The Heart of Revenge by Richie Drenz Page A

slight. And when he ran too hard
his knock knees always plunged him into the ground. Poor thing.
    .
    February, the 13 th of this year,
when Vance was one month from his twenty-first birthday he laced up
his black and red boots and headed out to play some football with
Patrick and the other boys. Before they had even shouted for him by
the gate, he was ready and waiting. Mom had got used to the fact
now that Vance played football every evening. She’d call me almost
every evening when Vance went to play football just to say,
    “Lee, Vance gone play football today!”
    And she’d never get tired of calling me and
repeating that to me. She always sounded so happy every single time
that she was on the phone telling me. She’d go on and on with much
chirp in her voice to say,
    “God is on our side. I can’t believe he has
stopped wearing his cap! People not calling him those dirty names
anymore. It’s like God answered all my prayers Lee. What a
blessing.”
    It was more than a rainbow, I was seeing a
thousand bright colors in Mommy’s voice. I knew very soon he’d have
a girlfriend before it even happened because even his swag had
turned up. It was just really awesome seeing him getting back to a
normal life and having fun. He got a heart attack on the football
field that day. He was hospitalized. Induced into a coma for six
days. Strung up to a drip for twelve. He lost two week’s memory.
But he told us he remembered clearly the big fist he got in his
chest and that he would get his revenge on the person who did it.
He didn’t want to call the name of who it was. We insisted on him
telling us who it was.
    “You sure is someone thump you Vance? You
sure?” Mom asked.
    "Yes, mi sure. After mi not a baboon Mom, mi
remember everything good.”
    “But remember you lost two week’s memory, so
how can you remember that?”
    “I don’t know, I just do.” Vance’s voice was
slow and weak. He looked away to the ceiling.
    “Tell us is who.” Mom face looked as if it
was falling apart. She didn’t look as if she really wanted to know
who it was for revenge, she was just insisting to know more out of
curiosity, just an automation to her questions and insistence.
Surely, she looked too filled with sorrow to be angry. I had an
idea who it was. He was always number one on the football field and
now that Vance was getting more respect than he, he resorted to
playing him dirty. I didn’t think he knew this would be the outcome
though, because he didn’t know about Vance’s heart problem. So I
asked,
    “It’s Patrick, don't?”
    "No.”
    "It’s not Patrick?”
    "No.”
    Mom touched Vance on his shoulder, tugged him
a bit.
    “Look on mi, is who then?”
    “Everything cool Mom.”
    Pinky’s voice sound as if she wanted to
retaliate at who it was when she urged him,
    “Vance just call the name nuh, please.”
    “Just cool nuh, mi have my plans, everything
good.”
    “Vance is who?” Mom’s loud voice caught the
attention of several persons in the ward. Vance looked to Mom,
paused in silence for a while staring in her watery eyes and slowly
muttered his answer.
    “It’s Beanie.” His closest and only
friend.
    On visits after that, Vance would spend most
of the time apologising to Mom for what he was putting her through.
Over the six days that Vance was in the coma, Dr. Reid had put Mom
on catopril too but it was for her high blood pressure. Dr. Reid
suggested that we take Mom to therapy, because the whole ordeal had
terribly traumatized her. We could not afford her the therapy. Mom
had to do without.
    .
    It was Thursday afternoon when the four of
us, me, Mom, Dad and Pinky gathered around Dr. Reid in a
semi-circle. Pinky was at the end of the semi-circle furthest away
from the bed avoiding to touch the bed or anything to do with
hospital. Pinky always felt nauseous every time she had to step
foot into a hospital and scorned everything in there. For some
reason she just hated hospital. Dr. Reid stuck a black pen in