Doran Welks was a good boy.

Doran grew up poor. He had a friend or two and enjoyed the simple pleasures available to poor boys. He fished in the nearby stream and cooked what he caught over a small fire nearby. He smoked filched tobacco from his daddy’s drawer and told tales of sweaty lust and ruttin’ to boys who also lied ‘bout their experiences. He went to school regular, because it was warm there when home was not. He listened well and tried hard, and his teacher graded him on his improvement, not his lacking skills. His best friend, Ethan Cobb, helped him as best he could, as boys will…passing him answers during tests and whispering responses under breath.

But Doran’s daddy was, above all things, a very bad man.

Ethan knew about the bruises and the welts. He knew about the hunger and sleepless nights. But he was Doran’s best friend so he knew you didn’t tell anyone ‘bout those things. You just looked away when he cried, but didn’t leave his side. You simply told him you were full up at lunch and gave him the rest of what your momma packed. You just were…there.

At 13, Doran towered over his classmates, and Ethan. His daddy was bigger.

No one was there to witness the blow that changed Doran. The blood that gushed from his nose and ears dried before his daddy was sober enough to realize his boy hadn’t moved.

The doctor believed Doran fell from a tree, alone, at night, because he was just a man. Ethan knew better, because he was a best friend.

Doran lay without moving for almost 4 weeks. He was lost against the gray of the sheets. When he finally did open his eyes, everyone but Ethan was shocked. There were presents and casseroles from neighbors who naively believed everything was going to be okay. Even Ethan believed it.

Then Doran hit him.

A month after he arose from the bed, he clocked Ethan without so much a ‘how do you do’. Over nothing. Ethan had merely been talking about school and how boring it was without him and how Shyla Banks was getting titties