Chapter 1-Untitled
It was a dismal and rather puny establishment. Walking around with my arms crossed and my nose in the air, my brain fizzled at the thought of this shell of a building actually becoming my new home. Wherever we were, it was far from Chicago, and the life my mother had chosen to leave behind us.
“Timothy, stop sulking” my mother pinched my arm, “your attitude has got to stop”. She glared at me with disdain, and spoke with her lips moving, but her teeth gritting; a rather terrifying look for an eight year old to gaze upon. It was the kind of look that warned you’re gonna get it later you little shit. The type of look that made you look away, and sometimes maybe quiver your lip and scrunch your eyebrows to look ashamed, but let them know you were angry about it. It shocked me when she was like this because of her naturally loving and kind nature, like any typical mother would have for their only child. My Mother only wanted what was best for us and our new future and she never deserved the treatment I gave her that long and dragged out afternoon.
Tiffany, our realtor, paraded around in her fancy heals, clicking and clacking, not paying attention to the fact that I was being disobedient in nearly every way manageable for a young boy. She wore a bright baby pink blazer with a matching pencil skirt that made her look doll like. Her pin-curls were almost too perfect, her smile was huge and fake, and she wore enough makeup to frighten small dogs away and make the big ones bark. This woman was a ditz, and thief, and I had nothing to prove to her but my sheer dislike for her helping us move away from the place I found so familiar and fond to my heart. It seemed as if she stole my life away from me and she could care less as long as she was paid off. Tiffany barely knew us and in my heart I felt she had no right to do her job. “Built in the 1920’s, this house is quite literally the perrrfeecctt fixer upper. It’s also a little dated, but I personally think it’s vintage”, the gawking liar recited as if she had practiced the two most cliché selling points for this dingy and dirty little shack. If by fixer upper she meant “about to fall apart” and vintage by “the cobwebs have been here for ages”, then yeah she’d be quite accurate. Sadly, this was just the observation I had done from the outside of the house and most unfortunately I could already tell my mother was absolutely in an inseparable love with it. My mother had an adornment for things that held sort of a historical and nostalgic heir to them. If the house had been kept in good conditions it might have been cozy at the very least. It was a two bedroom one bath model that had screamed independence for a single mother and her child. To me it held much promise of chore filled summers and the grand title of the weird new kid’s house. I could already hear the kids at school whispering about me. It didn’t necessarily draw me away, but I definitely wasn’t pleased by our surrounding area as well. The driveway was long, just about a mile, and was surrounded by trees sprinkled with burnt red and orange autumn leaves. Let’s just say it wasn’t the stoop I was used to hanging out on surrounded by my neighborhood buddies and the comforting sounds and smells of Chicago life. This was just too solitary. There wasn’t even animals around.
“I just feel like if you put a cute little picket fence around the perimeter of the house and a maybe a little tire swing on one of these trees for Johnny here, it would just feel right at home”, Tiffany squealed again while itching and rubbing the insides of her palms. I looked at her squinting an evil squint. She knew I was smart and maybe a little more intuitive than your average eight year old. Her pupils fixed on me and suddenly she seemed a little more devious than ditzy. I pushed my glasses up and peered at her caressing her palms and it reminded me of something my pop once told me. “When you itch the insides of your palms it means you’re about to make some cash bud”, it was as if he was saying it to me right then and there. As if he knew Tiffany was about to send my mother into spiraling debt, with the single swipe of a pen. As if he knew my life was about to take the turn of a lifetime. He said that to me as if it was to teach me some sort of lesson. I’ll never forget it. I thought he had to of known about the move, but unfortunately he didn’t and I had forced that moment to be etched in my mind forever. I could picture his shabby, dirty clothes, yet adoringly handsome features. Pop was an all-around heartthrob and my Mother would look at me and sigh because she thought I was undoubtedly his “spittin’ Image”. He had always looked at me as if he had done something right in the world and loved on me as if I was his greatest achievement. Sadly though, my Father was trouble and my Mother had experienced the brunt of it. Even though, through the little I had experienced (but knew quite a bit of) I still yearned for him to save me from this dreary move. I wanted him to ride up the narrow driveway on a chopper with the sunlight hitting him in such a way that he’d almost look god like. I wanted him to scoop his arms around me, make a u-turn and say “SCIANARA LADIES” and he’d tickle me and then say “Common bud, let’s go grub some”. I wanted my mom to say “Wait boys, not without me”, then ride off into the sunset with us to the nearest diner. But here I was, waiting, wishing, and wanting. I never received, in fact, I would never see my father after the day we’d left. It had only been a mere two weeks since my mother claimed he’d “ditched us for a life of bad doings”, but speaking from where I am now I could tell you I would never see him again. For the time being (so I’d thought), he had been exchanged for Tiffany and her pink press on nails (batteries and the capacity for human empathy not included).
