Skin and Bones

The weather seriously must be bipolar. It’s either clear or dark – sunshine or rain. Right now the sun is shining a deep orange through a thin layer of clouds, even though it started raining just after I got home.

I turn on the TV and flip through the channels for a while before I finally find the weather channel. The dude says something about high and low pressure, which pretty much flies over my head as I wait for the 5-day forecast – not that they ever stick.

The door slams open before the forecast comes on. I quickly fumble with the remote and turn it off – hoping my mom won’t see me and just drag herself up the stairs and to her room.
I hear scrambling, before the door slams shut – the latter making me jump. I slump down in the couch – hoping so bad that she won’t notice me.
I hear more scrambling – this time accompanied by muffled moans and gasps.

My curiosity gets the better of me.

I turn my head around and peek over the back of the couch. My eyes widen. My mom is two steps up the stairs – pressing some random guy up against the wall. The guy’s glasses are askew and my mom is furiously running a hand through his greasy, short hair.
My mom’s hands leave the guy’s hair and run down his torso. She pulls away and goes for his pants. The guy opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is me and he tilts his head to the side and frowns.

“Who’s that?” he whispers – his low voice caused by his arousal rather than his attempt of secrecy, I’m sure.
My mom’s head whips around – her loose hair flying through the air – and sees me. She instantly glares and clenches her teeth.
She turns her head back to the guy.

“Do you wanna focus on the fag or me?” The guy tears his eyes away from me and looks down at my mother. He stares at her. For a moment I’m hoping he’ll push her off – reject her for her comment – and leave, but when his lips attack hers my hope drops.

They fumble up the stairs – out of my sight – and I hear the distinct sound of jeans falling to the floor before a door is slammed shut.

For a minute I just sit there – looking straight ahead into the kitchen. The only thing I can hear is my breath, which is the only thing that keeps me from losing my cool and break down.

When I think I’m strong enough, I make a run for it.

My socked feet barely make any sound as I run up the stairs and into my room. I quickly pull out my backpack – which Mikey returned to me along with my shoes – and begin to stuff clothes into it.

I block out the sound of the guy’s loud moans as I run over to my open closet door. I grab some more clothes and stuff them into the bag until it’s full, then press my old teddy bear into the backpack as I zip it closed.
I then turn around and scan my room – my breath heavy and rapid.

When I hear another moan, I decide there’s nothing else I need.
I run out of my room and down the stairs. I grab my shoes at the bottom of the stairs and pull them on – not bothering tying them up – before I rip the front door open and bolt out of the house.

I keep running until I’m halfway up the street, then slow my pace to a brisk walk. I don’t look back – I know my mom isn’t following.

I look down at the pavement. My white shoelaces are whipping forward every time I take a step. They brush against the dust and dirt on the pavement. It isn’t until the ones on my left shoe falls into a puddle that I decide to tie them.
I tie them and continue my walk – this time a little slower.

Once I’m up on the main street, I suddenly feel my inner child come out. I was never allowed to go up to the main street, and now I feel like a careless, rule-breaking kid – and it feels darn good. It’s like a tickle of excitement in my stomach. It’s like I’ve suddenly got a lot more energy – positive and mocking energy.

“Step on a crack, break your mother’s back,” I chant under my breath as I jump from one crack in the pavement to the next.