Drabble prompt! Middle of the night (askidsyo)
;; deathlessxdusk
It’s pitch black in the room. It’s always pitch black when they’re going to sleep. With the floor pressing into the mattress. He can see the shapes of light from passing by cars on the ceiling. Richie is the one who makes shapes. Sometimes he draws shapes. Seth feels like Richie knows a lot. And that he knows very little. He knows that it’s dark, that they were supposed to be asleep an hour ago, that dad is out in the living room watching tv, getting drunk, and that mom isn’t ever going to be making a surprise visit any time soon. It’s all routine. Like a bad habit that no one can kick. Except he won’t get to thinking of it like that for another couple of years. Right now it’s just every day. It’s dads tradition, it’s Richie making dinner in that microwave Uncle Eddie bought. It’s every day.
Richie isn’t sleeping. He won’t get his fifty winks until the flicker under the bedroom door goes off. Or they hear ‘the thud”. The title of when dad’s bottle hits the ground. Thud. And then there’s a roll, a groan that says his dad is out for the night. That’s when Richie lays down and tries at them fifty winks. Uncle Eddie’s girlfriend called it that that one night she had come on over to baby sit the two of them. It was two years ago. Two days shy of Richie’s seventh birthday. Birthdays were counted by each other. And sometimes scrap money got them something.
Or dad would play a game. Richie had to figure something out. Seth would have to clean the gun. Dad talked about mom when he was drunk. He had mumbled something in the hollow dark one time after he had dragged Seth outta bed and wrapped his hand around his throat. Richie was so damn good at figuring things out Seth was alive. Richie called him the ‘nine lives son of a bitch’. But that was only to get him to laugh.
Richie was good at making things better. Richie was good at everything. And watching was learning. Like the shapes on the ceiling. Like what noises to listen for. Richie figured everything out.
Sometimes when they were waiting like this. Richie always knew he was waiting up with him even if he was supposed to be sleeping. Sometimes he would ask him some questions. Just some things. Small things. He’d ask him who he thought would win the World Series. And Richie would always be close to right. He’d ask him if he was scared of the movie they just saw. And Richie would say Geckos weren’t scared of nothing.
And it was kinda funny when he thought about it. Because it was true, wasn’t it? Seth could only remember being scared of his dad. But that was different. Richie never told him it was. He never mentioned that he was scared at all.
The flicker was still on. But the thud came to the ground. Now that he was aware of it he couldn’t unhear it. Richie was right. But that was something he knew that he was gonna get used to. Sometimes they fought about that. The time they broke the lamp in their bed room and Seth got one of the few black eyes that wasn’t from their old man. Richie had said he’d fix it. It was an abstract version of it now. But dad hadn’t noticed yet.
The thud zoned out now. And Seth is looking at Richie because he’s not lying down. He’s looking right at him. And he can see that he’s reaching for his glasses on the shelf. He doesn’t say anything. He gets out of the bed. And it’s quiet. Richie was more practiced in the art of being quiet. Silent foot fall on the carpet. And then he sat on the edge of the bed.
“Get up, Seth. I know you’re awake.”
“I’m asleep.”
“Come on, you piece of shit, or I’ll leave you here.”
Laughing he sat up and Rich sets his hand on his shoulder. It’s an assuring press. And he knows what it means. Because they’re going to go out there. And he’s not really scared, is he? Not if Richie was there. Because it’s impossible if Richie is there. He knows that he has his back. And that he’s got Richie’s back. And it’s always gonna be that way. It’s gonna be them and they’ll have each others back.
“Alright. Alright.”
And he gets out of bed. His eyes are already adjusted to the dark. The dark is cold. But that’s okay. Everything is cold. Another part of every day. Microwave dinners are every day. Sometimes they burn on the edges. That’s Seth’s favorite part. The smell of the oil dad has him use to clean the guns is every day. And Richie knows the rhythm of the clocks on the wall. Everything is gonna be every day until they’re a little bit older.
Uncle Eddie sometimes asks a lot of questions about every day. But he’s not around all too much. Dad makes him leave early. And Seth knows that Rich doesn’t want him to go. But Seth doesn’t care much. Not right now. Because he has dad and Richie, and the questions about mom. But he knows not to ask about that around dad. Because dad has a shit fit. He tosses shit around and tells them the story that Seth has memorized and Richie can recite if he wants to.
Every. Single. Damn. Day.
“What are we doing?”
“We can run away.”
A beat. Pause. Quiet. Serious? Seth laughs instead. So does Richie. And a little later they’ll call it the busted joke. But then it’s not too funny when dad is dead. When every day is different. It’s especially not funny that one time Seth couldn’t walk all too good. And Richie was pacing the room in a flurry of curses, not taking much notice to the nice shiner turning all sorts of colors on his left cheek.
Jokes are only funny if you forget the tag along shit. That’s something Uncle Eddie told him once. And it’s true. Because the stuff Uncle Eddie says is always true. He’s got a knack like Richie for being. Frustrating as shit. But there’s a secret he keeps. Seth don’t know where it wasn’t that way.
“That tape I got for a nickel is just collecting dust. Dad’s dead when he’s drunk. Let’s watch it.”
And that sounded like the best damned thing either of them could do.
The plan is laid out by Richie, in a calm and certain voice. And all Seth has to do is nod along. He knows that. Nod along and then follow along. Simple as that. Simple as apple pie and ice cream. He knows that it has some fancy as shit name but he can’t remember it.
The plan does work. Of course it does. And they’re sitting there until two o’ clock in the morning. Switching out the new tape for an old one. That was a dime. But the nickel one feels like it’s a hell of a lot better. Maybe because Richie’s nickel is outta Old Man Tim’s jar across the hall. And it feels almost satisfying, this kinda survival.
