Scattered

Crash!

Snapping my eyes open, I jumped to my feet and pulled a fresh pair of grey jeans on as I practically cartwheeled down my staircase. I ran down the hallway and peeked into my mother’s study, the bathroom, and then her bedroom. When she appeared in neither, I ran toward the kitchen. “Mother?”

She looked up from her spot on the ground, her legs tucked under her as she started to pick up shards of a broken Tigger mug. She had tears in her eyes and her lip between her teeth. It took me a moment to understand why the broken mug depressed her so much until I stared at her and the shards, piecing together the problem.

“It was his favorite mug.” She sobbed outright, her shaky hands reaching out to grab the broken glass.
I dropped to my knees, swept the hazardous glass from her grip, and wrapped my arms around her. I kissed her cheek and she went limp into my form. “Hush, mother. There, don’t cry.”

“Oh, Micah!” she sobbed as she gripped my bare chest and tried even more to cling to me. Slowly, I scooped her up and held her close and tightly. For a woman of her age, she was so slender and petite, so childlike and innocent. I shudder at the thought of what would happen to her if I wasn’t around to wipe her mouth.

I pulled us up to our feet a couple minutes later, when her sobs ceased. I pressed my hand to cheek and wiped her eyes dry. “So much more beautiful without tears, mother.”

A smile twitched at her lips as I grabbed another mug from the shelf and poured some coffee for her, making it just the way she liked before I made myself one as well. Before I sat down and joined her, I made two English muffins for us, butter and jam.

“You take such good care of me.” Mother whispered into the quiet air, the only other sound was the toaster heating and cooking the English muffins.

I looked up at her as I prepared her food and then brought it back to her. The only answer she’d receive from me was a peck to the crown of her head. “What would I do without you?”

I paused when I got back to the counter. I didn’t reply until the toaster popped and I’d successfully pulled them from their enticingly hot confines. Even though my response was the utter truth, I added a bounce of humor to my voice. “I shudder to think.”

“Me too.” She muttered while looking away from me as she mindlessly ate her muffin.

“So, are you going to miss him?” I asked after I finished my food and sipped at the still-too-hot coffee.

A sigh of longing, or perhaps it was of relief, escaped her lips as she lifted the mug and glugged half of its contents. “That wasn’t the first time he’d done that. I’m just good at hiding things from you.”

“I guess so.” I replied indignantly. She couldn’t fool me. I’d seen the outlines of his greasy fingers through her cover-up.

Quickly, she reached beside herself and traced her fingers up the hundreds of vines crisscrossing and weaving around each other that covered up my arms until she had hers around me. She whispered through her fright, “Don’t be angry with me.”

Smoothing my fingers through her grimy hair, I whispered slowly, thoughtfully. “Go shower, mother. Get ready for work. I’ll clean up the mess on the floor.”

She nodded, pecking my cheek before she left the kitchen without so much as glancing at the broken mug. I waited until she gathered her clothes and headed into the bathroom before I dropped my head into my hands. My fingers kneaded my eyes; the heel of my hands rubbed my cheeks until my head stopped swimming with thoughts of Micah, Reese, and my errant mother.

Sighing, I moved from my seat, cleaned up the broken glass, and then put our dirty dishes in the dishwasher. “How tedious.” I muttered.

Silently, I went to my spiral stairs and climbed them. I had my own bathroom and study up stairs. We’d turned my old bedroom into mother’s home office, I claimed Micah’s old room, and then I’d turned Reese’s room into my own studio/rec room.

I grabbed a few articles of clothing and moved toward the bathroom. I did the bare minimum and got out quickly. I grabbed my trench coat and my guitar case with my guitar safely stowed away, and headed down the stairs to the kitchen.

There she was, wearing a white pin-stripe button-up and dark grey dress pants. She smiled at me and turned her back to me slowly. I knew what she was silently asking for. I walked over to her and combed her hair back, slowly twirling her hair into a loose braid. The way her hair curled, it made it so much easier to turn it in so it didn’t stick out awkwardly.

