by Otis Hanby
“I’m not going to repeat myself. Go sit at that desk and start doing some homework.”
I don’t get up. I don’t care anymore, and I continue to glare at her.
“Is there something you want to tell me? Is there something you feel you need to say?” my stepmom asks.
I stare harder. I’m trying to think of something to say that will hurt her.
“I don’t love you anymore.” I put as much ice in the words as I can.
“You don’t love me, huh? Well, I’m not buying that shit.”
“I don’t love you!” I say with a harder edge.
She pulls back and crosses her arms. I can tell by the look on her face that my words don’t have that much effect on her.
“Do you love your dad?”
“No,” I say.
“Why don’t you tell him that yourself?” She stalks out of the room.
I expect my dad to come in angry. But he’s calm.
“Your mom told me that you said you don’t love her. Is that true?”
“Yes,” I reply.
“Do you love me?”
“No,” I say flatly.
A moment of silence passes.
“Okay,” my dad says, turning around and walking out of my room. I’m not sure what to expect. But as soon as my dad closes the door, I hear the most mournful sound. I can’t make it out right away. Then it dawns on me. It’s my dad crying. But he isn’t just crying; he’s bawling. The sound of it is horribly disturbing. I didn’t realize what I said would affect my father in such a big way. I expected him to get mad, or dismiss it as my stepmom did but hearing him cry like that, it’s like I can hear his heart breaking. I rush out of my room. My dad’s already down the hall, lying face down on his bed. I see his body heaving as he cries. I run to the side of the bed.
“Dad! Dad! I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry. I was stupid to say that!”
He doesn’t look up, and keeps crying. Seeing him in this state is unnerving. He’s not a man of strong emotions.
“Dad! I didn’t mean it! Please listen to me. Please!”
My stepmom is sitting on the other side of the bed rubbing his back. She refuses to make eye contact with me. My dad’s sobs are starting to subside. I sit here, not knowing what to do. I’m at a total loss for words.
“Dad, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” I repeat, quietly.
I get up and walk slowly out of his room and into mine. I close the door and turn off my lights. I curl up on my bed and try to will away what I just said. The dark feeling keeps getting stronger. My stepmom will hate me more now than she already does. I feel like my father will never look at me the same. I lost my girlfriend, and now I feel like I’ve lost my parents. I’m losing my grip on reality. Hopelessness is a dark place… a dark and desperate place.
***
The house is quiet, and I venture out of my room and discover that all the lights are out. Everyone’s either sleeping or just hanging out in their rooms. It’s only 8:00. I quietly walk into the kitchen and go to the phone. I think for a minute, then remember Braydon saying that his mom’s going to be out of town this weekend. I dial Rodney’s number. He picks up after the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey! What’s up?” I ask.
“Nada. What’s up with you?”
“Nothing good… Listen, could you pick me up in the morning?”
“Yeah. What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you in the morning. So, you’ll be here?”
“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
“Alright. See you tomorrow.” I hang up the phone.
I pick the phone back up and dial Braydon’s number. He picks up on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Braydon.”
“Hey, Core! What’s happening, dude?”
“Nothing much. Hey, you think I could stay at your house this weekend?”
“Yeah. Is there something wrong? You don’t sound too good.”
“Things really suck right now.”
“Is it because Erica broke up with you?”
That question takes me by surprise. I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched.
“Partly. I have other issues. Think you could ditch school tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I guess. When are you coming over?”
“In the morning. Rodney will drop me off. Hey, thanks man,” I say.
“No prob, bud. See you in the morning.”
“Later,” I say, hanging up the phone. I bought myself a few days. I walk back through the dark house to my room. This will be the last night I stay at this house for a long time.