“My name is Timothy”, I almost hissed at the realtor while clutching my mother’s hand and scowling from behind her hip. “Well isn’t that your brother’s name?” “I’m the only kid we got, lady.”
Tiffany’s plastic smile arose once more and alarmed to my mother: beat his little ass, later. Please and thank you. As for my mother, the glare she gave me earlier and turned into a snarl that had been hidden by her soft fingertips digging into the bags under her tired eyes.
“Tim, go play please.” “BUT MA, There’s nobody to play wi…” “I’m NOT asking young man. GO. PLAY.”
My lip started to quiver, I scrunched my eyebrows, and I quite literally stomped away into the leaf smothered outskirts. As I marched off into the unknown and heard my mom continuing to mumble to Tiffany.
“You’ll have to forgive my son, he’s going through a bit of a sour spell right now. The reason why I inquired about this property was because I’m without his father now, and it’s something within my budget. We’re going through a divorce you see, and it’s nearly Timmy’s birthday. His father is unfortunately his knight in shining armor and won’t be around. He doesn’t really know the extent of the trouble his father caused us”, my Mother tried to appeal to her feelings hoping Tiffany wouldn’t take her back and assume she was unfit to own the house. “He’s daaarrling, I honestly wouldn’t have been able to tell if you hadn’t said anything. Don’t fret! Now where was I”? Tiffany tried to sound as little concerned as she possibly could about the issue. Not that she even did in the first place.
Even from 100 feet or so away I could smell, hear, and look right through, her phoniness. I saw through it like night-vision. I had phony-vision. This woman was despicable. I think my Mother knew it as well, but was in a time of desperation. She waddled her hips around the parameter of the property and started showing my mother the little tool shed just to the right of the house: Oh-so conveniently placed. I stuck my tongue out in secret, as every child does, pretending the enemy sees them when really they’re nowhere near. “Screw you”, I said under my breath. I heard my Dad say it once, I felt like his rightful child doing so myself; even though I didn’t know it wasn’t anything more than something grownups say when they’re mad. I kicked some rocks and scuffed my feet towards the side yard and into what had to be my new backyard. It was a fairly large dirt plot and the fence was the thick forest that perfectly squared it off. Just across from the forest was the house and unto my knowledge it’s newly discovered back porch. You could tell it was of age, and by that I mean of old age, nearly 50 years. The year to date was 1972 and apparently it had been built right before the great depression reeked it’s havoc on America. The wood was partially rotted and the white paint peeled and chipped in spots. I waltzed through the dirt, still scuffing my feet and picking up dust and found myself at the first step of the porch.
The porch looked like the old family dog that needed to be put down. Strangely, my stomach began to flutter and my mouth salivated as if I was about to throw up. As I placed my foot onto the back porch it eerily enough groaned and creaked, but this was definitely to be expected. Up the stairs and to the right was the side of the porch covered by an awning that protected an old washer and dryer from sun damage and rainy days. Besides the washer and dryer, and what initially had intrigued me to slyly go up these steps though, was a back door. I had never had a backdoor before, nor had I ever had a backyard for that matter. This all felt like a giant secret, like it had to be hidden from mother. I felt as if it was troublesome of me to inspect it whatsoever. For some odd reason though, it intrigued me and almost was favorite part about this whole move. My foot raised towards the second step and the house “ERRRRAAAAAAAKEDDD”. Something I suppose I was supposed to get used to. Hopefully it wouldn’t kill me at some point. I decided I should get a move on and to the best of my ability crept up the rest of the steps quickly, ignoring the now fast and sharp shrieking noises the steps made. It penetrated my eardrums with such an awfully loud noise that my teeth began to grit like when someone scrapes a fork on a plate. I was utterly amazed my mother hadn’t come peeling around the corner to yell “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” Being that she hadn’t, I pressed on.
