Chapter Text
Dennis knew he'd always been different from others. It wasn't just because he was the youngest and frailest child in the Whitaker family, spared from heavy labor. Nor was it solely because he was the smartest, learning to read and write faster than anyone else, prompting his parents to allow him to finish high school and even consider seminary later. It was that his body seems inherently different from birth. Dennis knows he was unquestionably a boy, yet his body somehow differed from his brothers' and father's. His older brother and dad always call him Denise, which always upsets him, though he couldn't get them to stop. Only his mother and fourth sister call him Dennis. Fourth sister Patricia's voice is sweet and clear, and Dennis loved the way she calls his name—he loved Patricia most of all. Five years older than Dennis, she had already dropped out of high school to help at home while he still carried his backpack to class. Sometimes Patricia would pick him up at the school bus stop. Wearing her hand-me-down plaid shirt and old jeans, Dennis would follow her along the muddy country path, humming a tune as they walked home.
Dennis had just started seventh grade, and the other boys at school loved picking on him. Many times, they'd throw his backpack outside or tear up his new textbooks. Dennis didn't dare tell his family because he felt lucky enough to be able to attend school and do less farm work. He didn't want to cause them any more trouble.
One ordinary day during lunch break, Dennis lay on his desk after eating, trying to nap. The discomfort from his developing breasts made sleep restless. Suddenly, someone grabbed him by the collar from behind. He struggled to break free, but it was useless. This was Patricia's shirt—if it got ruined, she'd be heartbroken. He knew it had to be Richard causing trouble again. Richard's farm was close to his home, and Dennis suspected Richard had heard rumors about his physical secrets, which was why he kept picking on him. Richard's intense, staring gaze made Dennis deeply uncomfortable, not to mention the crude, vulgar jokes.
Dennis was now being dragged by the collar toward the restroom by Richard, flanked by his henchmen. Dennis tried kicking them with his skinny legs but missed, losing his balance and crashing to the floor. Richard pinned him down on the bathroom tiles. The impact made Dennis's vision go black for a moment. Richard's hand slid inside his shirt, kneading his newly developing small breasts. Dennis bit down on the hand, enraging Richard. Richard yanked Dennis's collar, tearing open the patched floral shirt. Buttons flew off as Richard's henchmen joined in, ripping at the fabric. In the chaos, Dennis felt his chest being pinched and squeezed repeatedly. Dennis pushed himself up and wrestled with Richard, only to be pulled apart by the henchmen. His right arm was pinned under a foot, his left arm held tight. The soiled undershirt barely covered his chest beneath the torn fabric. Richard, his right eye socket bruised purple from Dennis's blow, screamed in rage, “Today I'll let everyone know you're a freak!” Then he yanked open Dennis's belt and pulled down his jeans. Panicked, Dennis tried kicking Richard to stop him, but the enraged man's strength was terrifying. Soon Dennis's bare legs were exposed to the chilly air. Richard pinched the soft flesh on the inside of Dennis's thigh, sliding his hand down between his legs. Dennis struggled helplessly, trying to clamp his legs together, but Richard forced them apart. Tears welled up quickly in Dennis's blue eyes. Hot tears of humiliation and fear streamed down his cheeks, blurring the face of his tormentor. Dennis tried to kick Richard, but the pants piled around his ankles made it difficult. Dennis felt Richard's hand grab the waistband of his underwear while the other hand slid up his thigh toward his crotch. Dennis closed his eyes in despair, trying to escape the inevitable pain.
A sudden roar interrupted the assault. Richard's fingers stopped their descent. Dennis's eyes snapped open in shock. It was Dr. Robinavitch from the community hospital. What was he doing here? Robinavitch had come to examine the principal today. Afterward, passing by the restroom, he heard the sounds of a struggle and burst in. Seeing Dennis disheveled and pinned to the floor, Robinavitch instantly grasped the situation. He grabbed Richard by the collar, then tossed him aside like a pillow by the shoulders. The henchmen, recognizing the situation, wisely fled. Robinavitch quietly closed the bathroom door, then crouched down to help Dennis sit up. Dennis's right arm was covered in large bruises, his left wrist dislocated from being wrenched, and his lips still bleeding from Richard's attack. With trembling hands, Dennis struggled to pull up his pants. Robinavitch had already turned away, sparing him the last shred of dignity. Dennis smoothed his torn shirt, now lacking any buttons to fasten. Wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, he said to Robinavitch in a trembling voice, “...Thank you.”
