Scott Sawyer lived about a mile down the road from the Millers farm. Had the boys been friends they might have walked together, spending that half an hour laughing and talking. Perhaps they would have done their homework at Jacks house and had sleepovers.

Instead, the walk home was just another opportunity for torment. Scott always seemed to get out of school before Jack and would, inevitably, be waiting by the oak tree that marked the halfway point between the school and the Millers farm. This was far enough away to effectively prevent any interference from either teachers or parents.

Today was no different. Scott was leaning against the broad trunk of the tree with his backpack slung over one shoulder. The sidewalk ended at the far end of the cemetery and the rest of the way was a dirt trail worn into the grass by the passage of a hundred children's feet.

When he saw Jack coming Scott strode out to stand in the middle of the path blocking the way.

"Nice b-b-b-book report Jack-ass!" Scott bellowed.

Not many kids went this way, most lived in the small suburban neighbourhoods to the south of Warden Elementary. Only farm kids like Scott and Jack headed north. This being the case Scott's audience was small but Jack heard a few distant laughs from behind. He did not look up at Scott or back toward the laughter, that would be inviting more trouble.

Some days Jack made a run for it. He was fast and could usually loop around Scott out on the two-lane highway to get by. Today, however, was the thirty-first of the month which meant trucks. Trucks from all of the working farms, including the big Henshaw super farm were bringing everything from corn and apples to chickens and pigs to the huge distribution centre in the city. They thundered by just ten feet to his right filling the air with a constant stream of sound, wind, and grit. All of this meant there would be no skirting around Scott, and that was bad.

Jack slowed his pace and did glance back over his shoulder. In a reversal, the distant red block that was the school now held the promise of safety within its walls while the open farmland all around was where the danger truly lay.

"Hey, I'm talking to you J-J-J-Jack-ass!" Scott jeered. The big boy stood with his arms crossed over his barrel chest grinning menacingly at Jack.

Two girls, the Crenshaw twins with their red hair in pigtails, passed Jack as he stopped ten feet from Scott. If not for Jack they would surely have been the ones who got teased but his stutter easily trumped their carrot tops and freckles. Their arms were linked and they giggled and whispered to each other glancing at Jack as they went by. Their green eyes were filled with a mixture of mirth and... was that guilt... or regret? Cindy Crenshaw looked back at him over her shoulder and mouthed the word 'Sorry' before hustling away.

Jack watched in awe as the girls passed Scott unmolested. Had he actually seen that? Was Cindy actually on his side? Suddenly he wished that he could switch places with them. They seemed to move through their lives so easily.

"W-W-W-What ya waiting for Jack-ass? A written invitation? Come on, I ain't gonna h-h-h-hurt you!" This was an obvious lie and Scott laughed heartily at his own joke.

Jack considered his options, which were none, and began to walk slowly forward angling as far away from Scott towards the fence to his left as possible. He could jump that fence, he supposed, but that would put him in the Johnsons field with the Johnsons cows and knowing his luck the Johnsons bull. Scott was bad but a bull would be worse.

As if on cue there was a loud mooing bellow from beyond the fence and the herd of black and white jerseys began to move en masse in their direction.

Scott turned his head to look at them and Jack saw his chance. He broke into a run, pistoning his legs as hard as he could and for a moment he was sure he was going to make it past. Scott was big but slow and Jack had caught him off guard.

There was a moment of joy as Jack saw the bewildered look on Scott's face, then, just as he was sure he would get away, Jack was jerked backward by the arm. His shoulder seemed to stretch and then came a popping sound as if someone had taken a pin to a balloon.

The pain was huge and red. Jack gasped but did not scream. He felt a wave of nausea and his stomach seemed to flip-flop just as Scott threw him to the ground. Jacks eyes were closed but he felt the boy land on top of him with his legs on either side of Jack's chest.