White and chipped and matching the rest of the house, the door seemed to tower over me, even though I was still about 5 feet away from it. I placed my very tippy toes oh so carefully to make only the smallest shriek, and strangely it didn’t make one single sound. It was as if I stepping barefoot on linoleum. Soft and silent, almost squishy, definitely moldable kind of like a runners track. I double checked the surrounding porch to make sure this wasn’t just a result of molded and rotted wood because I wasn’t about to plunder through it into rotten wood hell. The porch itself freaked me out, I didn’t want to know what might lay beneath it. An eight year old mind could wander very far with just the simple thought. I scanned my surroundings and the wood seemed dry and completely intact everywhere, nothing to worry about but my stomach still fluttered uncontrollably.
As I often did I let my mind begin to drift off and I began to wonder if birds lived in our stomachs. When they sensed danger did they tried to escape our bodies? If that was the case, mine wanted out NOW. I then tried to imagine it as a brave hawk that merely flapped its wings to show how big and powerful it was to the animal kingdom. It’s talons and feathers were far marvelous in stature and no door would stop it in its tracks. Nothing could frighten it. I took a step closer. Then something else clicked, something that I hadn’t noticed before, but was now completely and utterly apparent. It was something that slightly enraged me, but still gave me some sort of the heeby-jeebies. There was a light, that was on inside. Florescent and full, it beamed from the undercrack of the door and was just in near reach of my toes. It flickered once or twice, then would beam again bright and brilliant. “Did mom go in without me?” Just the notion of the thought made me feel left out and pissed off. How dare she? What kind of mom is she? Doesn’t she want my opinion? I took a step closer and the light flickered again. It reminded me of a chuckle or a hiccup. Laughing and choking on it’s spit at the site of my 8 year old face scrunched up and peeved as I stewed over the thought of my mom not caring about me anymore. “She probably doesn’t care about anybody but herself anymore. That’s why dad’s not here. She probably only needs me because I can do all the chores and take care of her when she’s a gross old lady.” These were the things I said to myself as I wiped a single tear from my soft and mushy cheeks. My blonde hair got in my eyes and I removed my thick specks from my face and rubbed it furiously on my green winter coat. I then looked at disgust at the snot and tear stain I just imprinted on my favorite jacket. Flickering, lot’s of flickering. I straightened myself out and the hawk inside me cawed loud and proud. I reached for the door knob thinking I was about to bust into the house and show her that she SHOULD care. My fingertips gripped the cold brass knob and suddenly my mom came wheeling around the corner of the house almost tripping on her boots.
“Hey bud, Common we’re gonna take a peek inside now!” “but… but weren’t you… insi-…”, she had scared me so bad I could hardly say a word. I was so flabbergasted that I couldn’t breathe. My chest started to puff up and down.
“Common Timmy! Aren’t you excited? I haven’t looked yet, let’s go!”
Well, wasn’t that a change of attitude? She went from scolding and nagging like a mad mother hen to replicating what felt and looked like a giddy school girl on her way to prom. I was still confused, and looked out of sorts and my mother booked it back to the front of the house. She Mus’nt keep Tiffany waiting! My fingers still on the cold knob and my eyes now looking straight at the door I decided to go and join her and leave the backyard to itself. I lowered my head a little and took a deep breath. I imagined my dad patting me on the shoulder. “It’s okay bud, common your momma’s waitin’”. When I opened my eyes and I rubbed them with my other clean sleeve. Tiffany and my mom were out front, I could hear them now boasting and laughing over some commodity in pop news. I turned around a little nervous to show my back to the door. Was there just some faulty wiring in the house? I heard push of a light switch. The light flicked off and my toes were now coated in the shadow of the house in the setting sun.