“There you go, beautiful.” I smiled as I patted her shoulders and walked around her to grab my black messenger bag.

When I turned and looked at her once more, she was frowning, her eyes downcast. I reached toward her, but she held a hand up. “What’s wrong, mother?”

“I’m so sorry.” She sniffled and grabbed her arm, dropping her defenses. “I’m so sorry for everything I do to you. You don’t deserve this. You deserve a regular, normal, functioning mother. Not me.”

My hands framed her cheeks as I angled her head up to look into my dark eyes. My head shook slowly. “Mother, no. I would never trade you for the world, never, ever. Please, never think that ever again.”

Her hands touched my chest and my cheek as tears pooled in her eyes. “But I’ve abused you! I’ve hurt you physically and emotionally. I’ve scarred your beautiful face and I’ve bruised your chest. How can you still love me?”

After fights like we had last night when words were spewed and claws were literally drawn, she always had this conversation with me to ease her tormented insecurities that formed when my father left us three years ago. Micah was lucky enough to leave for battle four months later, leaving me to deal with our manic, drunken, depressed mother.

My fingers combed down the lining of her jaw as I smiled sadly at her. My hands framed her cheeks once more as I drew her closer, holding her with the love that she required. “I’ll heal, mother. I always do.”

I pulled back after a couple of minutes and wiped her cheeks once more, pecking her forehead. “I’ll see you when you get home from work.”

“Mama loves you, Quin.” She whispered softly, her voice hoarse and tender as I turned and walked out the door.

“I know.”

__________

Per taking the railroad tracks to school, I again studiously avoided human contact with people. That only lasted as long as a blissful moment truly could, though. The school came into view after twenty minutes of walking and the second I stepped onto the ground, everyone stilled and turned toward me. Their expressions were complete with wide eyes and mouths hanging open in ignorance to my feelings.

I looked around at them and pushed my sunglasses higher on my nose, adjusting my guitar case on my shoulder as my boots scuffed loose gravel. As I passed a younger kid who openly gawked at me with an innocently doe-eyed expression, I grabbed his shirt front and reeled him in toward me.

“You’ve got a problem kid? I don’t know if you know this, but I’m not one to be fucked with.”

Before he could even reply to me, someone shoved me forward and I skipped to catch my fall, saving myself from going down. When I swung on my foot, I saw Taylor Johnson standing with his football arms crossed tightly over his chest. Slowly, I took a long, heaving drag of my cigarette, blew it in his face, and watched him try to hold his breath so he didn’t inhale the death scent. It was all I could really do to repay the kind exchange.

His hand waved back and forth in his face, fanning the smoke spirals away from him. “What’s your problem, dipshit?”

“Excuse me?” I piqued. My eyebrow shot high on my forehead and out of the confines of me sunglasses.

He nodded once and stepped around me, patting the younger kid’s arm. “Don’t worry about him, Shaun. He’s just wound up because his mommy didn’t take care of him last night.”

I stepped forward and shoved the contours of his hard, defined back. He tripped forward and turned to look at me. I jabbed a menacing finger at him and growled, “Don’t you ever talk about my mother.”

Now, it was his turn to shoot his eyebrow up high on his forehead. A howling laughter moved through his lips as he looked around at the people surrounding us. “What? You pissed because she didn’t suck you off last night?”

I stepped forward again and shoved him hard in the chest, the wince in his eyes let me know that it really was with bruising force. I echoed, “Don’t you ever talk about my mother.”

He grinned and looked down at the ground. His eyes found mine through the shades of my sunglasses, the grin turned intimidating. “It’s like a double-whammy. First, she gets you drunk, and then she fucks you.”

My blood was bubbling, my chest was heaving with quick, shallow breaths as my hands curled into clenching, white-knuckled fists. My anger level was rising to infinity and beyond, I didn’t know how much longer I could control it. I started to say something crafty and smart, but all that left my lips were growls and barely understandable threats.