***
I get up the next morning, eager to be done with what I have to do. I shut off my alarm clock and get dressed. The window in my room is fogged up around the edges, leaving a small clear space in the middle, allowing me to see out. It’s going to be a bitterly cold day. The trees are stripped of their leaves as if the night is a thief and robbed them of their protection, and I don’t remember them being so bare yesterday. I go to the kitchen and grab a couple of garbage bags. Back in my room, I fill them with clothes and cassette tapes. My sister comes out of her room and stops at my door.
“What are you doing?” she asks me, standing in her nightgown.
“Nothing.”
“Are you running away or something?”
“I’ve got to get out of here for a while. Don’t call mom or anything. I have to do this,” I say, knowing she might betray me anyway.
“That’s your business. Do what you want. It’s your life.”
“Thanks,” I say, relieved.
My sister walks back to her room. I hear Rodney’s car pull up, and I grab my bags of clothes and my skateboard. I open the front door and walk into the sharp, cold morning. After putting the bags in the back seat of Rodney’s car, I get in and wait for him to ask me what’s going on. He doesn’t even look at me, just asks, “Where to?”
“Braydon’s house.”
“Alright,” Rodney says, putting his Firebird in reverse.
I stare at my house as he backs out of the driveway. A sense of loss sweeps through me, and I feel intense loneliness like I’ve never known before—a companion to the darkness. As we drive across town, everything looks cold and impersonal. Everything in my life this far is so fleeting and temporary. I don’t want to be in my family anymore. After hurting my dad in the way I did, and by creating a bigger wedge between me and my stepmom, I knew it would be a long time before I see my house or family, if ever again. I know I’m making the right decision by leaving.
***
During the weekend, I’m mostly able to keep my mind off of everything that has happened in the last week. Braydon and I stay busy skateboarding. On Saturday, we go over to Erica’s house to hang out. She doesn’t pay much attention to me, as I expected, but she isn’t rude. Leann, Marcy, Rodney, Chad, and Tyler are also here, so it’s not too awkward. I slip into the bathroom and use the hair clippers I know that are kept under the vanity to shave my hair to the skin. If people thought I look like a skinhead before they’re really going to think so now.
I haven’t given my parents much thought. For all I know, they’re relieved that I’m not at home. I knew I should have felt some kind of remorse for leaving the way I did, but I just didn’t care. I haven’t even felt that sad about Erica. It’s strange. I know the loss is gnawing at my insides, but I’m not giving in to it. This is the new normal, and I convince myself that the darkness is just part of it. I still long for Erica and wish we could be together. But I’m not naive enough to think that I can talk Erica into giving us another try. Even if she wanted to get back together, there’s too much else happening at the moment. I don’t even know where my own life is heading.
Sunday night, Braydon’s mom comes home. She called on Saturday night, and Braydon explained to her what’s going on. He said she doesn’t care if I stay for a while and that gives me a little peace of mind. Sunday night, when she gets home, she say
s she’s hungry and wants to go to a Mexican restaurant in the mall, and asks if I would like to go. I’m starving. Mexican food sounds great. I never met Braydon’s mom before tonight. I like her right off. She seems genuinely concerned about me, and she’s asking me a lot of questions. I don’t know what it is about her, but I open up to her. I tell her everything. She asks me about drugs, and I tell her that I smoke marijuana occasionally. I tell her about my lousy grades and skipping school. I tell her about my fights and sneaking out at night. I confide some pretty dark stuff—stuff that grownups aren’t supposed to know about. But I feel that I can trust her by the way she’s giving me so much attention.
Dinner is over, and Braydon’s mom tells us to walk around for a while because she wants to get to a department store before it closes. She tells us to meet her in about an hour at the east side exit of the mall. Braydon tells her okay, and we wander off.
“So, what are you gonna do? My mom seems cool with you, but I’m sure your parents will come looking for you,” Braydon says.
“I don’t know. My brothers have run away before, and my parents just let them stay gone if they wanted. I’m not really thinking that far ahead. I just gotta see where this all takes me.”
“I’m sorry things suck for you right now, bro. You’re a cool guy, though. I hope things start turning around for you.”
