When I Look at the Stars, I Feel Like Myself

Mom and Greg are fighting again. I wish he would stop hitting her. I wish mom would get us some food, too. All we have left is Spaghetti-O's and RJ doesn't like those.

“Calvin! I'm hungry,” my little brother whined.

I sighed and opened the cupboard. All the shelves were bare except the top one, which had mommy's drinks on it, and the one eye-level with me.

Even that shelf was bare except one can of Spaghetti-O's. I wash a bowl from the sink, and open the can. I put it in the microwave for 2 minutes, and wait.

“When is school starting again?” RJ asked excitedly. He liked school, for some reason. I'm glad he does, because being elementary school was the best.

I'm in sixth grade when school starts again. I already miss fifth grade.

“I don't know; it's not for a while. It's only July.” I answer back. When the food is done, I take it out and set it in front of RJ.

He wrinkles his nose at the food, “Is there something else to eat?” he asks.

I sigh, “No. I'm sorry,” I sit across from him and stare into space while listening to the screams from the other room. Of course, mom owes him money for what she buys from him.

She buys a lot of things from him. I watch her use them, sometimes. Sometimes she takes a shot, sometimes she smokes. And every time after that, she would just sit there, sometimes laughing to herself. And when I would try and talk to her, she'd talk back, but what she said never made sense.

It made me really sad when she used that stuff. I miss my mom being there to talk to.

“Calvin?” RJ says, “Aren't you going to eat something?”

I smile at him, “No, I'm not hungry,” I say, just as my stomach gives a slight rumble of protest. But RJ doesn't hear it, he never does.

He eats his Spaghetti-O's anyway, even thought every bite is painful to him, and soon, he is thirsty. I go to the fridge and open it. Our milk is expired, and we have no more juice.

Instead, I get a cup and turn on the faucet. I put the glass full of water in front of him.

“I'm going to bed,” I say, walking from the kitchen. I will have to get up early tomorrow and go to the store.

“It's only six thirty!” RJ complains, “Stay with me until I'm ready to go to bed, too.” he pouts.

“I'm tired,” I say sternly.

“But—I'll be ready when I'm done with my food! I promise! Just, please don't leave,” tears well up in his eyes, “I don't like being alone when that man and mommy fight. He scares me,”

I give a rueful smile and sit back down at the kitchen table, “Me too,” I agree, “me too,”

“Hey, cal,” RJ starts, “Sound check is in ten minutes.

“Yeah, okay,” I reply absently. RJ is capable of taking care of himself now, but I still feel like he's my responsibility. He even takes care of me sometimes.

“Are you thinking about that again?” he asks. I swear, that boy can read my mind, “Don't be so shocked, your face gets all twisted with worry and a frown sets on your face,” So, it's all in the expression.

I laugh, pulling him into my side, “Yeah, I was,” I just hug him. I do miss having him around me at all times, but I know it's better this way. If it weren't for her, we wouldn't be here. She saved us, and I can't thank her enough for that.

I couldn't sleep, after they fought they did other things together that were just as loud. I'm not supposed to know what they were doing, but I did. I'm just glad RJ couldn't hear, his room is too far away.

It was 4 in the morning when I got ready to go to the store. I figured if I couldn't sleep now, I would tire myself out by walking a mile to the 24-hour grocery store and back with bags of food. Then I'd crash and never wake up.

That would be nice, to just sleep forever. I wouldn't have to deal with anything, I wouldn't have to take care of myself, or mom when she gets dumped by Greg.

And I know she will.

And I also know that she'll get someone else to sell her her stuff, and she'll use it even more. And I'll have to take care of her when she does, so she doesn't hurt herself.

But I couldn't just leave RJ. He's too little to take care of himself.

Though, I was his age when I started taking care of him. I was just about to go into fourth grade, too. RJ isn't as experienced, though. He doesn't have to take care of anyone. I don't mind him, he's cute. And he doesn't complain about anything. Not when he has to eat something he doesn't want to, not when I give him water instead of juice or milk, he just asks for something different. And when I tell him no, he drops it and does what I tell him.

I guess I'm not the only one who's more mature than he should be for his age.

I was halfway to the store, and the sun was just starting to come up. I was already tired enough to just sleep on the road, but I knew that if I went back to the house, I wouldn't want to venture out again later in the day.

When I walk into the store, the bell chimes, and a lady smiles from her place behind the checkout counter, “Hello, sir,” she says, even though she could tell that I'm just a kid.

“Hello,” I say shyly, grabbing a cart and pushing it. I know it's wrong to steal, but I took some money from mom's purse. She didn't have a lot, so I only took some. I took two twenty dollars bills. I think I'll have enough...

I fill the cart, with things we're all out of, milk, juice, and cereal. I get some vegetables, too. I miss having them to eat.

I get RJ some peaches, those are his favorite, and head to the nice lady who pushes my items across the scanner.

When she's done, she tells me what I have to pay, “$75.23,” she says, looking at me with kindness in her eyes.

