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Lady Hammett
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The Alternate Hetfield Family
Okay, guys . . . this one is from scratch also, just writing off the top of my head. The Ryan story is one I wrote a long time ago, but I am adding Castor's point of view to this. Ryan's character does appear in my Kirk Hammett Jr. story, but you do not have to read that to know what is going on because I will be narrating from Ryan also.
Castor's narration is in italics
Ryan's narration is in regular font.
Finally, there will be violence in this story. If you cannot handle episodes such as these, it is probably best you do not read this. Bear in mind however, that this story is supposed to be a tale of courage, not a crime scene, so if you stick around for it I will guarantee you to an inspiring outcome.
Here goes . . .
Last edited by Lady Hammett, 2/2/2006, 3:54 pm
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1/24/2006, 9:15 pm
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Lady Hammett
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Re: The Alternate Hetfield Family
I dabbed at my bloody nose, but the blood would not stop flowing. I glared in the mirror at Cali, who wasn't paying attention to me. She had gotten her way and gained control of the Xbox 360 - just like usual. It wasn't fair. It was her way or the highway, and if you tried to stop her, she got really bloodthirsty.
This time my nose had taken the punch.
I figured, who cared. We always had the Nintendo Revolution, and at least Marcella, my little sister, was nice enough to share.
I think I'd better stop and introduce myself. My name is Castor Hetfield, and as you've figured out by now, I have two sisters - one nice and one not so nice. Unfortunately the not so nice one, Cali, is Mom and Dad's favorite. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was because she looked a lot like Dad when she was born. She doesn't anymore, now she looks more like Mom.
Anyway, Cali started playing guitar last year and Dad was thrilled. She says she wants to follow in his footsteps, so as you could imagine, she scored an awful lot of brownie points.
I started playing bass but Dad wasn't thrilled about it like he was about Cali. Mom thought it was cool. She told me that Ryan was a bass player . . .
Let me explain Ryan. He is my half-brother from my dad's earlier relationship. But I have never met him before. He and Dad apparently fought a long time ago and now he lives in Australia. It sucks, because he is sort of famous since he is in a band called Plate Tectonics. I think he is awesome. But Dad gets mad whenever I ask questions about him.
So yeah, all I know are my two sisters. Marcella doesn't play anything but she's only little so it makes sense. She likes to sing sometimes though.
Later on after dinner, I wolfed down my food and hurried over to the Xbox 360 console. But before I knew it, a beefy arm wrapped around my shoulder, and my lips hit the floor.
I looked up to see Cali flick the console on and start playing again.
As soon as my day at Sunrise Elementary School ended, I just stood there and watched the bus pull away again. Then, when nobody was looking, I made my way to Ashley Park, sat down on a bench, and started crying.
This may sound unusual to you. But trust me, I've been doing it since I was old enough to do it.
Once again, my teacher had called me a failure. Why? Because I was eight years old, and I still could not read.
Dad and my stepmother, Francesca, seemed to agree with the school staff. I remember when Dad and I got called into the principal's office. Ms. Jacobs said that I would never amount to anything, and Dad seemed to believe it. He was furious. When we got home, he told me to "go to my room until I could figure out where my damn brains were". Whatever that was supposed to mean.
Every time **** like this happened, I would go to my room and pound on my bass, loud enough to drown out my misery. My real mom played bass . . .
I was born on July 5, 1989, to James Hetfield and Alex Chase. They were not married. The situation was rather complicated, actually. You see, Mom was a bass player in a band called the Creeps. There were three Australian guys in the band and they ended up receiving more publicity in Australia than America. So it made more sense for them to move there.
Of course, they couldn't settle things civilly. Dad didn't want me going back and forth from Australia to here ("I'm not going to be a part-time parent" ). Dad had the better lawyer, and he gained full custody of me. My mom didn't have a choice but to move on with her life, because the breakup was nasty and Dad ordered her out of our lives.
But a good thing did come out of that, I'll admit. Dad's being possessive meant that I got to go on tour with him because "I'm not having some ****ing stranger raise my son while I'm on the road". As a result, I got to see the world, and of course, get a taste of the music industry. No matter how much Dad and I have fought I must give him credit for that.
Anyway, I sat there on the park bench, crying. Then, sure enough, the three people that had been picking on me at school all year showed up and started to give me hell.
"Hey HETFEID!" It was Barbara Reid and Terry Taylor, two of the biggest creeps I'd ever met in my life. They called me Hetfeid because I couldn't even spell my last name. That's right. I was that bad at reading and writing.
I tried to spell Hetfield and that was what I got. After that I never tried to spell it again. Still, the bullies remembered it and they used it to harrass me.