“Thanks.”
The mall is pretty much empty this time of night. Most of the stores have closed, and others are in the process of closing. A couple of Hispanic kids are walking towards us, the only other people around. As they come closer, I see they look like gang-bangers. I’m not in the mood for trouble, but I don’t want to look weak either. Braydon and I quit talking. We both feel the possibility of a confrontation, so we look at the ground and try not to draw attention to ourselves. We’re almost past them when I make the mistake of glancing up and making eye contact with one of them. He looks back at me hard. He keeps eye contact, turning his head as we pass each other, never breaking his stare. I’m the first one to look away. I stare straight ahead, hoping they won’t say anything. As Braydon and I continue walking, I can feel them staring at our backs waiting for one of us to turn around. We walk on a considerable distance until I’m sure the possibility of confrontation has passed. I take a chance and look back over my shoulder. I don’t see them anymore — what a relief. I’ve had more than enough drama in my life lately. Braydon checks his watch, and it’s time to meet up with his mom. We walk outside into the cold night and wait for her as I fumble around in my jacket for my pack of cigarettes and pull one from the pack. I grab the butt with my mouth and pat my pocket for my lighter.
“Hey man, would you mind not smoking? I don’t think my mom would like it,” Braydon asks.
“Sure, it’s cool,” I say and put the cigarette back into the pack.
Here I am a runaway, and I’m worried about making Braydon’s mom mad. I ran away to be more independent, and I don’t want to answer to anyone. But I’m a guest and have to play by their rules. I start to regret leaving home, well, leaving home to stay with Braydon anyway. Braydon isn’t much of a risk taker. I guess I expected more freedom, but instead, I feel more restricted than before being under Braydon’s scrutiny.
Braydon’s mom pulls up, and we get in the car. The night is dark, and I know I could be sleeping in an alley instead of going to a warm place. I try to feel thankful, but not being in control makes me very uncomfortable. When we get to their house and settle in, I have trouble going to sleep.
The next day I’m cleared to go back to school. I ride the school bus with Braydon. When we arrive, I look around for Erica but don’t see her. I go to our smoking area and see that no one’s there either. It’s bone-chilling cold this morning. I begin shivering as the darkness creeps into me. I’m starting to wonder if the clouds will ever part and let some sunshine through. I shove my hands into my jacket pockets. I’ve lost the urge to smoke and walk in the direction of the school. As I enter the school and walk through the halls, I keep my head down. My feet seem to be carrying me along like I’m a phantom. The usual noise and chatter filling the halls seem far away. I’m getting so deep within myself that I’m forgetting what it feels like to be on the outside.
Chapter Thirteen
During English class, the teacher says he has to show a movie that the school district wants all the kids to see. No description of the video is given. The tape is inserted into the VCR, and the lights are turned off. The screen shows a kid walking along train tracks by a wooded area. The narrator is talking about the troubles that Dave is having in his life, how he doesn’t fit in with his peers at school, and how his home life is unstable. As the narrator talks, Dave arrives at a trestle. The camera pans and shows a rocky and jagged drop from the bridge down to a valley far below, then sweeps back up to Dave. The narrator stops talking. Dave is looking over the edge. He suddenly jumps, leaving the frame with the implied conclusion that he’s committed suicide. Sad music fills the empty scene for effect. The narrator then says if anyone is feeling distressed, they should seek help from an adult or a guidance counselor. I snort. Not because I find the idea of suicide funny, but because the idea of telling a stranger that you want to commit suicide and expecting them to care—that strikes me as absurd.
The teacher turns the lights back on and asks if anyone has any questions about the film. Nobody responds. This, to me, is a funny way to find out if any of the students are suicidal. No one who’s really going to commit suicide is going to talk about it openly. I’ve always heard that the ones that talk about it are asking for help. Those who mean it, do it.
