Brainstorming:

Discovering the Truth: Early High School Realizations

I hear the other kids talking about their home life. It’s full of family dinners and fun outings. We have family dinners but they aren’t like what everyone else seems to have. Mine are buckets of fried food as we sit in front of the television and watch Wheel of Fortune if there is a we. Sometimes it’s just me and my dog curled up at my feet, begging for scraps
I walk out into the garage. It reeks; it’s where we keep one of the litter boxes for our abundance of cats. Along both walls are empty boxes of beer bottles. They’re stacked multiple high.
At first, I don’t realize why they’re being stacked in the garage instead of being put out in the dumpster. Then it hits me. This isn’t normal. This is too much beer for a single mother to consume by herself unless there’s a problem...and she doesn’t want the neighbors to see. Appearances have to be kept up.
Her drink of choice at 6am is not coffee. It’s not water or juice. She wakes up and heads straight to the fridge to crack open a beer so she can relax. It takes her a while to drag me out of bed; I stayed up too late again using writing as an escape. I eat a breakfast of muffins or donuts before I head out the door to school.
After school, she may or may not be home. On the bus ride home, I’ll crane my head out the window to see if her car in the parking lot of the bar on the corner. Most days I don’t know which is worse. If she’s home, it’s another night that she’ll fall asleep with a lit cigarette in hand with an array of empty beer bottles on the coffee table. If she’s gone...I may not see her until the bar closes and she wakes me up by wailing on the front porch and then complaining that not a single soul has come to check on her. Never mind the fact that it’s 2am and our neighborhood is asleep.

Free Write - 900 Word Goal

The bus bounces roughly along the road. It’s full of potholes and shitty patch jobs they did to show our side of town that we weren’t neglected. My head bumps against the window; I already have a headache from lack of sleep so the motion causes me to wince. Still, I curl my shoulders inward and keep my headphones in. The rest of my schoolmates think I’m daydreaming with my gaze fixed on the achingly familiar sights passing by the pane of glass separating me from the fresh air.

In reality, I’m searching. Just a few more moments and I’ll know what I’m in for. It wasn’t always this way. Mom used to be home for dinner every night. After school I’d sit on the floor and work on whichever puzzle I had done the least while I watched Reba or What I Like About You reruns. She’d ask me how my day was and what I wanted for dinner. Whether it was fast food or a home cooked meal, I almost always got my wish. The few times I didn’t were usually due to weather not being ideal for grilling or a money shortage. Neither of those things were her fault, I believed. The world was set against us when it came to money. She was gonna make our luck change though. I just had to wait and see. While eating, we’d watch Wheel of Fortune or Jeopardy and then put in a movie. A Disney Classic more often than not.

But it’s not like that anymore. I know I’m in for one of three scenarios.

Scenario One.

When the bus comes to the turn, I do not see her car in the parking lot. She is home. I sit in my favorite chair and knock out what homework I can. If I turn just right I can pick up my neighbor’s wifi and not have to power up the old desktop and wait an hour for our dialup internet to fire up for about 10 minutes of work time before it kicks me off again. Mom makes dinner or picks something up. She asks me how my day is...I lie. It was fine, I say with my gaze fixed on the screen.

“Do you remember that time when…” She starts on some story from when I was little. A memory she knows I remember fondly. The time she surprised me at school with KFC, my favorite at the time. Our tea party with my little china set where we drank Kool-aid out of the tiny cups and talked of how I would never grow up; how I’d live with her forever.

I can’t help but smile, although inside all I feel is sadness. I know those days are gone. Later that evening, she’s asleep on the couch with a lit cigarette in hand. I look up from my book to see it bounce to the floor. Picking it up, I put it out and frown as I see another burn mark on the carpet. The landlord is going to be really pissed when we move out. Shortly after, she wakes up and relights the cigarette. Within ten minutes, she’s asleep again. The cycle repeats until she stumbles to her bed. I stay up late into the night, weaving tales with my online friends and finding solace in these people that are hundreds of miles away. With them, I don’t have to pretend to be fine. Most of them don’t know something is off anyway.

Scenario Two.

When the bus comes to the turn, I spot the familiar maroon paint of my mom’s car. I can almost see the fabric falling from the top where she occasionally puts in thumbtacks to try and hold it up longer. My feet are heavy as I walk up the stairs of my porch. The house is quiet until Max hears me at the door and then I can hear him running at full speed and barking. How long has it been since he’s been outside?

I let him out in the backyard and settle myself in. If I’m lucky, Mom will come home in time for dinner with a bag full of greasy fast food. If she doesn’t come home, I’ll make myself a sandwich or cheesy breadsticks. It’s not nutritious but is one of the few things I know how to make; she never taught me how to cook. I sit and eat in silence. I do my homework. I watch TV. I wait. I wait. I wait. I go to my room and crawl into bed. It is close to midnight. At 2am I hear wailing from the porch. Max is out front, laying the grass as the wind gently tugs on his scruffy fur. Mom is sitting on the steps crying as loud as she can at the unfairness of the world. Everyone is out to get her and nobody cares. She’s been out there for a while and not a soul has come outside to check on her and make sure that she’s okay. How dare they? Have they no courtesy? I point out that not a single house has lights on inside. Everyone is asleep. We should be too. I take a seat next to her, rubbing her back already wondering if I can call out sick from school the next day.

Scenario Three.

When the bus comes to the turn, her car is sitting in the parking lot. It’s 3pm and it’s about the only car in the parking lot. I let myself in and let the dog out. At dinner time, my mom pulls into the driveway. She’s got a Sonic bag in her hand and is struggling with the drinks. It’s tricky when you’re sober. Drunk? To prevent her from soaking herself, I run out to help. As we’re eating she tells me that she’s got some of her friends coming over tonight. I suddenly wish I was anywhere but there.

There’s usually two or three that come over. They sit around in a circle in the living room with their drinks of choice. I’m perched in my chair, trying to ignore the fact that every time one of them gets up to pee or get another beer, I get scooted across the floor another inch or two. My homework is done but I don’t want to get involved in conversation so I make an attempt to slip off to my room. It doesn’t work. Suddenly all their eyes are on me as my mom builds me up and tears me down in each sentence.

“She’s good at art but you should see how she draws hands. Yikes!”

“She’s so smart...but she’s going to live with me her whole life and spend her life taking care of me.”

“When she was little, she wanted to be the first woman president. Can you believe that?”

“Without me...she will fail. She can’t even cook for herself. At her age! I triiiied teaching her...but she showed no interest.”

When I’m able to slip away I crawl into bed. They’re still laughing loudly in the living room. I fall asleep with tears streaming down my face only to be awakened later by my mom collapsing on top of me with loud wails.

“I just love you so much. You know that right?”

And then I lie.

Jess Thornton

Creator | Writer

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