——
The burning sensation on his fingertips snapped Dennis back to reality. He'd zoned out again while lighting the candles, his mind drifting back to meeting Robby for the first time four years ago. After that, with Robby's help, he'd left middle school and gone straight to study under his close friend, Reverend Abbot. Now he served as an acolyte. Abbot treated him kindly, and under the Lord's protection, Dennis no longer faced bullying. Back then, when Robby suggested Dennis go straight to the church to study under Reverend Abbot, Dennis couldn't believe they would accept him. He was a freak, he knew he was “odd,” different from the other boys. But Abbot just smiled at him, rolled up his pant leg to reveal his prosthetic leg, and said, “Kid, I'm a freak too.”
Dennis learned that Abbot had once been a military doctor in the army. After retiring, he chose to become a pastor. Abbot rarely spoke of his past military career. After work, Dennis often saw Abbot smoking in a corner, seemingly lost in endless memories. Most of the time, Abbot was serious, seldom smiling. Only occasionally would he offer a small smile to the children attending church or to Dennis. After that incident, Dennis moved into the church to live with Abbot. The Whitaker farm was simply too far away, and living at the church was more convenient. Dennis and his family now only saw each other once a week. He only got to see his mom, dad, and older siblings on Sundays. Dennis missed his mom and sister terribly, and they missed him dearly too. Yet they all agreed that having Dennis stay with Reverend Abbot was better than letting him endure bullying at school. Each time they visited, his sister would bring a small bag of snacks for him. His mother would stroke his round little face over and over, kiss his long eyelashes, and say, “You seem to have grown a little taller since we last saw you.”
Dennis's life as an acolyte at the church was peaceful. Except for Sundays, which were busier due to worship services, Dennis was only responsible for basic cleaning and maintenance tasks. Beyond that, he focused on learning from Abbot. Dennis was a diligent student with an excellent memory. Abbot was amazed by his ability to quickly read and comprehend the Bible. The Abbot, who relied on a prosthetic to support his missing right leg, was always hampered in his movements. Each time he shifted his body, the heavy prosthesis scraped against the floor, emitting a sharp, grating sound. The Abbot loathed feeling like a useless shell of himself, but he dreaded even more the thought of his rationality being consumed by impulsive rage. So he gritted his teeth, swallowing his pain and resentment, and donned a mask of stern, unyielding composure.
His military background and current clerical role made Abbot one of the town's most respected figures. The faithful residents readily trusted this calm, composed pastor. Under his protection, Richard and his henchmen never troubled Dennis again. Yet the scars of bullying still haunted him. When he first moved here, Dennis had nightmares every two or three days. In them, Richard stripped him naked, and the entire town laughed and humiliated him. Or a great blade sliced him clean in two between his legs, and he watched all the blood slowly drain from his body. Dennis would scream and cry in his sleep, waking drenched in cold sweat. Then he'd hear Abbot shuffling toward his room on his prosthetic leg, the creaking of old wooden floorboards echoing through the hallway. Abbot would push open the door, see the terrified boy sitting on his bed, and pull him close, wrapping his arms around the boy's frail frame. Abbot's embrace felt stiff—this former army medic clearly wasn't built for tenderness. His calloused hands gently patted Dennis's back as he whispered, “It's okay. I'm here.” Dennis buried his face silently in the pastor's chest, wiping his tears on the pastor's shirt, enveloped by the scent of tobacco and wood. Abbot would often quote a passage from Isaiah: “Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall, but those who hold hope in the Lord will renew their strength and soar on wings like eagles.” This became Dennis's favorite passage. Whenever the cruel waves of memory crashed over him, he would silently recite these words in his heart, as if still holding the warm hand of Abbot.