I tune out for the rest of the class, thinking about the film. I relate to Dave. I even kind of admire him. Maybe it isn’t such a bad idea to end it all. I mean, the troubles never seem to go away. There’s always turmoil in my house, and the solutions seem to be to ignore the problems, punish the issues, or to get rid of the problem makers. I know from watching my brothers get kicked out of the house one by one that it’s only a matter of time before I get the boot. Leaving on my terms seems like the best way to avoid being kicked out. It’s my turn to be weeded out.
The film that was supposed to discourage suicide only to encourage the idea within me. How ironic. My thoughts are still absorbed with Dave and his fatal plunge when I hear the overhead speaker asking me to report to the principal’s office. Sighing, I get up and grab my things.
What the hell did I do now? I walk down the empty hall trying to think what I might be in trouble for. I turn the corner and come to the door of the principal’s office. Through the large windows, I see my stepmom and dad inside. They see me and head for the door. My dad says something to the secretary over his shoulder, and she nods. My dad opens the office door, and my stepmom is the first one to walk out.
“How long have you been doing drugs?” my stepmom asks abruptly, with a no bullshit look on her face.
“What? What are you talking about?” I smoke marijuana, but not very often. Surely this isn’t what I’m in trouble for. I guess I should be surprised by the lack of concern for being missing the last few days.
“Braydon’s mom told us everything. And this. What the hell is this? Are you into witchcraft now?” My stepmom pulls a folded piece of paper from my math book that I left behind when I ran away.
“No. That’s just something somebody gave me,” I say. I know right away what it is. It’s a spell I got from a girl named Jennifer in one of my classes. She’s always wearing pentagrams and black clothing. She told me that she knew a spell to cast on Erica if I wanted her back. She wrote it down and gave it to me, but I knew that I would never use it. I’ve heard of too many weird things happening to people that dabbled in the occult, and I certainly don’t need the stress of anything supernatural messing with me. It already feels like something other-worldly has a grip on me.
“Braydon’s mom called you guys?” I ask, feeling betrayed. I trusted her. That would be the last time I confided with an adult.
> “Yes, she called me. Did you really think we wouldn’t find out where you ran off to?” my stepmom asks as we walk outside towards the car. “We talked to the principal, too. Your grades are terrible. Even in Art Class. How does someone fail Art?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t know? I don’t know?” my stepmom says mockingly. “Don’t give me that shit.”
We get into the car, and my dad pulls out of the school parking lot. Things are quiet for a while. I didn’t expect my parents to come looking for me. I’m so busted. I don’t even want to think about what they’ll do to me. I look at my dad, but I can’t get a good read on him, although he does look disappointed. Maybe they’ll send me to a mental ward for troubled teens as they did with my brother Ben. I remember that place. It was in Terrell, and it really sucked. The whole family went to group counseling there when Ben was admitted. The institution was cold, sterile, and hostile. I was only ten, but I remember thinking it must be counterproductive to expose kids to this place where they see other kids getting tackled, beat up, yelled at, or hurting themselves. In therapy, we had to sit in this circle as a family, and this guy I didn’t know would ask us a bunch of personal questions. When it was my turn to share my feelings with the group, I would clam up because I knew that anything I said would be used against me later, especially by my stepmom. As I’m remembering Terrell’s Mental Hospital, I notice that we aren’t going in the direction of home. I get a little nervous, thinking my fear might come to fruition.
“Where are we going?” I ask nervously.
“You’re going to go stay with your cousin Jack for a while. We don’t know what else to do with you. There’s less trouble for you to get into in the country,” my stepmom says.
I’m relieved and disappointed at the same time. Relieved that I’m not going to the nervous hospital. Disappointed because I’m leaving all my friends, and who knows for how long.
“What about all my stuff?” I ask.
“Whatever you took with you to your friend’s house when you ran away is in the back. The things you left at home can stay there for now. You don’t need very much anyway. The only thing you should be concerned about is straightening yourself out.”