I look down at my money. I don't have enough. I walked all the way here for nothing, “Oh. I don't have enough,” tears well up in my eyes, and I look up at her, “I'm sorry, I'll put everything back,” I start to leave but she stops me.

“Wait, where's your mother, little boy?” she asks, and I turn back to her.

I can't help but cry. Last time I came to the store and didn't have enough money, mom got in trouble. We were taken away for a few weeks, RJ and I didn't live in the same place, either.

“I'm sorry,” I blubber, “I'm sorry that I can't pay, but please,” I hiccup, “Please don't take mommy away!”

She walks over to me, and says, “Look at me,” I look up, and she kneels down so she's eye-level to me, “It's okay, I won't take your mom away. I just want to know where she is.”

“Home,” I answer.

“Where do you live?”

I recite my address, and she looks surprised, “Did you walk here?” I nod, and she stands back up, “That's a long way to walk, mister. Were you planning on walking back?”

I nod again, this time hesitantly.

She blows hair away from her face, and gives a slight groan, “Here, I'll give you a ride home.” she walks to a back room, and comes back out with her purse and jacket. She pulls some money out of her purse, and puts it in the register. She takes the cart, and I follow her out the door.

I help her load the bags into her car, and when we're done, she turns to me, “We have to wait in the store until my friend comes, so she can watch for customers, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, and try to hand her my money.

She looks at it and shakes her head, “It's okay, kid. Just think of it as Christmas in July,” she smiles warmly at me.

We are silent for a while, until she questions me again, “Why did you come here so early alone?” she asks.

“We ran out of food last night. I would have waited, but I have to feed my brother breakfast after he wakes up,”

“What about your mom?” she asks.

“She... well, I think she forgets about us a lot,” I answer, looking down.

“Oh,” she says, just as headlights show through the store window.

“There's Ruth,” she says, hopping off the counter of the back room.

The bell chimes when she walks in, and a tired looking lady walks in, she was really old, “Hey, Marcee,” she greeted the nice lady.

Monique is my mom's name. Marcee is a lot better.

Marcee is also a lot younger than my mom. Well, she looks a lot younger. They're probably about the same age, since my mom had me when she was 13.

But my mom looks about as old as Ruth.

“You owe me for this one,” Ruth yawns.

“I know, but I have to get my friend here home before his little brother wakes up. I'll come early today, okay?” she says.

“Okay,” Ruth looks down at me, “And what's your name, cutie?”

“Calvin Reigh,” I say, and Marcee looks sadly at me.

“Is your mom Monique?” she asks.

I nod, and she looks sad. Almost sorry.

“I miss Marcee,” RJ sighs. She took care of us, after mom died, and even now she's a big part of our lives.

“Well, she'll probably be around when we come home,” I reassure, “She checks on us every month, anyway. She'll be around,”

“For Christmas?” RJ asks, “That will come up soon, after tour,”

“Yeah, she'll be there for Christmas”

Marcee is just over 30. Her birthday is coming up soon, so I want to do something special for her, just like she always did for us.

Be it Christmas, birthdays, Easter, there was always something special waiting for us. Even when mom was still alive. Even though she didn't get paid all that much, she put us first. We weren't even her kids, but she loved us like we were.

I can't thank her enough for taking us in after the funeral.

She used to be friends with my mother, they went to school together. They were friends until she started to get involved in drugs, drinking, and partying. Mom got pregnant with me when she was twelve, and dropped out of school when she was fourteen. She had RJ shortly after that.

Then, she couldn't have anymore kids. Too many bad abortions, I guess. I didn't mind, I was actually relieved. Not because I wouldn't have to take care of someone else, but because I didn't want another human being having to grow up with a mother like mine.

“Alright, sound check time,” RJ sighs, getting up. When it's my time to go on, I get up on the stage, thinking about how Marcee always came over just before school.

”Let's make some eggs,” she suggests. I'm kind of glad, really. I would have to be late for school everyday, if it weren't for her. I would have to walk RJ to the elementary, after my classes had already started.

“Will you teach me how, so RJ doesn't have to eat cold breakfast every morning that you're not here?” I ask her, waiting for a reply.

“I will always be here, I don't have anything else to do this early. But, sure,” she says, “I will teach you,”

I only got the eggs, in case mom wanted to make cookies with us. Like she used to during the summer, before she got really bad. The last time I remember having homemade cookies was the summer between third and fourth grade.

The summer I had to be a man and take care of myself, my little brother, and sometimes my mother. The summer the dad I was never allowed to see died. The summer my mom totally lost it. The summer she relapsed back into drugs.

The summer I stopped being a kid.

“We're on in an hour,” Ross announces when we're all situated in the back room. All of us are looking at each others new tattoos. I can't decide if I like Riley's or not. I do like it, it's just too...

Depressing, for her. 'We only breathe for so long'. It's fitting, but I...

I don't know. I guess I don't like the fact that she has to think like that. I'm jealous of John, I'll admit it. I've liked Riley, probably since she first stepped through the door of Dalton's garage. When Elina brought her to try out for bass player.

