Trouble's Always Watching Volume 1: Volume 1 (The Trouble Series)

by Courtney Smith

  Enhanced images of the area flowed though his mind like water before it focused on a group of teenagers, hidden in an alley a few meters from where he stood. Trouble opened his eyes and tested the vision by running past the alley. The adolescent's ears confirmed numerous footsteps running behind him. He ran quickly enough to stay ahead while passing more apathetic faces ignoring his potential distress. A backwards glare revealed a light arm attempting to grab him. He felt fingertips on the back of his head as he saw a sign over an open door with a wrench being held by a hand.

  Trouble sprinted through the door, knowing he would attract the attention of customers and possibly the staff of the shop. He slid upon the oily concrete to a stop and walked with the box of tools rattling above his head. Trouble suddenly saw a pair of blue eyes glancing at him from beneath a car. He slowly approached the man and greeted him, accordingly.

  “I have da package ya ordered from da hardware shop,” informed Trouble.

  “Well, I really 'preciate the tools, but I don't remember ordering anything!” blurted the man, surprisingly.

  “Are ya really sure about that?” asked Trouble, disappointedly.

  “Boy! I thank I know whether or not I ordered anythang!” shouted the man.

  Trouble tightly grabbed the package, and he ran outside believing the group of teenagers would be right behind him. He paused to see the tranquil bustle of the small town without the boys. My eyes can't fool my mind; they 'round here somewhere. He began walking slowly and cautiously. The traveler relaxed until a sharp pain coursed throughout the back of his head. A glance at the ground revealed a rock with some of his blood on the blade. OOOH!

  Trouble heard a flat thud on the ground as he saw another rock rolling away from his foot. 'Parently, I'm bein' punished! These white people wit' money, an' I'm still gettin' stones thrown at me! At least, it ain’t dirt! More projectiles headed in his direction from adolescents settled in trees. The sprinter held the package over his head as a means of protecting himself. He ran down the street with rocks bouncing off of the package until he dashed through the door of the hardware store.

  The teenager entered the shop with the package to see one police officer standing at the counter. He lowered the package to feel a cold clamp being placed upon his wrist. Trouble looked up to see a pair of brown eyes glaring wickedly at him from behind a badge and uniform. The police officer at the counter motioned for him to move toward him.

  “Come on in, boy!” commanded the other officer, smugly. Trouble walked until he stood in front of the man who sent him on the errand.

  “The mechanic said dat he didn’t order any tools, and I brought it back,” informed the teenager.

  “Of course, he does not want it; who wants to buy stolen merchandise?” asserted Mr. Matthews, accusingly. The surprised deliverer calmly set the package on the counter.

  “’Stolen?’" questioned Trouble. “Ya tol' me ta deliver da package to da mechanic’s shop.”

  “I told you to do no such thing, boy!” replied Mr. Matthews, coldly.

  The police officers forcefully placed their hands on Trouble’s shoulders and shoved his head into the counter. However, he was able to endure the assault, calmly. They aggressively turned the adolescent around and proceeded to walk toward the exit. A short, elderly gentleman with a cane jumped in front of one of the officers in the aisles and screamed, “Let the boy go!”

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that because he committed theft!” replied one officer.

  “No, he did not!” asserted the elderly gentleman. Mr. Matthew's eyes widened and his mouth fell open.

  “I was in the back watching Mr. Matthews, and I saw him give the package to the boy, and I heard him say that the mechanic needed it, right away. There was no order made for the mechanic, but my clerk must have thought it was amusing to place the boy in a situation, which could have gotten him seriously hurt or killed!”

  The police officers briefly glanced at Mr. Matthews with raised eyebrows.

  “My name is Gerald Lafayette, and I am the owner of the shop,” informed the older gentleman. Trouble had a puzzled expression upon his face. Then, Mr. Lafayette sharply turned toward Mr. Matthews and asserted, “I didn’t know that the shop had two owners! I thought you were my clerk!”

  Mr. Matthews lowered his head until his face could not be seen.

  “I saw the whole thing,” declared Gerald Lafayette as he turned his head toward Trouble.

  “I do not like you people, but I hate liars even more!”

