The Hitting Zone

Chapter 372 Mr. Atkins 2 in 1

"Jake." I heard him take a step into the room. "I won’t force you to talk, but your actions have me a little worried. When you close up like this, it feels like you’ll erupt like a volcano. Do you get what I’m saying?"

I did. A little. We talked about it with Dr. Moore...how I hold it all in. I turned back over so he could see my face.

"Jake, what happened? Are you still worried about being in Zeke’s video?" He took a step in the room, concern written all over his face. "I promise he’s good with it. You’re one of us after all."

A tear fell.

"Jake?" He got closer. "Are you not feeling well? What is it?"

"I’m not one of you." I sniffled, holding back the tears. "I don’t have two parents that love me. That take care of me."

"What? What brought this on?" Mr. Atkins looked at me, worried. His care just made me feel worse. Why didn’t I have a dad like him?

"Rhys was talking about how thankful he is to his parents." My eyes stung. "Just why? Why did he get parents that go above and beyond when mine couldn’t even meet the minimum requirements? Do you think there was something wrong with me as a baby?"

"No, not at all. It has nothing to do with you!" Mr. Atkins disagreed. "They are at fault and it’s the way they are. There’s nothing you can do to make them change." He saw that I wasn’t appeased. "Come on, get up. Let me take you for a drive and you’ll feel better."

A drive? Would a drive really make me feel better? I sighed and got up. It’s not like I wanted to feel this way. The jealousy was burning a hole in my stomach and was making me feel sick.

Mr. Atkins led the way downstairs. We didn’t run into the boys, but we saw Mrs. Atkins just by the front door, seeing a different guest out. She looked surprised to see the two of us together. "What’s wrong?" Of course she could see something wasn’t right with the two of us.

"I’m going to take Jake for a drive." Mr. Atkins grabbed his keys off the hook, shaking them. "We’ll be back for dinner so eat lunch without us."

"Alright." She said, eyebrows pulled together. The way she worried over every person and thing also struck a chord in me. This woman has shown more compassion towards strangers than my mom has ever shown me, her own son.

I dragged my feet as I followed Mr. Atkins out to his car, then got in the front passenger seat as he got in the driver’s seat. I watched from the window as he drove through town. Then out of town. I wanted to ask where we were going exactly, but after a quick glance at him, I could see him frowning to himself. He looked like he was gearing up for a pep talk. Which isn’t bad, but wouldn’t it be better if it came from my own dad.

After thirty minutes of silence, Mr. Atkins had parked on some busy street. It was packed with cars and people were walking up and down the street. After getting out of the car, I took a deep breath and realized we were near the ocean.

"Come on. Let’s get some ice cream before finding some place to sit." Mr. Atkins locked the car doors and led me down the big sidewalk. We passed by plenty of shops from clothing to food. Everything was available.

We made a short stop at an ice cream parlor, got a scoop on a cone and then hit the beach. From the way Mr. Atkins moved, I could tell that he knew this place well. He even found a bench overlooking the beach on a small hill.

"Ya know...once upon a time, this used to be my home." He said then ate the ice cream in hand.

I looked around, not seeing any houses, I felt slightly confused. "You grew up here?"

"No. I grew up in Oakland." He licked his ice cream, almost halfway done. "When I say this was my home, this is it. This bench. I was homeless."

I was shocked. "When?"

"Oh. It’s been quite some time." He studied the ice cream like it would know. "Hmm. Halfway through high school is when I would claim to be officially homeless."

"What does that mean?" I asked, confused.

"Well, like you, I had a house to live in, growing up. I never considered it a home though. Homes were supposed to be warm and welcoming. Not some kind of recurring nightmare that you just can’t shake."

My jaw dropped and my ice cream dripped. This didn’t seem like the time to enjoy sweets. "Did you have..." I couldn’t figure out how to ask if he had a mom like mine. It didn’t seem appropriate. Can you just ask people if they had abusive parents?

Mr. Atkins patted my head. "No need to be shy. You can ask what you want to ask."

"Did you have..a mom...like mine?" I felt hopeful and worried at the same time. On one hand I wouldn’t feel so alone, but on another, I wouldn’t wish this upon anyone else.

"No." He answered, and my shoulders dropped. "My mom died when I was five. That’s when my life started to spiral. My father shared some similar traits as your mom." He paused. "He was an alcoholic."

Oh. So his dad was like my mom. I looked at him, eager to hear more.

"From five to fifteen, my life revolved around his disease. I watched as it ate him up inside. Then his insides would leak to the outsides. I can’t tell you when exactly, but at some point I figured out that he hated me. Everything would set him off: too much noise, no noise, a clean house, a dirty house. Whatever my answer was, it was wrong." He sighed.

"So you ran away?" I asked, trying to figure out how he would end up homeless at a beach.

