by Jax Spenser
***
The Keegan Show. I don’t want to see it but here it is. Like someone’s pushed the Rewind button on my awful past and is playing the dream I don’t want to have.
It’s yesterday before Mom got home. All the terror is back.
Trouble is coming home. Her name is Mom.
Oh God, she’ll be here any minute.
Dad’s plan to sneak me out of the house is going to backfire, I know it. An hour ago he said he would pick me up before Mom got back. I have all my stuff together and I’ve been waiting by the door, looking through the window. Come on, Dad!
Across the street, the kids jump through the sprinklers in jean shorts and t-shirts: there’s relief on their faces from the slow-burning Oklahoma summer. They’re all big smiles and wide eyes. They’re having fun.
Where are you, Dad?
Mom’s car pulls in the driveway. Shit. That’s bad for me because there’s no escaping now.
I barely get out of the way of the door.
“Where do you think you’re going, Birthday Boy? Backpack … you trying to run from me? Mommy says no.” The door locks behind her and she grins.
My legs buckle.
She’s barely taller than me so why do I feel so weak against her?
I swear I don’t know her anymore. Is this the same Mom who once marked off my height with a pencil? Who is this Mom?
The first hit lands with a crack against my bottom teeth. I taste the blood instantly.
I force myself to think it’s like getting a haircut. Stay still, don’t move unless moved, and pretend like it’s exactly what I wanted. Usually Mom’s a good barber. Usually she stays away from my face. Just try to explain that to the school. No, usually she’s a pro.
But, today’s different.
“Mom!” I beg.
Her lip curls up on one side and she hisses, “Keegan, please, this isn’t easy!”
Mom, smiling and crazy-eyed, closes her fist. I can hear her knuckles grind as she compresses her hand into a ball of hate, and aims for the bull’s-eye in the middle of my face. I hold my ground and try to let the barber do her job.
CRUNCH. Something’s broken.
If I’m lucky, I won’t have to feel it for too long. The world will go black and disappear. It’s the only perk to having blackouts; it’s a handy escape pod when Mom’s working me over.
But Mom’s not letting up today and I’m still conscious. No, this time it’s different. There’s fire in her eyes. I can see it. She wants to kill me.
My arms shake and I’m really scared this time.
A drop lands on my hand. Blood. I look up for some stupid reason. As if the ceiling’s been cut open. It can’t be coming from me. But it is. Below me, there’s a puddle of red decorating the ugly faded white floor.
“That doesn’t look good does it, Keegan?” She says. “Do you think you broke something? Poor baby.”
I lower myself to the ground and wonder what the kids across the street running through the sprinkler will get on their sixteenth birthdays. Cake? Presents? A car maybe?
Mom has this faraway look. Like she’s figuring things out. She’s talking sweet today, as if she would never hurt me. It doesn’t match her eyes that burn with the exact opposite. Today she’s completely gone.
She continues a stream of steady punches to my back; probably thinking she’s just tenderizing a steak for dinner. I can’t feel it anymore. But not because a blackout is coming—I wish it were— but because there’s too much pain. My body is checking out. That can’t be good.
Please, Dad, hurry up! He’s leaving me here with her because he can’t man up. I’m not surprised. Who would want to face this?
Mom turns me on my side and starts slapping at my ears.
“They’re wrong about you.” She speaks to me as if we’ve been having a conversation this whole time. “You’re my perfect boy and no one else is going to have you.” She grins and leans down to wipe blood away from my nose. “Pick a little, talk a little, hit a little, bleed a little …” What is she talking about?
I hold up a hand in front of me, “Why?”
“Because,” her eyes looking past me, “this is it. Your big birthday, Keegan. We’re expecting big things from you.” Her face hardens and her eyes become weapons pointing down at me. Mom kicks off her sandals and clenches her jaw for round two.
Finally, my fear slips into relief as I feel it kick in – the blackout is finally coming. My world darkens at the corners. Whatever pain is left, slips away.
“Dad?” I feel his name fall out of my mouth.
My ears are near deaf with the sound of my pounding heart but I think I hear a car pull up. Is it him?
“Dad?” I barely get out.
I look at Mom one last time, determined not to let her see me cry. She’s got an odd look on her face, as if she forgot something. Then, she turns and walks away.
I should be relieved, but all I can do is stare at the floor in front of me—it’s red. Very, very red. My mouth hangs open because it doesn’t seem real. Amazing. How did she do it? Mom’s art gushing out across her white canvas. Her greatest creation. Who knew a broken kid made so much blood?
And then the memory fades and something else replaces it ...
An endless white desert surrounds me. My feet are moving, barely plowing through the sinking sand. Ahead, the ground disappears into a hole. A cloud of dust whips past me from behind and a bad feeling opens up in my stomach.
A wind rushes me toward the hole. I can’t fight it. I want to run but instead I fall into the hole. Endlessly fall and fall.
Is there a bottom? Is there an end?
Save me! Save me! I can only say in my head. My mouth won’t move, so no one can hear me.
Falling, falling.
My body refuses to struggle. I want to help myself, but can’t.
All I can do is watch and fall and wonder if I’ll survive what comes next.
On my hand there’s a spot. It’s red. A dark, terrible red.
Still falling.
I know I don’t want the spot on me. I feel how hungry it is.
Falling.
It’s a red that moves like a billion tiny bugs scratching at my skin. It creeps and grows and spreads out, up my arm, shoulder, chest, down to my legs.
Scratching, falling.
The red gets into my mouth and nose. I choke hard. I’m terrified and can’t do a single thing about it. When’s this going to end?
Choking, falling.
It’s in me now.
Red inside. Red outside. Red everywhere. I’m being strangled and buried and still I’m falling.
Inside my head, Please help me! Please. The red has me!
I try to scream—but can’t.