I stood up. That was usually enough to get them running. Why? Because I have always been tall for my age. I was only eight years old and in the third grade, but I was taller than most of the sixth graders. That is because my Dad is six foot one, and my mom was at least an inch or two taller than him.
Terry, Barbara, and their posse were all talk. They'd never try to fight me - at least, I hoped not. I already had enough crap going on at home with Dad and Francesca thinking I was stupid.
At school, Cali and I completely ignored each other. Except when I got picked on, of course. She would laugh loud and clear with her large group of friends as she watched me get humiliated.
Cali was the one who started the denial of siblinghood. When someone asked her if I was her brother once, she cried, "Hell no, man!"
So I did the same. Once someone asked me if I had a sister, and I replied, "Yes. Her name is Marcella." It was the truth, wasn't it?
We went to Livingston Elementary School. It was fairly new, or at least, it got built in 2004. Sunrise Elementary was the old school and it looked like crap now.
Cali was two grades ahead of me. I was in third and she in fifth, so that meant next year I wouldn't have to put up with her. She'd be moving up to Fairland Middle School.
Marcella was in first grade, and I was hoping she would have the same lunch as me so we could sit together. But she didn't. The lunches at Livingston Elementary were divided into Lunch A, B and C. She had C lunch and I had A Lunch - with CALI out of all people. Ugh!
Class sucked. Why? Because I had trouble reading. They almost put me in SLD (Slow Learning Disabilities), but Dad wouldn't have it. He almost went nuts when they suggested that.
"Castor, listen to me. You are not slow," he told me the night that my teacher had sent a note home suggesting it. I could see the redness on his face. He was trying not to look angry, but I could tell he was bothered by the thought of me being in the "boom-boom" class.
That night Dad tried to teach me how to read. But I just didn't get it. The letters kept getting mixed up in front of my face and I couldn't do what I was supposed to do.
Dad's face was getting redder and redder. Finally, he snapped, "You are just like your brother, you know that?" and walked out of my room.
Last edited by Lady Hammett, 1/24/2006, 9:48 pm
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1/24/2006, 9:45 pm
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Lady Hammett
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Re: The Alternate Hetfield Family
I had three uncles - Dad's bandmates, Kirk, Jason, and Lars. I was close to Uncle Kirk because my personality was similar to his - introverted and quiet. I bonded with Uncle Jason over playing bass, and he gave me lessons every now and then. But Jason was all business - I wouldn't say there was a huge emotional attachment. I considered Uncle Kirk to be more of a friend.
Uncle Lars was probably closest to Dad, since they had known each other since 1981 and all. I didn't NOT get along with Lars, but at the same time, we weren't ever close. If I got into an argument with Dad at any given time, Lars immediately sided with him and told me not to argue with my father.
I loved eating at Uncle Kirk's house. He was a vegetarian and taught me how to cook. His food tasted so good that I nearly considered going vegetarian myself. But I knew Dad would never allow that!
I spent most of my time in my room whenever I was home, pounding away on the Sadowsky bass guitar that Uncle Jason had given me on my eighth birthday. At eight I was already over five feet tall, almost five foot two, and could hold a regular sized bass.
Dad started cracking down on how much time I spent playing bass after a particular incident happened at school.
Mr. Sherry, who helped me in class with my reading (which wasn't getting anywhere), had suggested that I be placed in SLD. SLD is for people who have slow learning disabilities, so Dad freaked out when he received that phone call.
When he hung up, he screamed at the top of his lungs, "RYAN! GET DOWN HERE!"
I was on my computer instead of playing bass at the time, so I heard him loud and clear. I rushed downstairs, hating his tone of voice.
"What the hell is this, about this guy wanting you to go into SLD?" he asked me once I reached the living room. He motioned me to take a seat, and I did.
"Um, because he wants me to learn how to read, and then I might be able to go into the regular class again," I replied.
Dad shook his head. "No. No way. No son of mine is going to be in the retard class."
"Dad!" I cried. "It's not about that-"
"Shush!" he snapped. "I know exactly what's going on here. You're not trying hard enough. You're spending too much time up there playing bass, or milling around at Uncle Kirk's house, or taking hour and a half long lessons at your uncle Jason's. We will be cutting down on all those activities."
I didn't understand. He had never been proud or thrilled about me playing bass. I thought he'd have been proud that I was getting into music.
It also meant that I wouldn't get to hang out with my uncles anymore, and had to stay around at the house. I didn't like this at all.
The next day, Dad picked me up from school. That meant I couldn't escape to Ashley Park and be alone. Great!
I sat there dismally, watching the long line of cars go by, one by one. My dad's Dodge Ram pulled to the front, and one of the teachers called my name.
