At a point-Hatchet Press

At a Point.

Kenneth Sinclair

At a Point

1

At a Point.

Kenneth Sinclair

“You’re not right, boy.” The words came from Uncle Jack’s mouth, as his steps circled his nephew.

The boy’s brown hair, coated in sweat, twisted about on his head. His stance was feverish, as he stood in the living room and brandished a knife.

“Give me that knife now,” Uncle Jack said, as he extended an open palm. His nephew stood jittery and held his place.

“Tommy, come on, give me that knife.” His uncle’s voice was not as stern as the tone it normally held. Tommy realized, as long as he held onto that knife, his uncle’s confidence shrank.

Tommy almost felt his own confidence grow as he held it. He became keen on the feeling of some how having leverage over his uncle.

He raised the knife, pointed it at his uncle, as he shouted, “NO!” “Come on, boy, don’t be foolish,” his uncle said, and held his hands outward to show a non-hostile stance.

Tommy’s grip around the knife handle tightened. The cloudy silver blade reflected the living room. They stood on opposite ends of the floor rug in front of the couch. Tommy’s arm stretched one fourth of the way over the rug.

“You won’t touch me!” Tommy yelled.

His uncle tilted his head while taking a step in towards his nephew. “Hey now, let’s just stay calm, Tommy.”

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At a Point.

Kenneth Sinclair

“I’m calm!” Tommy said, waving the blade around in front of himself.

“Just give me the knife, Tommy.” Uncle Jack closed the space between them by another slow steady foot. “I’m sure Dr. Henderson would be glad to see you again.”

“You’re a liar! They’ll know you’re lying.”

“Tommy, you’ve got a file already. They believed me the last time didn’t they?”

“Aghh!” Tommy’s focus broke as frustration took him.

“Get Back!”

“Okay… okay.” His uncle stepped back. He sat down on the couch and crossed his legs. “They see this kind of violent behavior start to grow. It follows you the rest of your life, Tommy. This is really for your own good.”

Tommy’s breathing became erratic. His chest heaved under his T-shirt and contorted the shape of his shoulders.

Tommy had been under Dr. Henderson’s care, in a mental rehabilitation institute, once before. The facility was off a less populated 301 exit of Ellington’s Southside. It was called Lakeshores Rehabilitation. The lake reminded Tommy of a gross retention crater--another duplicate of the apartment complex lakes he’d spent too much time around as a child.

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At a Point.

Kenneth Sinclair

“Hello, Tommy, how are you today?” Dr. Henderson said, from behind his oak desk. Tommy and Uncle Jack sat in two well cushioned chairs placed in front of the desk. The lighting in the room was stunningly bright. It was some medicinal white that scorched the walls.

Tommy’s face was bland, as he said, “I don’t want to be here.”

“It’s nice here, Tommy. We have lots of things that fit your needs.”

“My needs?” Tommy raised an eyebrow.

Dr. Henderson looked at Tommy. “Tommy, you are different. You have to have known this by now. You have to accept your anger as an issue before you can truly overcome it.

That’s why you cannot leave here until you’ve done that.”

Uncle Jack sunk into the cushions of the coach in the living room. He no longer showed signs of hesitation. Tommy no longer felt his confidence growing like he had a moment ago-- that feeling he’d had when the point of the steel was directed at his uncle. Even though his uncle had backed off, like Tommy had wanted, some how the control in the room still sat heavily with him on the couch. His uncle’s poise taunted Tommy.

Tommy loathed the man sitting on the couch. It was the couch his family had spent many nights watching movies on.

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At a Point.

Kenneth Sinclair

Uncle Jack had inherited the house, along with the furniture, when his family had passed. How could they have left the house to Uncle Jack, Tommy thought. How could they leave me here with him? How could they do this to me? His knuckles rippled over the wood handle as he brood over the thought.

Uncle Jack continued to elaborate Tommy’s future for him.

“Maybe you’ll get a room close to the cafeteria. That way you can get first pick, and that way they will always have what you want.

Huh, boy? Bet that be great. I could work something like that out for you there you know.”

Tommy remembered when he had held a Styrofoam tray and pushed it down a line of metal bars in Lakeshore’s cafeteria. A carton of milk was on the tray. The cafeteria staff grunted at him, for his tray, so they could pile it full of food that had been sitting under the warmers. Then the food was put in the coolers, to be recycled back out under the warmers, for the next day. The smell of mold poured from the warm poorly ventilated kitchen. The temperature of the cafeteria reflected by the sweat on the workers brows. Tommy imagined it dripping from their foreheads into the liquids that mixed in the warmers. The meat kept warm in the pans absorbing the sweat. He had been sure, eventually, the burger patties would have just a bit of the entire staff soaked up into them.

