Tales From Another Broken Home

“Mom, we’re out of milk!”

I peered into the fridge, my brow furrowed in a dissatisfied expression. It was gone. All gone. It was outrageous! How was I supposed to satisfy my eleven o’ clock craving for Cheerios without any milk? I mean, come on, out of all the things a household should have at all times, milk is definitely one of the highest on the list. To me, a home without milk was like a Wal-Mart without a greeter. It just didn’t happen.

I was distraught.

I started into the fridge for a couple last fruitless seconds, wondering if a miracle would occur and a gallon of 2% would just happen to pop back onto the shelf, but no avail. I sighed, and straightened up, realizing I only had two choices: either I could get off my butt and drive down to the 7-11 down the corner, or I could go without Cheerios.

“Mom!” I yelled, not exactly knowing where she was within the house, “I’m going out to buy milk!” As I grabbed my keychain I heard her yell out, “Be careful!” and I slammed the door.

It was relatively dark outside at this time of night; I could hear crickets chirping and the occasional whirr of tires off on the main road. I climbed into my old Jeep and shoved the key into the ignition, the bright headlights instantly lighting up the garage door. I pulled the stick into reverse, and sped off to make my five-minute 7-11 run.

Well, I thought it would only take that long.

--

As soon as I pulled into the nearest parking spot of the brightly-lit beacon along the road, I noticed an unusual amount of loiterers for it being eleven at night. I bit my lip, (an old nervous habit of mine,) and yanked my keys out of the ignition, grabbing my wallet as I opened the door. I slid out of the car, locking the doors as I did so, and hopped up onto the sidewalk, glancing at the mass of kids sitting around on the opposite corner.

None of them really seemed to notice me; either that, or they just didn’t care. There were around six or seven of them, I didn’t really stop to count, with at least two girls standing around their respective boyfriends, or at least what I assumed they were. A good number of them were smoking; I could see the dull red dots from the lit end, the air around them hazy from the smoke. They all seemed to be wearing the same style clothing - black jeans or shorts, paired with a dark tee, or in the girls’ case, tank, with a belt around their waists and an abundance of a multitude of different styles and colors of converse.

I tried not to stare for too long, however, and ducked into the store as soon as I could.

After I picked up my gallon of 2%, I fast walked to the front of the store, and quickly paid for it with a five, dumping the extra change into the tips jar sitting on top of the clear counter. I barely even gave the bearded cashier enough time to bag it before I raced out of the brightly lit store into the cricket-chirping dark.

Honestly, all I wanted to do was get home and enjoy my Cheerios on a quiet Friday evening. I didn’t want any trouble, any nonsense, any shenanigans, any ANYTHING, just a bowl of Cheerios swimming in a pool of ice-cold milk.

“Oh crap,” I muttered as I dropped my keys on the pavement right in front of the driver’s side door of my Jeep. I bent down to retrieve them, and in the time it took me to straighten back up, a figure was standing beside me, his pale arm resting against the side of the Jeep’s navy door. He looked at me with eyes chilled over coupled with his frosty expression, peering down at my small form. I tried to suppress a yelp of surprise, jumping a bit upon seeing him.

Jimmy.

I stared for a couple seconds, just looking into his clear ice eyes. I had a strong suspicion that a completely frightened expression was slapped across my face, considering the pins and needles I was experiencing throughout my body and the fact that if my hands were shaking any harder I would probably lose my grip on my keys again. After a completely mind-numbing moment, I decided to say something.

“Hello?”

I stared with my mouth still open, Jimmy’s expression still not changing in the slightest. I glanced down at the door handle, breaking eye contact with the boy in front of me. It was then he finally decided to move, turning his head slightly, shuffling against the car to prop himself up more comfortably, consequently further hindering my ability to open the door.

“What’s a priss like you doing here at this time of night?” he asked coldly, with a slight hint of scorn hidden inbetween the words.

“Uh,” I said, glancing down, “buying milk?” I shuffled the bag in my left hand with intentions of making him conscious of the gallon I was holding.

“Don’t you know where this is?”

I noticed him slowly getting closer to me, and I felt an overwhelming feeling of entrapment slowly engulfing my senses.

“7-11?” I asked hesitantly. Jimmy chuckled.

“No, it's OUR 7-11. You know what I mean?” he said with a suggestive smirk.

I paused to take a deep breath to try and calm myself down.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize,” I mumbled, glancing at the door handle again.

“Unless you wanted to join us, princess,” Jimmy said sarcastically, cocking his head to the left, staring into my eyes.

I knew he could see the fear.

“No no, no thank you,” I stuttered, shaking my head from side to side vigorously.

He frowned and forged a fictitious puppy-dog face, down turning his brows and sticking out his bottom lip.

“Aww, come on, it’s a lotta fun,” he prodded, a small fraction of a smirk managing to break through his façade.

“Maybe another time,” I mumbled quickly, looking down to mess with my keys, just wanting to be rid of him. He grinned, cold mischief reflecting in his eyes, and he stood up straight, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I’ll hold you to it,” he chuckled, pulling out a box of Marlboros and a lighter. He stuck one between his lips, pulling the lighter up to his face to light the end. After it was glowing with that faint red-orange glow, he winked at me, pulling the cigarette back, a breath of smoke escaping from his pale lips as he said to me, “See ya.” He turned on his heel and sauntered back toward the corner where the group of kids were standing around. I stared after him for a couple long seconds, then quickly turned around, climbed into my seat, and sped off.

--

I spent the rest of the night staring into my bowl Cheerios, pondering. Why would he even come up to me? Was he as interested in me as I was him? Did he something interesting, something special in me just as I saw that something in him too?

No, he was probably just the typical, self-involved teenager, talking to me just because he wanted to mess with me, like a cat and mouse type of game. He probably just saw me as this frail, corruptible source of entertainment that be played with because he was bored. He probably didn’t care about me as a person at all.

Yet, despite all of that, I still had to fight that small part of me that wanted to go with him.