"No, I was kicked out shortly after my sixteenth birthday. He told me I was a grown man and I had to figure out how to take care of myself." Mr. Atkins looked me in the eyes. "I was ashamed. Of myself. Of my dad. Of my situation. Instead of reaching out to a friend or neighbor, I took a bus to the beach. And this was the beach where I ran out of money." He patted this bench. "This was one of my favorite sleeping arrangements. The air was cool and refreshing, plus the sound of the waves." He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "This is where I found peace."

He continued, while looking out at the ocean. "It’s a long road. That’s life though. Full of twists and turns. Even a detour or two. I know you’re sad about the hand you were dealt, and so was I. Mary and I became foster parents to help those like me and you. We can’t help that your parents are your parents, but maybe we can help you feel safe, comfortable, and most importantly, loved."

"I do." I answered honestly. "This is the best I’ve ever felt, but that’s why it’s also the worst."

"You don’t have to keep looking back." He pulled his eyes away from the ocean. "It’s okay to occasionally take a glance in the rear view mirror to see how far you’ve come, but you can’t take your eyes completely off the road."

I stifled a smile. I got what he was saying...it just feels like he’s also teaching me how to drive at the same time. I licked up my melting ice cream and cleaned up my hand. It took me some time to realize I had a question to ask. A burning question. One that could relate to me.

I looked up at Mr. Atkins. "Did your dad ever come back for you?" I had to know. Was there hope? Would my dad come back? As this thought crossed my mind, I realized that I really cared about this. Maybe I did want him to find me.

Mr. Atkins turned stiff. His movements were slow and awkward as he readjusted his sitting position. "He didn’t. It was me who went back. A mentor had found me as I struggled to find food. He got me back on my feet. Got me working part time and helped me become a functioning adult even though I didn’t graduate high school."

"Oh." I sighed, disappointed.

"I did go back." He sucked in some air. "I went back to that house where I grew up. He was gone. Completely. The house was sold and nothing of mine was there."

"Did you look for him some more then? To find out where he went?" I tilted my head, trying to dig for information. Looking for my dad was an option for me. I don’t know what I would say or do just yet, but it’d be nice to just know. To know why he left. To know whether he wanted me. To know if he would give me up once more.

"I didn’t." He looked a little angry on the surface. "I told myself and my mentor that I had done my part as a child. Time flew and a couple years later I got a call from the police department. My father had passed away."

I gasped.

"At first, I thought ’good riddance’. My next thought was how. Followed by why. When." He looked back at the ocean. "I was very apathetic to it at first. Like it didn’t affect me. After meeting Mary, I came to see that it actually became a big part of who I am. Everything my dad was, was everything I didn’t want to be. But first, I had to find out who he was and why he was that way."

I wanted to ask him questions. The same questions Mr. Atkins had for the police, I wanted to ask as well, but he seemed to be holding back. Instead, I asked something that I felt was important to me. "Do you think my dad is dead too? Is that why he hasn’t come for me?"

Mr. Atkins gave me a sad smile. The one that said he wouldn’t have the answers for my questions. "Maybe. Maybe not. I would hope not, that way you can find your own answers."

"Did you not find your answers?" I frowned.

He chuckled. "Not immediately. Dead men don’t talk. It was a giant puzzle filled with pieces that didn’t always fit together."

"Do you think, my dad is still alive? In your opinion?"

Mr. Atkins scratched his cheek. "I can’t be sure, but, in my opinion, it’s easier to find a dead man than one in hiding." He must be speaking from his own experience. His dad wasn’t found until he died and then the cops found Mr. Atkins.

I nodded to myself.

"Now let me ask you this, do you hope to find your dad?" Mr. Atkins redirected.

I shrugged. "Sometimes. I have my questions. But other times, I’m happy with the way things are." I gave him a light smile. "It’d be pretty hard to live up to the example you set. I’m afraid I’ll be let down no matter what in the end."

"Like I said, twists and turns." He patted my shoulder. "Whatever you decide, I’ll be here to support you. There’s no rush."

There was something I wanted to ask now that it was just us. It was about the lack of pictures of the other foster children they cared for. I worked up the courage to tell him why I didn’t want to be in the video or the pictures. "Why aren’t there pictures of your other foster children? I didn’t want to overstep the boundaries you guys have set."

Mr. Atkins blanked out for a second. Then he laughed. "That’s what made you scare to join in? Jake, before you, we only did short stays. A week. Two weeks. A month. You’re different."

I’m different? Ah! I’m different! I wanted to bounce around to celebrate. They weren’t going to get rid of me anytime soon. But...this made matters difficult. Why find my dad when I’m staying with the Atkins? Maybe I can wait until I’m older like Mr. Atkins. He waited until his mentor had set him on a better path. I should do the same.

Mr. Atkins and I finished the ice creams and sat around some more. Our talk shifted away from screwed up parents and towards baseball. Even though he went to every game, and would hear about every practice, he asked me for more details. Like how I felt with the team being arranged? If I was still suffering from anxiety? How my body was feeling now that my nutrition and health has improved?

Talking with him was almost as easy as talking to Noah. Noah must really take after him.

A thought flashed across the back of my mind...do I take after my father at all?

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