Somewhere around that time. She walked through the door, and my heart stopped. She's gorgeous, but I'm not John. I can't have her, even though I was the first one who knew about her cancer. She didn't remember telling me, though, so I guess it doesn't count. I will have to let her know that I knew long before she told all of us.

“Hey, Ri,” I call, just before she goes on stage, “I have something I need to tell you,”

“What's up, Cal?” She asks, her eyes adorably innocent looking. They always look like this, even when she's trying to be mischievous.

She's rubbing her shoulder, where she got her tattoo. It probably burns, since it was her first, and she got it on her shoulder.

“Remember when you used to sleep in my arms?” I start, “When you got sick?”

“Yeah,” she says slowly.

“Well, I don't know if you remember any of it, but you used to talk to me, just before you fell asleep,” the look on her face tells me that she really doesn't remember, “And once, you told me about your cancer,” I state.

Her eyes widen, “You knew all along?”

I nod, and she gets a strange look in her eyes. I wonder if it was a mistake, telling her like this.

“And you didn't tell anyone about it?” she asks.

“I'm sorry,” I blurt, “I didn't know if you--” my reply is cut short, when she wraps her arms around me.

“Thanks,” she says.

I circle my arms around her waist, enjoying the feeling while it lasts. It's not everyday you get a hug from Riley.

“I didn't tell anyone,” I pause, “because I didn't think it was my place to tell. I figured you'd just be mad. And anyway, you didn't have cancer right then, so it wasn't really all that big of a deal, right?”

She pulls away, and looks up at me, “Thank you, again, for that,”

After Riley walks away, for some reason, Elina shows up.

“Hey, Lina,” I say.

“Hey, Cal,” she greets back, a small smile on her face.

“Where's your lover?” I ask teasingly.

“He's doing some kind of pre-show ritual with his band,” she shrugs. I love the fact that she didn't even try to deny that Zack is her 'lover'. She's getting better, I can see.

“Let's see your tattoo,” I say. She ended up getting it on her other shoulder, since it was too big for her neck.

She takes off her t-shirt, revealing a tank top. She turns around, pulling her strap down, for me to see.

It looks amazing, it really does. It was about time she got one dedicated to Erin. I mean, I never really knew Erin, she came to practice with Elina a few times, but that was about it. I also saw her around school, but I never really knew her that well.

“Does it burn?” I ask, “Do you need lotion on it?”

“No, Dalton just put some on me,” she says, “I'm telling you, getting a tat retouched is a lot more painful than just getting a new one,” she shudders.

I laugh, “You were crying like a baby,”

“Shut up, Calvin,” she demands, though a smile playing on her face. She was screaming, pretty much. And cussing. A lot.

“I read up on it,” I say, calming down a bit, “It's because you're getting a tattoo over scar tissue,”

“Yeah? I guess that makes sense, it healed, and now you're damaging it again, right?”

I nod. The silence is only a little awkward. Though, we are saved when RJ comes up and tells us it's time to go on.

”Calvin!” my mother screams at me, “Who was that dumb broad that was here before?”

Oh, great. She's sober, “Oh, that was Marcee,” I reply, not taking enough time to come up with a good lie.

“Marcee?” she seethes, “Why did you let her in?”

“She said she knew you,” I say.

“I do know her,” she says, voice still at a hiss, “But that doesn't mean I want to see her,” she gets very close to me. So close I think she might hit me.

“I need a drink,” she sighs, backing off and heading to the kitchen.

“Kid,” mom's new guy says sternly, from the hallway, “Don't make your mother stress out like that,” he says.

I know I shouldn't talk back, that it will only get me hurt, but I can't help it, “Why do you get to tell me what to do?” I snap. All the things I've wanted to say to my mother's boyfriends, to my own father, even, just pour out on my mouth. I can't stop the words, and I can't filter them out.

I don't even know what I'm saying. I'm pretty sure that I'm cussing.

His face is twisting with more and more anger by the second.

“DON'T SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT!” he roars, shutting me up, “You better watch your mouth, you little bastard.” he stalks over to me, and picks me up by the collar of my shirt.

“I'll give you one more chance,” he says, his foul breath filling my nostrils, “Say you're sorry, and I can forgive you,”

I don't want to say sorry, so I don't. Instead, I spit. Right in his eye.

He beats me, after that. I don't care, I'm used to it. It seems like every time I speak to these men, I get hit. What I do care about, though, is RJ.

He steps in, begging him to stop hurting me. I try to say that it doesn't hurt, but I am choking on my own blood. He hits RJ instead.

I didn't forgive myself for a long time after that. RJ had a broken leg, and it was my fault. If I had just held my tongue, he would have been fine.

I wouldn't have had ten of my teeth knocked out, either. But, that didn't matter to me. Just RJ, I didn't care if I was hurt, or even dead. I would do anything for RJ, even if it means that I wouldn't be around anymore. If it meant RJ would be okay, I wouldn't care what the cost, then I'd do anything I could just to get it.

Just before our third song, and after the introductions, I catch RJ from the corner of my eye. He's smiling, a huge smile that only comes when he's excited, or extremely happy.

Who would have thought that the price of RJ's happiness was something I could enjoy as well?