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At a Point.

Kenneth Sinclair

Tommy gnashed his teeth at the thought of that food again. It all had stained the Styrofoam he ate on. The rank smell of the cafeteria was an unpleasant dominant memory for him. He remembered the staff as they had stood at the exits with their arms at their fronts, one hand holding the wrist of the other arm, as they stood maintaining the boundaries.

The knots of the wooden handle, on the knife, matched the grooves in Tommy’s knuckles. They rippled as he adjusted his grip. He lowered in the direction of his uncle, as he began towards him.

His Uncle, being coy, did not reply to Tommy’s advance.

Uncle Jack’s confidence became part of his posture, as he tried to kept control over the moment. He continued to talk trying to keep his momentum. “Lucky you’re too young for jail, boy. That’s where they’d put you. You know that don’t you, boy?”

Tommy thought of when he had been in his bed at Lakeshores. The bedroom door was always shut with such authority. He knew that it would not be opened again for the night. He shared the room with one other boy. Silence broke, as the lock on the door clicked shut. Light from the hallway came through the window of the bedroom’s door into the room. The

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At a Point.

Kenneth Sinclair

boy he shared the room with whispered to himself throughout the night. Often, Tommy had lain awake trying to decipher his roommates, almost panicky, conversation with himself. It reminded Tommy of a prayer.

“No light but one. Just one. All I need is one to keep me at ease. No don’t say so, don’t say so, ill be fine, ill be fine. See the light, that light keeps me safe. We’ve got a window, got window, with enough light to keep me safe…”

The next morning, Tommy asked Dr. Henderson, “Can I leave now?” here.”

“I’m sorry, Tommy. You need some more time with us “I shouldn’t be here!”

“Calm down, Tommy, you can’t live with others like this.

We need to control your anger now with us here,” Dr. Henderson said, while tapping his pen on the desk he sat at. The doctor threw open his arms, in presentation, with a brief smile.

Dr. Henderson enraged Tommy. His thick eye brows were one of his most menacing attributives, Tommy thought. His Uncle tilted his head at the doctor. The doctor returned the gesture.

This show of consent between the two, acknowledging the fact they were on the same side, frightened Tommy.

Tommy.

“We’ll get you right, boy.” Dr. Henderson said to

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At a Point.

Kenneth Sinclair

His Uncle sat on the couch still explaining Tommy’s future.

“You know your dad would have been disappointed to see you become such a little villain and so full of malice.”

Tommy felt villain and malice rise in him. The presence of such a reaction was like boiling water coming from his stomach.

His gut became a tempered pit of heated tar. His Uncle pulled a cell phone from his pocket. Tommy’s eyes reacted as if another knife had been drawn. Casually his Uncle dialed a number and put the phone to his ear.

“Yes hello…” His uncle paused, covering the mouth of the phone to speak to Tommy. “You’re not right, boy.” He shook his head in disgust. “We will get you straightened out.” Uncle Jack put the phone back up to his ear. Uncle Jack’s frame relaxed, as he looked out the window he sat in front of. He commented on the hedge below the outside window seal. “Going to have to trim those soon.”

Before another breath could fall from his Uncle’s mouth, Tommy had found himself across the room. Tommy’s body now separated from his uncle by only the length of the knife’s handle.

The blade was no longer visible. Tommy looked down at his hands and saw what he had done. The phone fell from his uncle’s ear onto the cushion of the couch, as Tommy kept the blade of the knife in his uncle’s gut.

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At a Point.

Kenneth Sinclair

Tommy was now staring down at his Styrofoam tray again.

The Cafeteria server grunted at him. Tommy gave his tray across to her, and received it back with a steak. The grill lines on it almost making Tommy salivate as he gave a short smile. He stood at the checkout waiting to receive his silverware. He had seen his reflection in the knife the boy just before him had received. The cafeteria server handed him plastic utensils.

“Excuse me?” Tommy said in response.

One of the dietary servers whispered into the other’s ear.

Then, she spoke towards Tommy. “That is what we’ve been told is to be done.”

The other staff member, after being told why, shook her head at him in quick disgust. “You’re not right, boy,” she said.

Tommy made his way to his table in the cafeteria, where he sat by himself, and began to saw his steak with his plastic knife.

End.

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