He slit open his eyes to look up at Scott just as the boy grabbed him by the shoulders. Agony pulsed through Jack and he lurched upward heaving a jet of thin bile onto Scott.

"What the fuck!" Scott leaped up in disgust wiping frantically at his crotch and legs. "Are you serious, Jack-ass? You freakin' puked on me you little shit!"

Jack rolled on his side coughing up more bile and bits of ham sandwich. He tried to move his throbbing right arm but it would not obey him.

Scott was coming at him again, he seemed to have lost all control as he ranted at Jack.

"Look at what you did! I'm gonna kill you, you stupid spaz!" Scott screamed.

Jack looked up just in time to see Scotts boot heading for his head and rolled away onto his ruined shoulder. He screamed with pain as his dead arm twisted under his body and Scott's foot hammered into his back.

Jack curled into a ball as Scott continued to yell and kick him in the back, butt, and thighs. He was going to pass out. The pain in his shoulder was so large and the kicking and... Jacks eyes rolled in his head and then a sound. A very loud sound that he recognized but could not name.

Scott stopped kicking him and there was another voice.

Someone, an adult was yelling and then a hand touched his head and Jack reluctantly opened his eyes.

A face swam above him and Jack blinked at first thinking it was Scott but then he realized this person was much older. Grey hair... stubbly beard... glasses... On the man's head was a John Deere baseball cap. He helped Jack sit up and was saying something. Jack tried to concentrate.

"... alright? Who was that little bastard?" The old man's voice was gravely and his breath smelled of stale cigarettes.

"I... I want to go home." Jack croaked, feeling tears that would not come. His throat felt dry and tight. He looked around. The man's truck, a big rig with naked ladies silhouetted in chrome on the mudflaps, was pulled off of the road behind them and Scott was nowhere in sight.

The old man appraised Jack solemnly and pointed. "Don't be afear'd, son, that punk run off like a pussy. But I think your shoulder's dislocated. You should go to the hospital." The man pronounced hospital as hop-itol which might have been funny in other circumstances.

Jack shook his head and tried to stand up gritting his teeth against the pain that radiated from his shoulder. He staggered and the man caught him.

"I could drive ya over there..."

Jack shook his head again.

"Well, I cain't leave ya like this, boy. I could probably put it back in fer ya, but it's gonna hurt like a sum-bitch...."

Jack had no idea what the old man was talking about. All he wanted was to go home. He wanted that more than he had ever wanted anything.

He looked at the old man not sure what to do.

"... that sound okay to you, son?"

Jack nodded not really understanding.

"Okay then. Hold on to yer socks." The man helped him up and lead Jack over to the oak tree. "You lean against the tree there and..."

As Jack rested his good shoulder against the tree the old man grabbed his right arm, twisted it upward and pushed hard. There was another of those balloon popping sounds and Jack screamed. The scream was loud in his mind but it was actually almost completely drowned out by the roar of a passing semi.

Jack scrambled away from the man raising his hands as if to ward off an attack. The trucker took off his green John Deere hat and scratched his balding head.

"Take it easy, boy. It's all done. Looks good as new."

Jack's shoulder was still throbbing but the pain was much less, and now he could move his arm again.

"You gonna have to be careful for a while though. It could pop back out."

"Oh, yeah, okay," Jack mumbled flexing his fingers. He realized this was the first time he had actually spoken to the old man. "uh... thanks."

"Anytime," the man smiled putting the hat back on his head. "Can ya get home, yourself?"

Jack nodded again.

"Alrighty then," The man turned back towards his truck taking out a pack of cigarettes and popping one between his teeth. As he lit it he looked back at Jack with his eyes narrowed. "Y'know it ain't my business but if that boy's bullying you then you should tell yer pa."

Jack felt another lump in his throat and fought the urge to swallow it down. Instead, he held the old man's gaze and shook his head.

After a moment the old man nodded and walked back to the cab of his truck. He waived as he pulled away Jack turned to begin the long walk home.