He stepped forward and pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket. “I heard from a couple friends of mine that she’s good at what she does. Mind giving her my number? Does she make house calls?”

I shot forward the small step and slammed my fist downward into his face; the fingers on my opposite hand closed around his shirt and held him upright. I slammed my fist down against his face another five times.

In between each punch, I screamed with a brutal war cry, “Don’t. Ever. Talk. About. My mother!”

I pushed him over and kicked him hard in the stomach as tears welled heavily in my eyes, a voice-shattering wail left my lips next. “Do you hear me now?”

I was hauled away from Taylor then, three pairs of hands pulled me back from him as I tried to shake them off. I wanted to kill this football all-star. I wanted his death on my hands. I struggled and ripped my arms up and down and forward to loosen their hold, but they wouldn’t budge. Slowly, my knees gave out and the loose gravel dug deep into my jeans and prodded at my flesh.

When I finally opened my eyes, I saw tinted olive green eyes through my sunglasses. The disheveled light brown hair looked shiny through the tints and he had a weary smile attached to his lips. Drew just stared at me for a few seconds before asking slowly, “Are you back?”

I dragged my hands toward my face and discreetly wiped under my eyes and nodded once. “Yeah.” I said gruffly, “I’m back.”

He patted my cheek lightly a couple times before he stood up and nodded to the teachers holding me back. They loosened their grip slowly and helped me stand up before releasing me completely.

“Come on, Quin.” Mr. Malone said tersely.

I looked at Drew, who smiled encouragingly at me, “I’ll just see you after class, bro.”

Mr. Malone and Mr. Davis escorted me to Principal Jones office. Class hadn’t even begun yet, it was sad to think that I was already in this man’s office. It was big and spacious, finely furnished, and smelled far too clean. Neither of the two teachers left me in the room by myself, whether by way of making sure that I made it back to class after this, or because they wanted to be a part of the conversation at some point.

“What happened? Why are you in my office so early? It’s not even second hour yet. Hell, it’s not even first hour yet.” Principal Jones quipped.

I rubbed the back of my neck with an abashed expression pulling over my features. “I got into a fight with Taylor Johnson.”

“A fight?” he echoed, brow raised high on his face as his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

I nodded slowly, “A really bad fight.”

“I see.” He weighed his words as they flowed from his tongue. “Did he break anything?”

“I hope so.” I said far too quickly, but I didn’t care, it was the truth.

“I see.” Mr. Jones said once more, his voice exaggerating the sentence. A knowing sigh left his lips as his hand pressed against his shaking head. “I’m going to have to expel you, Quin. You’ve really pushed my limits.”

My face fell grave as I jumped to my feet, my hands held out in defense. I felt my breathing turn erratic as my head swam with escape routes. “Please, Mr. Jones! There has to be something – anything!”

“I can’t, Quin. You messed up big this time.” He said with defeat, his young eyes looked old and tired with the new information to process.

“There has to be something.” Mr. Malone, my savor, my only ally within these walls, piped from behind me. “I’d vouch for him instantly. Anything.”

“Paul, there’s nothing he can do. This is his fourth fight this school year. We’re only two months in, for God’s sake! What could he possibly do to clean his act up? I’ve given him community service, I’ve made him go to detentions, and I’ve lectured him. What else can I do?”

Mr. Malone looked around the room and rested his eyes on an object that I couldn’t figure from where I stood. A bright smile pulled up his mouth into an unfathomable grin. “The retreat this weekend, Sparrow Tompson will be there, right?” Mr. Jones nodded. “They get paired up there, don’t they?” again, another nod. “I’ll see to it myself that she’s paired up with him. If anyone can clean this boy’s act up, I know it’s her.”

After a moment of thinking through the notion, Mr. Jones held his hand out, “You’ve got a deal, Paul. Quin, you clean your act up noticeably by Monday and you’ve got a spot on our roster.”

“Sparrow Tompson?” I said with disdain, my eyes glancing between both men. “The Preacher’s daughter?”