The Nail in the Boot

Gin and tonic in hand, I sit, trying to write of love, of life— but his voice, loud and boisterous, shakes the quiet, rattles my mind. A large man. A presence. A weight. The drink takes hold, I’m feeling bold.

With my father’s voice behind my tongue, Oi! Ye cunt, keep it down! Some of us are trying to think. He blinks. A pause. A shift in air. I see it now—I’ve started a row.

As quick as I stand, he has me, pinned against the wall, a pillar of flesh. But there’s Scotch-Irish blood in me, the fire of a people crushed under boot. I catch his finger, set my roots. Snap. Crack. Squeal. I bite his ear—an orange to be peeled.

Blood spills, the violence is fun. And in a breath, he knows.

**I have won. **

I am the nail in the boot, sharp, intentional.

He steps back, bloody ear in hand, a big man knowing fear— perhaps for the first time.

As he walks away, I wait for the lights.

**The boots. The chains. **

I embrace my fate.

It’s the middle of November and I’m trudging through three feet of snow because, much to my dismay, bodies don’t burry themselves. I warned him. I told him if he hurt her again it would be the last time. I love that woman. I was never able to come to terms with the demons of my past to be the man she needed. She loved me but the pain of who I am always kept us apart. My distrust. My inability to process any amount of relationship conflict with out retreating and running was to much for her. A simple disagreement would send me out the door with a bag of clothes and a one way ticket to the far side of the globe. However, I always returned. Sometimes it would be months, sometimes years but I always came back to her. The bar. Our friends. She knew who I was. She was the closest thing I had to a home. She knew who my family made me become. I’m not an evil man but there are monsters in me. The same monsters that created me. She accepted me without judgement for the things I had done. So we always remained friends. I would sit at the bar and read. I’d write about my travels and she’d let me read her little poems. I loved her enough to stay quiet with her questionable choices in men. But Trey was different. He was a coke head. Unpredictable. He had a rage in him that he’d take out on Britney and her kids. I didn’t see it at first. Her son Raven was the first to tell me. He saw me in the store one afternoon. He had a mark on his cheek. He greeted me the way he always did. With a sneak attack looking for wrestles. After tickling him into exhaustion and scaring the old ladies in the store. I asked about the mark. He said Trey came home drunk and hit him for leaving the door unlocked. I could see the fear on his face. I asked him if he did that often or hit his mom. He wouldn’t answer and just looked down. I asked Britney about it later at the bar and she told me to mind my own business. So I did. A few weeks later I saw her. She was wearing way too much much makeup. I could tell it was hiding a shiner. I asked about it. In tears she told me to leave it alone. I left. I got Treys number from an old friend who he worked with. I called him. I told him if he ever touched her or the kids again it would be the last thing he did on this earth. Two months later Britney came to work. Trey dropped her off. Her lip was split. I knew what it was. I smiled at her and excused my self. I started my 89 Cummins and floored it. I caught up to Trey. I started to follow him to their home. They lived in the country. I quiet area. Mostly just cows and hayfields. Trey saw me. He pulled off immediately. It was a derserted area far from witnesses. I pulled behind him. We both got out. He had a tire iron in his hand. He came at me. Violence has always been instinctual for me. The training I had in the legion only sharpened it. As he swung that hunk of metal at my face, I caught his arm, kicking him in the balls with my steel toe. As he crumpled to the floor I took the tire iron from him. I hit him in the elbow snapping his arm. As he wailed in pain. I leaned forward. I told you it would be the last thing you did. I wish you had listened. I struck him in the back of the skull splitting him open. He began to convulse. He was dying. The monster in me was getting his fix. I grabbed a tarp from my truck and wrapped him up. I put him in the bed of the truck. I grabbed a bucket and a shovel and scuped up any blood soaked snow or dirt. I left his pickup there and drove to Idaho. I knew a place over the border where only hunters go. Now I’m here dragging this piece of shit through the snow. It’s going to take me two days to dig this hole in frozen ground but it needs to be done. I’m am who I am and my sins are my own. I’ll accept my penance when the time comes. No regrets. I did it for her. I did it for her kids that I love as my own. I did it because there doesn’t need to be anymore monsters like me in the world. That boy and his sister never deserve to see the the things I have. They already know to much. They need to know something I never did. They need to know love. The love their mother shows, even to me. Unconditional and unyeilding. The love that protects. I will always be her protector.