  Gerald Lafayette walked toward the shelf, and he picked up one of the hoes. He motioned for Trouble to come to him. One policeman removed his handcuffs from Trouble’s arm and shoved him away. The cautious visitor quickly regained his footing and slowly approached the elderly gentleman. Mr. Lafayette handed the hoe to the grateful teenager.

  “Son, I think you earned this and more for what you have been through, today. I get the feeling that you may be stopped by someone wanting to harass you, so I am writing you a small note saying the hoe was given to you by the shop’s owner.” Trouble inhaled deeply as he held the agricultural tool. He looked respectfully upon Mr. Lafayette and replied,

  “Thank ya, very much, sir.” Mr. Lafayette nodded his head to acknowledge the gratitude and reacted, accordingly.

  “You’re welcome.” The police silently acknowledged his innocence by walking past him with sharp glances in his direction before leaving the shop. The African-American visitor lowered his foot outside of the door's threshold before several, hostile vanilla faces waited for him. Mr. Lafayette walked calmly to the door with a raised eyebrow and a scowl directed at the teenagers. The recently vindicated teenager walked calmly and casually through the adolescent mob and the downtown area. Trouble placed one foot on the town's border before a couple of hands grasped his shoulders and pulled him to the ground.

  Trouble looked up to see a uniformed man with a tall, stocky frame and one with a short, husky build.

  “What're you doing here, boy!” shouted one of the men.

  “Officer, I jus' lef' Mr. Lafayette’s shop after he gave me uh hoe,” replied Trouble.

  “I know Mr. Lafayette, and he would never give anything away for free!” shouted the other officer. Trouble slowly reached into his pocket and retrieved the note that Mr. Lafayette had written him. The officer snatched it out of the young man’s hand and read it.

  “You have no business in this part of town, anyway!" said one of the officers as they both glanced at Trouble with furrowed brows and squinted eyes.

  “If you don’t leave right now, I may still run you in for theft,” agreed the other officer as he dropped the note on the sidewalk.

  “Yes sir,” replied Trouble as jumped to his feet, he picked up the note, and ran.

  Trouble felt relaxed as he inhaled the scent of pine needles from the surrounding trees. It nice tuh be able tah walk wit'out worryin' 'bout bein' attacked! The traveler sat near a tree's trunk while closing his eyes until a fierce growl made his eyes fly open. Trouble's legs were moving before he even knew it! The cautious traveler progressively increased the pace, and the rustling gradually increased until the source of the noise was far from subtle. I think dis would be uh good time fo' me ta go real fast.

  Trouble increased speed before his head nearly struck the bark of a massive tree. I can't run too fast through here: dese trees 're too close! I might as well see who or what’s followin' me! His eyes bulged as he watched his pursuer slowly approach him. Black wooly fur, padded feet, and large claws slowly crept toward him.

  It rose until it stood seven feet with its paws extended toward its quarry. Trouble shook his head and blinked rapidly as he stared into the eyes of a black bear. The boy's muscles contracted until they were more rigid than iron. Sweat drenched his face and clothes, and his blood raced like the Grand Rapids. His eyes toggled between the bear and the trees in search of openings and possible exits. I wonda when dis thang gon' a--!.

  The bear's paw narrowly missed T
rouble’s spine by an inch before he darted ten feet away before it even noticed. Trouble’s nose felt small tremors from the snap of the bear’s shutting jaws one inch, away. The bear had lunged teeth first toward Trouble before it realized he was no longer in front of him. The adolescent was two feet above the creature's head in a supine position from a leap before noticing the adolescent’s shadow. The airborne teenager’s eyes perused the brush for another exit without any success. He knew the bear could spill his stomach, intestines, and liver with a single blow if it struck him from behind if he tried to run. The boy landed upon the ground with the bear's paw one inch from his eye. So, dis is it! I'm dead, again!

  His mind filtered the bear's movements like water through cloth within milliseconds. His muscles synchronized with his mind's eye and processed potential counterattacks with each contraction of any of the beast's muscular fibers. The bear continuously swiped at Trouble like a fatigued boxer nearly collapsing. Trouble unconsciously avoided the approaching blow. The boy's breathing slowed down, his sweating nearly stopped, and tranquility saturated his mind like burning hickory in a smokehouse.

