Even from the vantage point on Queen Emma Street, near Kamāmalu Park, with tall glass towers muting the sunset, I can still see the last dying glow of the sun before it retires beyond the island of Kaua'i.
"Trey, you goddamned fucking idiot! Kick the ball, goddamned you!" His voice is loud enough that it carries through the park and well into the parking lot at the Y.
The other parents shout words of reassurance. Trent gives them the death stare, but it doesn't do anything. When the game is finally over, everyone is relieved that they won't have to hear Trent's diatribe, but at the same time, they fear for Trey's safety. The police are called, but it turns out they can't do much because Trent didn't make any threats, no matter how horrible the language was. Watching intently, I see that Trey's mother has arrived to pick him up. Her time with Trey starts after the soccer game. Trent is only too glad to tell his ex-Teresa about what a disappointment Trey is to him.
"You spoil him too much," Trent grunts. "He's gonna grow up to be a fag."
"Whatever, Trent," Teresa replies. "You should be more concerned about paying your child support on time."
Teresa walks off in a huff. She and Trey get into her car and drive off. In like manner, Trent walks over to his Lexus LC 500 and exits the Pali side of the Y parking lot. Soon after, on the freeway heading out to the airport, Trent's 2018 Lexus dies out. Trent carefully pulls over, thoroughly examining the car because he's a Lexus mechanic, and he can't find anything wrong with it. A perfect opportunity has presented itself without Trent even knowing it. I pull up in front of him and reverse a little. Exiting the vehicle, I approach him with my hands up, so he knows that I have good intentions.
"Ho, what happened? Ran out of gas? Battery?" I ask.
"I dunno," he shrugged. "I one Lexus mechanic so I dunno."
"You need one ride, someplace?" I offered.
"If you don't mind, brah, maybe to the dealership on Kapiolani? So I can get my stuff and bring one oddah mechanic, if I can?" He asked.
"Can, brah," I replied, only too eager to help. "I have to open the passenger side door for you, though. The handle is funny kine."
Walking back to my car, Trent was in front of me. As soon as we got close to my vehicle, I punched him in the kidneys and then the liver. He crumbled to the pavement. I removed a pair of handcuffs and applied one cuff to his wrist and the other to the door handle. The passenger door was stuck; you could only enter from my side, the driver's side. Trent didn't have to know that. I drove off slowly at first to allow Trent to get up on his feet. The second I saw that from the passenger's side mirror, I sped up to 50 and drove as close as I could to the concrete barriers, twisting and mangling Trent along the way. He screamed for me to stop, but those screams only solidified my resolve. It's for Trey and Teresa, but mainly it's for me. Trent is the person that Teresa left me for. Trey isn't mine, that's between her and Trent, but if Trent is treating his own son that way, then I can only imagine how he's treating Teresa. Whatever is left between the two of us is no more, but abuse is abuse. Sure, she's divorced him and they have shared custody, but Trent is never going to go away. Out of desperation, she came to me for help. I reminded her that what she was asking me to do was the reason we got divorced in the first place. She didn't care, she was over it, and she needed an out.
When the authorities found what was recognizable as Trent, they sent him to the morgue in pieces. Of course, it was gruesome, but that was par for the course. His spirit, however, demanded justice, claiming that its death was unfair and before its time. Death happens when it happens. Most especially when you deserve it. Trent's spirit lingers now at Kamāmalu park, stuck in its cycle of manic yelling and swearing not just at Trey, but because of the frustrations that were never dealt with in life when, as a boy, he was the recipient of his father's untethered rage and anger.
Photo credit: Dreamtime.
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