace: an Aurora Godzilla model kit that had the big lizard stomping through the wreckage of a city.

“Mom! Do you realize how much money Bernie spent getting these? The ‘Zilla is over $100 at least – a collector’s edition!”

Gwen took a deep relaxed breath, a rarity when around Bill these days. “You really like it, eh?”

“No shit, Sherlock!”

Gwen tensed a little more. “But you’re happy, right?”

Bill peered back at her through narrow eyes. “Let’s not go that far. Maybe, if I could get some old-style model glue instead of that non-toxic crap you make me use.”

Gwen sighed. “Nope. Nothing that can be abused or sniffed, you know that. Have fun with these, but not before daily schoolwork is done, and night curfew is still in effect of course. I’ll call you when supper’s ready.” She walked away headed to the kitchen. Well, I enjoyed seeing him smile. For a split second.

~o~O~o~

Gwen’s other two children – Angela, the oldest at 17, and 13-year-old Malachi – had now arrived home from school, so she was fixing supper. They all lived in a mansion that could have included servants, maids and groundskeepers; but with only one parent producing income now, the budget didn’t have the room for those. Gwen had quit her job as manager of an orthodontic office earlier this year to try to homeschool young Bill, to save his life and future.

“Oh boy! Chicken spaghetti! Cheesy like I like it!” exulted Mal when they sat down to the dining table.

“Meh,” said Bill. He actually liked this dish but was unwilling to give his Mother the satisfaction of having pleased him.

They said grace and dug in. Angie swallowed her first bite, then turned to her mother. “Where’s Dad?”

“Don’t call him that, buttface! He’s just a stepdad. STEPdad, get it?” growled Bill. “Call him that, or his name, but NOT ‘Dad’. “

Gwen spoke calmly. “She can call William ‘Dad’ if she wants to.”

Bill grumbled and stabbed at a chicken chunk with his fork. “Well then, I want to call him ‘Satan’. Can I?”

“Your stepfather’s name is William. That’s what you all will call him,” announced Gwen. She turned to her daughter. “Honey, because this is such a sensitive subject, maybe avoid calling him Dad for now.”

Angie got sad, shaking off a tear as she twirled some noodles. “It’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?” said an adult baritone voice from the entryway. “I can smell chicken spaghetti! Be there in two seconds!”

“One … two … three … four. See? Barely home and he’s lying already,’ snorted young Bill.

“Hello, people,” smiled a handsome man of 40 years now sitting down at the table. He was trim and fit with styled dusty brown hair, and had a perfect bright smile, apropos for his profession.

“How goes the orthodontist practice, William?” said Gwen with a happy/weary smile.

“Never as smooth as when you were my manager. I think Mike is still there straightening out tomorrow’s scheduling snafus.” William shook his head. After closing his eyes and whispering a thank-you prayer for his food, he then looked up at his makeshift family. “So, what did everyone do today?”

“I’ve been chosen to design our class float for the homecoming parade next month,” said Angie “It will take a lot of work to do right, but it will blow everyone’s mind if I can pull it off. Can I show you my ideas after supper, Da – I mean, William?”

“I’m in a run-off for the cross country team tomorrow,” chirped Mal. “Me and 5 other guys are racing to fill the last 2 slots.”

“So, a literal run-off,” said William, smiling at his stepchild’s use of language.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” said Bill. “Hearing about what everyone else here is allowed to do – it makes me sick.” He rose from his chair.

“Bill,” Gwen said, “do you want me to bring you something to your room later?” She was talking about food.

“Yeah. Stepdad’s rifle, from the gun safe. So I can do a quadruple-murder/suicide.” Bill then stomped out of the dining room.

The rest paused their conversation and ate in silence for a few minutes before continuing with small talk in a much more somber tone until the meal was finished.

~o~O~o~

There was a sharp knock on Bill’s door twenty minutes later.

“Piss off, whoever it is,” the youth snarled.

“Bill, decent or not, I’m coming in,” said stepdad William. The door opened to reveal a frowning stepfather with a folding chair.

The teenager rolled his eyes and sighed. “Whadda you want?”

“I ignore most of your ugly comments, Bill. You had to know that I wasn’t going to let that murder/suicide remark go, though. What crawled up your butt and died today? Your mom told me about your awesome birthday present from your friend; I was hoping you’d be in a better mood.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it, William.”

“Want to or not, I’m not leaving this room ‘til we – ‘til YOU – get this settled.” William unfolded his chair and sat down facing his stepson.

“Oh Gaaahd,” Bill moaned. “NOT more TALKING!! Gawd, can’t you just spank me or beat me and then leave me alone? But these ‘heart-to-heart’ talks – they’re like TORTURE!”

William ignored Bill’s complaint and pressed on. “I’m grounding you off the TV for the week. Unless you sincerely apologize for what you said at supper. The apology should be done to all of the family. And it had better be a good one.”

“Well, that idea can go to hell, stepdad.”