  The animal's paw ripped a hole into a tree where Trouble's head lingered milliseconds ago. This bear been missing me, but he ain't gone stop til I look like ground beef!! If I c'n just get a kick i—. Moisture and itchiness saturated his foot as he stared at the crimson fluid and matted fur upon it. Screams of pain and blood flowed out of the creature’s mouth.

  Images of the bear's skull and fixed bones disintegrating upon his knuckles overwhelmed his imagination. The creature yelled as the juvenile removed his crimson fist from the mammal's nose, disintegrating its cranium. The ursine stood very still and allowed its eyes to roam for the very last time, while blood flowed very heavily from its nostrils. It struggled to remain on its legs before it stumbled to its side and fell. It moaned loudly with tears coming from its black eyes.

  The young sharecropper carefully walked around the huge mammal with at least six feet of distance between them. Its breath rapidly increased. Wow! I'm sorry! I didn't mean ta make ya suffer. He slowly walked over the lightly breathing creature until he was within a foot of it.

  Trouble leaned over the creature as if paying respects before a large, black paw swiped him across the chest. The bear slumped over, gave a final moan, and embraced eternal slumber with the satisfaction of dealing a final strike to his killer. The boy's knees throbbed, and his body languished. His chest had crimson fluid flowing rapidly from it while he staggered weakly to his hoe. Pain shot through his body like a flying rocket. Each step felt like millions near the end of a painstaking journey.

  His hands struggled to grasp the garden tool, and he leaned against it on his way to the Stevenson’s residence. Each of his muscle’s fibers felt as though the weight of the world were crushing it. Strength and breath were lost with each movement, but his eyes remained on the setting sun. He carefully walked by placing one foot in front of the other as cautiously as an infant learning how to walk. Trouble leaned against trees, nearly collapsing as he limped painfully to his inhospitable home.

  The sun's fading light near the Stevenson’s cabin illuminated the outlines of several people leaning their hoes against the cabin’s wall with Dorothy Stevenson slowly treading across the field. Her callused hands painfully clutched her instrument as she headed toward the house with the rest of the family. Each step burned with fatigue as she exhaled. The matriarch grasped the handle to the door before her left eye's corner revealed a faint, blue image. She turned in the glimmer’s direction, and squinted upon seeing a skinny boy with bloodstains limping from the other side of the plain.

  The silhouette looked as though it staggered across the field. She saw the figure collapse a few times before regaining its balance and walking toward her. Dorothy Stevenson's muscles suddenly propelled her across the field, ignoring their reminders of exhaustion. Will I be able to help this po' boy?! C'n I g't to 'im on time? Is he gone to die in my arms? Her wide frightful eyes were replaced with a disgusted squint upon seeing the person's face.

  “Trouble! That is certainly a name you deserve! You got some nerve showin' up after all da work done fo' da day! Your clothes ’re motley an' ya look really ragged! Why yo' clothes torn, and how did ya get that woun' 'cross yo' chest?” asked Dorothy Stevenson.

  “I's attacked by uh bear and barely 'scaped,” replied Trouble, weakly.

  “You don’t wanna say where ya been or whatcha been doin' 'cause you know ya up ta no good an' 'voidin' work!” replied Dorothy Stevenson. I could say uh million thangs to dis woman, but it ain't worth it! I ain't got da energy fo dis mess!

  A candle was lit at the old, table wooden table with a tired family gathered around it. A large, steel pot was at the center of it with a ladle resting in the steaming fluid. The wounded guest staggered to his shared resting quarters with a trail of dried blood on his overalls. He went to the bedroom and struggled to ease himself on the floor. He adjusted his body to get into a halfway comfortable position. He maneuvered in a frustrating manner to recuperate and rest. He finally obtained a comfortable position and closed his eyes when he heard a familiar, antagonistic voice:

  “Trouble! We all sit at da table t'gether when it's time ta eat!” yelled Dorothy Stevenson. The wounded teenager reluctantly and obediently shuffled across the floor until he was standing. The injured visitor stumbled to get to the table, but he managed to make his way to the empty seat. They said their grace and prepared to enjoy the meal. Trouble watched everyone getting a portion of food. He reached for one of the items for himself when he felt several, hateful glances upon him. The unwelcome guest perused the abhorrent eyes looking at him. He pushed the dish back and started to get up when he asked the family something.