With a groan, I hoisted my backpack up and got into the truck.
Dad didn't bother saying hi. He always got straight to the point. "Do you have homework?" he questioned.
"No," I lied.
"Yes you do!" he roared, and pulled out of the line onto the main road.
I said nothing the whole drive home. When we got back to the house, he snatched my backpack off my shoulders and took it upstairs to my room. He separated the zipper in one quick motion and dumped the contents out onto my bed.
"Get out your homework!" he snapped at me.
I did as I was told. It was a reading assignment. Why couldn't it be math? I could read numbers. It was just letters that I got mixed up.
I pulled out the assignment and set it down on my desk. I tried really hard to read it, I swear. I tried to break it down letter by letter. But no matter how hard I tried, just ended up sounding like a two-year-old.
Dad was furious. He was convinced that I wasn't trying hard enough.
Then the words that I feared came.
"If you don't do this homework right, you're getting the belt," he threatened me. Then he stormed out of the room.
I spent three hours trying to figure out the homework. In my tears, I struggled, trying to make sense of the gibberish in front of me. It still wasn't clicking.
Dad came back and told me it was dinnertime. During the meal, he ranted to Francesca about how I wasn't trying hard enough. Francesca just rolled her eyes. I couldn't stand either one of them.
When we were done eating, Dad asked whether I had done my homework or not.
I burst into tears.
"Is that a no?" he hollered. He grabbed my arm and dragged me upstairs. I braced myself as the hard leather broke my skin, over and over again.
When it was all over, I slammed the door to my room shut and hugged my bass tight. My fingers were shaking too hard to play it.
*********************************************
I didn't get to see Uncle Kirk for two weeks. The only reason why I got to see him was because Dad and Francesca were going to Tahoe for a friend's birthday celebration and it was adults only. So I got to spend the night at Uncle Kirk's. I was thrilled.
Dad didn't jam with me much, but Kirk and I loved to. I brought my bass guitar over, of course.
He had gotten me into blues and jazz playing. We jammed that night and for the first time in at least a month, I smiled and relaxed.
When we got done jamming we decided to start dinner. As we cooked together, Uncle Kirk said, "Ryan, you have an awful lot of talent, you know that? I think you have a bright future ahead of you."
I wasn't used to getting compliments, and it warmed my heart like butter.
But then I told him about how I was doing terribly at school, and was having trouble reading. I confessed that people at my school didn't think I was going to amount to anything. I didn't dare tell him that Dad and Francesca thought that too.
Uncle Kirk was shocked that anybody would think that. "Ryan, you are so talented and smart. There are very few kids your age that can play bass at all, let alone so well."
I wanted to cry, this time in happiness. He was always so nice to me.
I turned and threw my arms around his chest. I wasn't too much shorter than him now!
He embraced me back. "Are you okay?" he asked me.
I didn't want to look him in the eye. But I was upset that this night was coming to a close, and I wanted to stay here at his house forever and forever.
"I'm fine," I forced out, and we continued cooking.
When it was time to go to bed, I realized that I had forgotten my pajamas.
"Damn! My pajamas are at home," I told Kirk.
"Oh, well. Just use an old T-shirt of mine," he replied. "Mind you, I have a pair that shrunk a little in the dryer. I haven't thrown them away yet." We walked over to the laundry room and he fished through his clothes. He found the pair he was talking about and tossed them to me.
I thanked him and went into the guest room to change.
"Toss me your clothes and we'll get them washed tonight!" Kirk called. I tossed him my shirt after pulling it off.
But just as that happened, his dog, Darla, came running into the room and grabbed the pajama top in her mouth! Then she ran out of the room with it!
"Darla-" I hissed, reaching for her. But I missed and toppled to the floor out in the hallway.
I looked up and Uncle Kirk was staring at me in shock.
Oh, ****! The cuts on my back from the belt!
We just stayed in those positions, me on the floor and him staring in horror at my back.
In the end I jumped to my feet, raced after Darla, and seized the pajama top from her mouth. I put it on and returned to the guest room, changing into the bottoms.
When I left the room Uncle Kirk was still standing there.
"I'm going to bed now," I told him softly.
He tucked me into bed. Dad used to do that a long time ago, but didn't anymore. It was weird that he didn't but Kirk still did, but that was when I realized that I respected my uncle more than my own father.
"Goodnight, Ryan," Kirk croaked. I could tell he wasn't sure what to say.
Darla came to sleep with me. I cuddled up against her and fell into a restless sleep.
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1/25/2006, 7:07 am
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jianna
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Re: The Alternate Hetfield Family
this story is very VERY good! youre a very talentd writer girl!
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1/25/2006, 11:04 am
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I love it!