“Okay. No TV for a week it is, then.”

Bill’s face scrunched up with anger like a “Chucky” doll. “Why do you and Mom pick on me all the time? The other two are always treated as the favorites, and you punish me worse than you would a criminal! If I ever leave the house it has to be with you or Mom present at all times. You took my phone and my computer; I’m cut off from all my friends. This should be illegal. Are you sure it isn’t child abuse?”

William glanced askance at his young charge. “Come on now, Bill. I do see good and bad in all 3 of you kids. Angie is well behaved but hates to study, so I’m always pushing her to get serious about her grades. Mal loves to try to get you into trouble; I know he likes to painfully flick your ear, or continue bugging you with spit wads or elbows to your ribs, then you haul off and hit him, and he acts all innocent while you get the blame.”

“Mal hasn’t done that to me in a while. Guess he got tired of me slugging him.”

“Maybe that was it, Bill. Or maybe it was the fact that I confronted him about his behavior and threatened to ground him for a month and cancel his cross country tryouts.

“Also, your restrictions don’t just affect you, kiddo,” William continued. “Your brother and sister have to share the same computer as you, the one in the living room. We keep an eye on what sites each of you visit. And yes, when you’re outside the house you must be accompanied by a parent. So your grounding essentially grounds your Mom and me too!”

Bill hit his scalp with his fists, he was so frustrated. “But WHY?? I only did one wrong thing – one little wrong thing! Yes, I got caught taking Lortabs. But I did my time – 5 months in that hell they call Juvenile Detention. But in the 6 months since I got out, I’ve been on “Stepdad” detention! Are you never going to forgive me or trust me ever again?”

William stared at the teen in what appeared to be disbelief, then said: “Really? That’s the only thing that led to your extreme grounding? You don’t remember anything else?”

“I liked to joke around. That’s it. Nothing worth all this crap.”

“Bill. Let me refresh your memory.”

~o~O~o~

“When I first met you – that night 6 years ago, after bringing your Mom home from our first date – you seemed mischievous, but you otherwise were a happy, smiling kid. You liked to wrestle, and we tussled on the floor for a minute, remember? Your mother was horrified, but we were both laughing our heads off.

“After I married Gwen, you seemed to grow a bit distant from me. I got that a little from your brother and sister too, just not as much.”

Bill snerked out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, probably because your true colors came out after Mom said ‘I do’.”

“Think about it, buddy,” William persisted. “After the wedding, I stopped being just an adult friend; I automatically became one of your parents. That meant I had to step up with rules and discipline. I bent over backwards to go easy, and that seemed to work with Mal and Angie – but not you. You loved to test my boundaries, and started rebelling. It almost seemed you wanted to push the limits, like you were daring me to discipline you. Then you howled with complaints if I did so.”

“And Mom backed you every time!” Bill yelled. “She used to have us kids as her #1 priority – like all mothers should! But YOU come along, and she practically ignores us – especially when there are things I wanna do that go against your RULES. I can’t wait to get out of this place and be on my own!”

“Bill. First of all, the rules aren’t just from me. Your Mom and I worked together to come up with them. Second, I’d love to have good times with you – wrestling, or fishing, or a lot of other things – but you are so insistent on hating me that you refuse every opportunity. Thirdly, you’re fifteen. What do you think you’d be doing if you were on your own?”

“I’d be living my life the way I want! Free and easy. I know how to get money, so that’s no prob. And I could stay with Bernard; his dad works all the time and would hardly notice I was there. No more shitty school work, no more stupid rules. Man, I’d be so happy. You and Mom would be happier without me. And I could find me a chica and start getting some pussy. I know you understand that need in a guy. That’s practically the reason you married Mom – she’s a MILF.”

William’s eyes narrowed in surprised offense. “Wait. You think that –“

“Why else would you marry her?” said Bill. “A single lady with 3 kids and a lot of expenses. We weren’t starving, but we weren’t rolling in money either. An ortho- dentist? Dontist? whatever - like you could score any hot single chick he wanted. So why choose Mom, even though she’s a brick house? I bet it was because she was guaranteed to not sleep around on you – she can’t afford to mess all this up,” he waved his hand in a circle over his head, indicating the mansion they were in.

William slowly shook his head in sad realization of his stepson’s deluded thoughts. “First of all, Bill, your mother is incredibly attractive, yes. But I did not marry her because of her looks; that was just wonderful icing on the cake. She is the most loving, most determined, most courageous woman I’ve ever met. She treats me like a king and lets me treat her like a goddess. She’s my best friend, my soul mate; the one I’ve been looking for all of my life.”

“Gaaahd, gimme a barf bag,” Bill replied, rolling his eyes.

William continued. “And as for what you would do on your own – you’re just fifteen. The laws mandate that you continue your schooling until you graduate or turn seventeen, the state age of adulthood. If you aren’t doing some type of schooling, then you’re called a truant, and you go to juvie. Not only that, but your Mom and I get into trouble – what you do as a minor is my legal responsibility. We could even go to jail if we don’t keep you out of trouble.

