Mama Killed A Man

When John was thirteen years old he got shot in the leg with an air rifle. He and his cousin, Bryce, had been rummaging through his uncle’s garage when Bryce thought it’d be funny to take the point-five-calibre gun from its mount on the wall and shoot at the sack of salt slightly left and level with John’s right knee. Bryce missed and John said it was the most horrific thing he’d ever experienced. He could still remember the sharp slice of burning pain that burst beneath his knee before the dull throb of hysterical numbness took over his entire nervous system.

When he told me this we were both sprawled on the kitchen floor with ice cubes balanced carefully between our brows because John said it was the most effective way of cooling down. Half a tray of cubes later and we were still waiting for him to be right.

“Amber, your turn,” he said, wincing as a droplet leaked down the side of his nose and into his tear-duct. “What’s the most horrific thing that you’ve ever, and I mean ever ever[i/], experienced?”

The most horrific thing I’d ever experienced was when the doctors told me that I was too pregnant for medical methods and that they’d have to dilate my cervix and empty it out using a suction and other surgical instruments that didn’t sound at all foetus-friendly.

What I told John was that I’d been flashed by the streaker at Coldstone creek.

“Ever-ever?” he asked, his lips twitching into a slant.

I nodded, “Scarred- for life.”

He laughed and I laughed and all was well and good.

Then his phone chimed Dancing Queen and after a few brief words he sat up and swiped the flakes of ice from his face.

“I’m really sorry Amber, but Garret calls,” he heaved himself off the ground before bending over and reaching out for my hands. I gave them to him and with a slight reluctance let him hoist me up. “I’ll see you tomorrow. ‘Kay?”

I nodded and he pulled me into a hug. He smelled like sand and heat and boy, and the embrace left a warm, homey feeling in the pit of my belly.

Since he returned from the boating trip with his dad, John had come over every day and taken me out on “field trips” to educate me on the pastimes of Arizonian youngsters. According to the last two weeks, adolescents of the region spent the majority of their time killing Nazi Zombies at Kennedy’s house or making sparkler bombs and attaching them to abandoned supermarket trolleys . Though this was all good fun, I thought that maybe John wasn’t such an excellent teacher.

However, on that particular day John had taken me to a nearby skate park where a group of his friends were supposed to be playing a small gig to accompany the skate demo that was taking place. If it weren’t for the intense heat and dodgy wiring on the roadie’s part, the bassist’s amplifier may not have sparked into flames and the gig may not have been called off. But it was. So, searing and sweaty, John and I returned to the big house on Gatsby to cool off.

With my father working industriously six days of the week, it was no surprise that I latched onto John’s consistent presence like a pathetic little puppy. Wherever I looked I felt myself looking at a stranger, wherever I stood I felt the nagging sensation that I didn’t belong. I felt lost, restless; naive. But somehow, through all the mess and confusion, I felt the call of home in John O’Callaghan’s cool blue aura. He was my distraction and hence, my peace.

I just hoped I was something to him too.

As John stepped out the back door, Graeme stepped through the front. At the muffle of a second voice I froze briefly before dumping the ice tray in the sink and hastily wiping at the wet patch on the floor with the bum of my shorts. As they approached the kitchen I leapt up and straightened out my shirt before swinging open the fridge and peering inside. The footsteps stopped with the conversation.

“Ah, there you are Amber,” I leaned around and glanced at Graeme before peering at the young girl beside him.

“Hello,” I replied absently.

The girl was tall, to say the least. She had at least half a head over me and I was five-foot-eight, if that said anything. She wore her mahogany hair in an eccentric, frizzy poof high at the back of her head, which she pulled off with her perfectly proportional features: long, slender nose, large, doe-eyes and plump lips. Her skin was a warm, cherry-wood brown that accentuated her vibrant, emerald eyes. It was only when she quirked an eyebrow at me that I realised I was gawking.

“Amber, this is my granddaughter, Celeste.”

We stood there, gaping at each other until Graeme cleared his throat.

“I thought you might like someone your age to...to chill with,” Celeste rolled her eyes in her grandfather’s direction and he chucked, ruffling her hair before lowering his hand to rest on her shoulder. She smiled and it was as if the sun was re-rising. I couldn’t stop staring at her, she just had one of those faces. Her grin faltered a little as she caught my eye and I could see that she was trying hard to keep her face serene and polite. I must have been freaking her out.

“Before I leave you two, Amberlyn, I’ll need you to do a short profile on that boy you’ve been spending time with.”

During my father’s days in Skol, Graeme had been head of security and had later followed my father in becoming his very own personal security coordinator. Graeme was in charge of the forty-two security cameras that guarded the vicinity of the Hurley property, as well as employing security guards for the various events my father attended. As of my arrival, he was also in charge of my safety and overall welfare, so I’m not sure why I thought he was joking when he requested a background check of the-boy-across-the-road.

“This is no laughing matter, Amberlyn,” my grin dispersed, “You need to understand that everyone is a potential threat now.”

I swallowed hard, eyes wide. “What...what kind of stuff do you need?” I stammered.

“Just basic things; full name, date of birth- school would be good too. We’ll do the rest.” Then his face softened and his mouth spread into a soft smile. “Now, I have to get back to work. You girls be good.”

As soon as the front door was locked, Celeste turned to me and I felt myself gawking again.
She sighed.

“Ok, say it.” She sounded bored and a little agitated.

“Say what?” I replied, colour draining.

She huffed, “You’re wondering how on earth I-“she did a full sweeping gesture of her body, “-could be his granddaughter.” Her eyes grew wild and I realised I’d trespassed onto
something tender without even meaning to.

“No I-“

“No you nothing!” she snapped, chest heaving. “I’m adopted. Realised when I was seven, got told last month. The end.” She lifted a hand and pulled at her hair. Then, with a loud exhalation, she slid down the wall and dropped to the floor.

Slowly I approached her, kneeling down in front of her slumping frame. “I was just gonna say that I think you’re really pretty,” I said quietly.

She looked up at me sceptically. Slowly I saw the irritation in her features diminish and bashfully she pulled herself into a more upright position.

“Oh.”

Moments passed and my leg started to fall asleep before she spoke again.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you, that was probably a terrible first impression,” she tried a smile. “It’s just still a bit...“

“Raw.” I finished.

Her face relaxed and her tight stance loosened into one of relief. She nodded, “Exactly.”

I stood up before stooping over and offering my hands to her, much like John had done for me earlier. She accepted them without hesitation and I stumbled back as I was met with her full five-feet-eleven-inches.

She snorted, “Amber, your butt’s all wet.”

And suddenly, I didn’t feel so alone.