Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: PEACE (12/02/21)
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TITLE: The Monster Within | Previous Challenge Entry
By Tammy Ortung
12/09/21 -
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His step-father had come home drunk again. They always fought when he’d been drinking. The little boy had learned to stay out of sight whenever his step-father was in this state, but this argument was more raucous than the others.
He heard a loud thud, like something was shoved, or slammed, against the wall. His mother cried out in pain and despite her warnings, he ran downstairs to help. His step-dad was shaking her by the shoulders and spittle flew into her face as he screamed obscenities.
“Leave my mommy alone!” He shouted.
The man barely spared him a glance. “Shut up, boy,” he said. “You better get your butt upstairs.”
“No!” The little boy screamed, tears streaking his cherub cheeks. “Leave her alone.”
He let go of his wife and charged the boy, backhanding him across the face. The boy staggered back and fell on his bum, blood pouring from his nose.
His mother went berserk. She propelled herself toward the man with raised fists, pounding on his back.
“You son of a …” she screamed. “You broke his nose!”
His step-dad, incoherent in his drunken rage, turned and shoved her across the room with such force that she stumbled and struggled to stay upright. Her outstretched arms flailed as she tried to balance herself, losing the battle when her hands and upper body pierced the glass paneled front door—she was six months pregnant.
Twenty years later the boy had become a man.
“I think I turned out pretty good considering,” the man said during another one of our late night conversations. “I was determined to break the cycle.”
As I listened to his stories, I wondered if part of him was stuck in that painful place. “When did that happen,” I asked time and time again after one of his recollections, only to find that most had happened more than fifteen years earlier. Yet he spoke as if it had only been weeks or months.
Though he was thirty years old, I still caught glimpses of a scared little boy. I never expected the monster within.
We’d attended a house party. “My wallet is missing,” Mooney slurred, a bit drunk. “The last time I saw it was when you were over,” he said, looking accusingly at the man.
“I never saw your wallet,” he replied calmly, completely sober.
“I know it was you,” Mooney countered. “No one else has been here.”
“I didn’t take your wallet,” he repeated sternly.
“You stole my wallet!” Mooney accused outright.
Before anyone knew what happened, the man had grabbed Mooney by the neck, slammed him up against the wall, leaned in so close their noses were only inches apart, and with a low voice that belied his violence, he said, “I … did … not … take your wallet, understand?”
Mooney’s eyes bulged, but he somehow managed an almost imperceptible nod. The man let him go and stalked out of the house.
There was an intensity about him, and after witnessing similar incidents, I realized he had a deep-seated anger that always simmered just below the surface.
“I was thinking about going to church on Sunday,” I said one day.
“I’ll go with you,” he said, catching me by surprise.
We attended church that week, and the following Sunday, and the one after that. After years of rebellion, I asked Jesus to forgive me and be Lord of my life. I started praying for the man who couldn’t see his own brokenness, and who didn’t seem to think he needed help. I prayed God would heal his wounds, and give him hope and peace.
Years later, the man realized he needed help. He cried out to Jesus and laid his hurts, struggles, and anger at the foot of the cross. He recognized that he was a sinner, asked for forgiveness, and thanked Jesus for His sacrifice and promise of eternal life. And though he admitted there were times when that old anger resurfaced, he had learned to lean on his heavenly father. He finally felt safe and at peace.
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