“This statement you made earlier, about ‘I know how to get money’ – I suspect you were talking about some type of drug dealing. Am I wrong?”

“Hey, hold on! When they caught me with the Lortabs? I – uh – got those only for my personal use. I never sold nobody nothing.”

“And yet, Bill, around that time you came into some obvious money somehow. You bought an electric guitar, some gold gangster bling jewelry, and got that big tattoo of a dragon on your arm – all without consulting us or getting anything more than your usual allowance.”

“See, STEPdad? I’m always guilty in your eyes. I got good friends who like to give me things; so what? You got no proof that I’ve done anything illegal.”

“I’ve got proof that you lie,” William whispered. “Your blood sample at your arrest showed more than just the Lortab. You screened positive for cocaine and pot., too.”

“WHAT?” Bill gasped. “No one ever told me that! You’re making it up!”

“It’s true. I never told you because I’ve been waiting for you to confess it on your own, to finally get honest with me. So you got into multiple drug use, and to pay for that I assume you got into the drug trade. You’re pretty amazing if you did; this school and neighborhood have prided themselves on preventing any dope dealers from getting a foothold. Oh, the addicts still get their stuff – but they’ve had to go to the scummy parts of El Paso to do so. Until you found a way to slip through all the barriers here in North Montanas. That’s my theory. Am I right?”

Bill looked shaken. “I’m sick of all this TALK TALK TALK. Just leave me alone, OK? I’m done. I’m going to sleep.” He flopped down on his bed and pulled the covers over his head. “Turn the lights out when you leave, WILLIAM,” he barked.

William had one more thing to say. “I don’t think you’re a lost cause, Bill. But I have to give you consequences for your bad behavior. This trouble might be all due to the drugs, and/or to hanging around with the wrong crowd. But maybe there’s something else? There seems to be a deep … what can I call it? … a dissatisfaction in you, somehow; some conflict that isn’t getting addressed. I wish you would open up to the counselor we’ve sent you to; maybe he could figure it out. Just know this: all of these rules, all of this so-called crap that I’m putting you through – it’s because I love you and care about you, bud.”

William sat there for another minute to see if Bill would respond. Then he got up, folded his chair, and left the room. He turned the light off and closed the door as he did so.

~o~O~o~

Bill lay in his bed after William left. He thought of the things that had been said.

There has to be a way out of here. It’s almost 2 years until my 17th birthday – I think I’d rather be dead than wait that long. I could run away, but if I get caught, it means juvie detention again.

Bill physically shuddered at the thought.

Juvie. The only thing worse than THIS hell is THAT. I don’t know how other counties run their JD, but I’ve never been beaten up and beaten down – by the other kids AND the guards – as bad as there. At least here I get to go outside and into town, although I have to have Mom or stepdevil with me. So running away, or tearing up my house or terrorizing my family to the point it becomes a crime – that’s out.

I could claim to be abused, right? Then Child Protective Services would have to put me with a foster family; that’s a roll of the dice. My parole officer wouldn’t approve of me staying with Bernard or any of my old band of buddies. I’d have to show signs or prove the abuse; that’s a challenge because no one believes me against my parents. Everyone sees me as a liar. I mean, I am, but it’s still unfair that I get typed that way.

What about those rich actors or music star kids that leave their families because they spend all their money, like that Charlie’s Angels star? What was it called … EMANCIPATION OF A MINOR. Is there any way I could apply for that? I could look it up on the computer, but snoopy stepdad with his tracker would see what I’d been reading.

He sat up on the side of the bed and saw the big birthday sack from Bernard.

What a great gift. Bernie knows I love cars, monsters and model kits. But as cool as they are, I’d trade them all right now for a way out of here.

Bill took each cellophane-wrapped box out to look over the specs of the kits, first the cars and then the large Godzilla set.

Funny. The ‘Zilla box is bigger so it will be heavier, but somehow it seems … TOO heavy? And the shrink wrap on it is looser like it’s an amateur job. This obviously has been repackaged. Wait, what’s this?

Printed in black marker on the bottom of the Godzilla box were the words: FILE INSIDE.

Bill puzzled over this for a minute, and then a flash of memory came to him. It was the last time he’d seen Bernard face to face, before going into Juvenile Detention almost a year ago.

What did he say to me? He just asked if there were anything he could do. And I joked back at him, “bake me a cake with a file in it” – like, so I could file through the bars and escape … !

Bill tore off the cellophane from the ‘Zilla kit. Inside were the actual parts for the model, but taped to the bottom of the box …

… was a slim smartphone.

Bill punched the “on” button and after a few eternal seconds the screen lit up; it was almost fully charged, 97%. The text icon on the phone had a little red “1” on it, indicating one unread message. He tapped it. It said:

Text back when u get this. Bernard.

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

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