"He was Traumatized"

“He was traumatized,” my mom says as she calls me late Wednesday afternoon with the news that my youngest brother had experienced an ‘unpredictable’ week.

“What did you do to him?” I asked, naturally.
She started in on the story, but before long I could hear the wee one himself bursting at the seams to deliver this news head-on. He surely hadn’t forgotten a single detail, and in each retelling was the inevitable truth that it would be burned into his brain for many years to come. Luke just started his freshman year in high school and, for background purposes, bears a striking resemblance to Justin Bieber. As was his custom, he hopped off the bus a few stops in advance because- incredulously akin to myself- he is too impatient to wait on the inefficient bus system to drop him off on the most convenient street corner near our house. On this particular afternoon, he had de-boarded the bus mid-afternoon with his friend from across the street named Matt. The two of them were trotting along the neighborhood sidewalk just making small talk.
A few minutes into their sojourn, a black truck pulled up close to them on the street and began lulling back and forth as if it were following them. The boys ignored it, until finally the front passenger seat window was rolled down. A young man who they presumed was a senior at their same high school began yelling obscenities at the pair out of the blue. Dressed in skinny jeans, skater shoes, and an alternative hoodie, the misdemeanant chap yelled terrible things at the top of his lungs. All versions of the ‘F’ word were hurled, including a few other ‘f’ word variations insinuating the duo was more than just a pair of friends. The senior flipped off the innocent bystanders with a fairly violent ‘bird’ and then rolled up his window.
Luke looked wide-eyed at his friend Matt and insisted he was going to take a shortcut through the houses because he didn’t want to deal with those guys coming back. His friend Matt, quite the opposite to Luke’s clear ‘fight or flight’ response, insisted he was taking the normal route back and the troublesome cats could come back if they wanted. Somewhere in the middle of this ‘I’m out-I’m in’ conversation, Matt decided to throw his own bird up in the air at the then-departing black truck. Luke scurried in the opposite direction. He was about fifty yards away when he heard the truck tires screeching back around to come after his buddy. Using his Good Samaritan judgement, he knew he shouldn’t leave Matt alone. Luke retreated back towards the street, where he stopped about 20 yards away with cell phone in hand, like a true supporter.
The senior barreled out of his truck to give Matt the what-for.
“Why the f*** did you flip me off? Don’t you ever f****** do that again, you f*****….!”
{You get the picture}. Things escalated quickly. The senior was in Matt’s face yelling far worse things than originally as Matt yelled comparable insults, not backing down for a second. Matt, you see, is a fighter who fears none. After a short bit of nonsense, the senior’s vengeful eyes spotted Luke from a distance.
Still looking at Matt, the senior said, “Don’t f****** mess with me, man, I can take you out and your little b*tch friend, too!” He motioned to the skinny kid with the cell handy.
Luke slowly raised his hands into the air in response.
“Look man,” Luke said cautiously, “We don’t want any trouble……why don’t you just get back in your truck…..just get back in your truck.” Spoken like a true warrior.
The senior peered at Luke for a moment before challenging him with, “why don’t you just come down here and suck my d***!”
Ah yes, the age-old counter-attack of inferring to ones’ parts when things are getting threatening. Luke turned pale. Within a moment, the kid had opened his belt buckle, pulled down his boxers, and retrieved his member to showcase it to the two freshman in broad daylight. Keep in mind the setting: a sunny afternoon in Suburbia, with Matt only two feet from the incident, while Luke was still twenty yards back in someone’s lawn. The senior began gyrating his parts around, provoking the boys.
Without hesitation, Matt countered with, “what is it? I can’t see it! Luke, do you have a microscope?!” {Undoubtedly the most clever and fitting response for a situation like this}. Luke was speechless.
The senior eventually retreated with his package to his truck, where his group of ornery friends awaited him. He must have felt some defeat, being told off by a fourteen-year old like so. They drove off around the corner.
Both boys, still setup like a strategic chess match on the lawn, looked up to see my mother turning the corner in a silver Range Rover, waving and smiling like the blissfully unaware party that she was. She rolled down the window to ask how Luke’s day was. It didn’t take longer than thirty seconds for him to expel the chaos that had just taken place. For those of you who know my mother, she isn’t one to take crap. Teresa performed her own share of screeching when going out in hot pursuit to ‘find the bas*****.’ She had pre-judged the contents of the black truck to be heading one of two places- Sonic or The Dollar Tree. She was correct on the latter. She scribbled their license plate numbers down and called the Overland Park Police. They arrived soon after to interview young Luke, which I imagine was a comedy all on its own. The police also knocked on Matt’s door, who hadn’t disclosed any signs of trouble previously to his uninformed parents.
Hours later, my dad was speaking with Matt’s father about the whole charade, confessing he wished Luke had just a bit more of ‘Matt’ in him and a little less of the ‘standing twenty yards away with a cell phone in hand’ in him. Couldn’t we all use a little bit more of that?
I guess this adds a whole new chapter to my fascination on ‘exposures’ in the Kansas City metroplex. First it was the old creepy men, now even the youngsters have the bug.

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