  “If ya didn't want me to eat wit' you, why did ya call me to da table?”

  “It is not uh boy’s place tuh ask questions but do as he is told,” scowled Dorothy Stevenson. The family was still eating when they heard another familiar voice: “I’m home!” The wind shifted as the door opened, and they saw a familiar man walking through it. He headed toward a basin and rinsed his hands off. Reverend Stevenson pulled a stump from beneath the table and dropped himself upon it like a bomb.

  “Why ain't cha eatin', Trouble?” asked the inquisitive man as he stared at the boy.

  “I ain't very hungry,” replied Trouble with his gaze focused sharply into the eyes of Dorothy Stevenson.

  “I would think dat after uh hard day uh workin' in da fiel's, you'd be famished. I know I am,” declared Reverend Stevenson as he pulled up a chair.

  “You know the Bible says that if ‘you don’t work, then you shouldn’t eat,’” asserted Reynaldo.

  “Are you saying that Trouble did not work today?” asked Reverend

  Stevenson. “He most certainly did not,” supported Dorothy Stevenson.

  “I use ta see Trouble workin' in da fields alla da time,” recalled Reverend

  Stevenson. He turned toward Trouble and asked,

  “Why was today different?”

  “I had tuh go get uh hoe since everyone here made it clear they hoes were theirs, and I spent mos' uh da day askin' people tuh borrow one,” answered the boy, weakly.

  “There're plenty uh hoes here. Why's it necessary fo' ya ta search fo' one?” inquired Reverend Stevenson. Trouble opened his mouth before Dorothy Stevenson interrupted him.

  “He's offer'd one, but he r'fused ta accept it.” Trouble's eyes became wide, and his blood rushed furiously through his body. His fists clenched, and his teeth began to grind. He imagined slamming his fist into the side of Mrs. Stevenson's face, but a flashing image of Hell allowed him to maintain his composure.

  “Is dis true, Trouble?” inquired Reverend Stevenson.

  “No! I's told I's a thief fo' tryin' ta use one of their hoes, which is why I left to go fin' one of my own ta begin with!”

  “Ya mean steal, right?” asserted Dorothy Stevenson. Then, Trouble stared directly into her face and clarifie
d, “No, I mean get one of my own,” as he reached for his pocket and gave Reverend Stevenson Mr. Lafayette’s note. Reverend Stevenson silently and quickly read the note and glared at his wife and son through squinted eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

  “I know Trouble been uh really bad boy before, but I never known him ta be lazy; furthermo', dis note show dat he got 'nother hoe from someone, which means dat certain circ'mstances made it necessary fo' him ta get one fo' himself,” concluded Reverend Stevenson. Then, Dorothy Stevenson's lips curled and eyebrows arched at her husband.

  "You mean ta tell me dat ya believe da word of uh delinquent mo' dan dat of yo' son’s an' wife’s combined?” manipulated Dorothy Stevenson. Reverend Stevenson glanced at his wife in a peculiar manner and specified, “I'm not sayin' dat I don't believe ya, but I'm shocked 'cause Trouble 'as never 'voided work fo' any reason.”

  “Well, maybe, you don't know 'im well as ya thank ya do. He came up here wit' his overalls torn, and he try ta tell us dat a bear 'tacked him, an' he somehow survived. I see da blood on his chest, but I don't see why he didn't git any injuries or died if he's truly 'tacked by uh bear. I mean his overalls still have blood on 'em, but his skin 'pears ta be whole,” indicated the woman, as she was pointed at Trouble’s chest.

  The boy was so intently focused on the argument; he did not notice his skin was completely healed. Trouble shot a quick glance, downward. His mouth was wide opened, and his eyes widened with glee. Dorothy Stevenson squinted her eyes at the healed guest and asked, “How ya explain dat, you big liar?” Trouble's mind became lost for words while he remained mesmerized with the healed wound. Wow! This must be 'nother provision. The dark-skinned teenager began to experience conflicting feelings. He was excited about being able to heal in a relatively quick manner, but it also created difficulty in proving his story.