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Being punished was not an unusual thing for their household. Filbrick was a man who demanded respect and was not willing to cower down. Even through cruel means,but it was just what Stanley and Stanford grew up with. They had not questioned their fathers behaviors due to the superiority he had held over them. Seeing their mother being slapped or yelled at was deemed normal to them. Every time that they had to sneak out of the house to find somewhere to hide, most often the Stan O’ War, to avoid the wrath of their father was too many to count. Caryn many a time would be on her knees with Stanley in her arms, rubbing his back and comforting the young boy with soft assurances. Stanford was no exception, she would have to help him bathe after Filbrick was done. Scrubbing the dried blood out of her sons’ hair was not what she would end up doing in life but it was what she had now become accustomed to.
All he had done was drop a soda bottle. Stanley quickly looked up to where Filbrick was sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, having been watching some sort of sport or the news. Fear ate at his expression knowing what would happen if he didn’t apologize or start cleaning it up, but his chemistry disagreed with him this time and he ran. Ran as fast as he could down. After this encounter he would remember to have his shoes on standby when he would need to leave the house quickly or just already on. He scrambled down the stairs that lead down to the pawn shop and into the street. The pure amount of momentum he had caused by the adrenaline rush his brain had created. He needed to get away, that's all that mattered. He could barely hear the sound of Filbrick’s enraged voice over the rush of blood in his ears. He didn't know where he was going; he just needed to hide.
The sound of the ocean waves called to him and to which he replied. Feeling the different litter that was strewn about the town's sidewalks against his bare feet. Broken glass and thrown out cans of alcohol or soda that some teenager had gotten by lying about his age. He could feel the shards of glass digging into his skin and the blood that consequently seeped from his skin, his running causing the blood to drip sideways until he stopped.
Feeling the sand between his toes and how he was now fumbling from the poor traction the sand had caused. Running towards the shore and skidding to a stop. The calm waves lapping at his ankles. His breath ragged and hitched, feeling his lungs try to catch up desperately. The salty ocean caused his scrapes to sting, but he had no reaction. Only a blank stare off to the distance from where he just ran from. Waiting and watching for the silhouette of his father to appear, but nothing came from the warm lighting of what was the kaleidoscope of lit up windows on the street he lived on. Like flickering candles that would be blown out once the owner of each building called it quits and would go to bed. Slowly he looked back to where his body was facing, into the ocean. Looking out to the horizon in which he could not find a discernible difference in the color of the night sky and the waves that the moon pulled to cling around his legs.
Turning to the left and starting the path to the Stan O’ War. Knowing that he and Stanford had put bandaids and isopropyl alcohol they had snuck out of the nurses office at school he would be able to clean up his feet, at least as best as a 12 year old could on his own without light and tweezers. So into the small frame of the Stan O’ War he went. Both him and Stanford had decorated it on the inside over the years of finding it. Once they patched up any holes in the deck, where any rain could fall, they put in carpets and pillows they each scrounged around to afford or find. There was a sheet that covered the hole in the side in which one could walk into and behind laid the small fort that Stanley and Stanford had created over time. Stanley could feel the glass dig further and further into his skin as he walked but he continued and walked over to one of the small shelves they had repaired, tracking blood onto the rug he walked onto but he didn’t care. Taking the lunchbox tin off the shelf and setting it on the floor as he sat down. Finding the small gauze sheets that sat next to the bandaids and medical tape they had also taken from the school nurse. Gently taking out the shards of glass he could from his now dirtied sole. Watching as the blood wept from the wounds before pouring the alcohol onto the wound. Gritting his teeth and biting his tongue to avoid making any noise. Even without his father there he knew he should be quiet. Knowing all too well the comments his father had made about him are true. How loud he was being one of them. But he continued on with wrapping his feet up, taping the gauze to the arch of his feet to make sure it would stay on if he needed to walk home.
He sighed and listened to the sound of the wind and the waves. Looking up at the ceiling of the boat. Where Stanford and he had found different pieces of scrap wood to fix the deck. Hearing a soft shuffle of sand outside and waiting with baited breath to see Stanford crouching down into the boat. Releasing his anxieties with a puff of air and smiling to his twin brother. Stanford understanding the silence and coming over to him to lay next to him. The twins stayed in the Stan O’ War till morning. Sleeping next to each other under the watch of the Moon.
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Saving his brother was something he had not expected to do that day. He had woken up knowing he would be binge watching the Ducktective Marathon in the morning with his great niece and her friends. Not finding his great nephew and his own brother having fun in the living room with graph paper of all things. That didn't matter now, for his family was safe at least. Standing in front of a mirror, his other half stood next to him.
“You look like dad.” Stanford said, trying to lighten the mood he's sure. But all he could think of was the actions he had put the two through. Kicking him out when he was seventeen with just his car and a small duffle bag, that he was unaware Filbrick had on standby for some twisted reason he would not want to think about. How he had put so much on Stanford’s shoulders on getting them out of that damn town. How Filbrick had touched him. But for the sake of his twin brother he laughed.
“Ah geez don’t say that.”