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Austin used to be such a sweet little boy, always wanting to help me in some capacity, always shadowing me. But as he grew more and more into a teenager, it has been a struggle to keep him away from the back streets of Boston. The older he gets, the more defiant he becomes. I used to be able to keep him in line by threatening him with Child Services. I lost count of how many times I said, “If you don’t behave, Austin, they will take you from me.”
Now though, he is almost eighteen; the threat has become obsolete. He knows he will soon be of legal age, and my guardianship over him will end. So, he skips school on a regular basis, hangs out with the wrong kind of kids, and gives little regard for my rules. It honestly frightens me, and I don’t know how to stop it.
I look at the clock on the kitchen wall and hurry to pack away my most prized possession, my Nikon d5600 camera. A little over twelve months ago, I enrolled in the Community College in a photography course and bought the cheapest professional camera I could afford. Even still, it’s second-hand, but it works.
I finished the course in six months and have been a freelance photographer ever since. Some weeks are better than others with work coming in. Bar mitzvahs, christenings, and birthday parties take up most of my weekends. Then during the week, I work as a waitress at Barlo’s Diner to supplement my photography income.
I’m not experienced enough to be doing bigger gigs like weddings and such, which is what pays the bigger dollars. Yet, I have been lucky enough on a few occasions though to be at the right place at the right time to snap a few celebrities and have sold my pictures to some press companies. I like to create art from my photographs and on the weekends when I have no bookings. I head down to the markets to try and sell some of my work.
As I grab my jacket and keys off the kitchen table ready to leave for work, Austin walks through the front door startling me. It’s six in the morning, and he is just getting home? Right away, I feel guilty for not checking in on him last night before I went to bed. I didn’t even realize he wasn’t home.
“Hey,” he mumbles as he pulls off his jacket.
“Hey yourself,” I reply, arching my brows at him. “Where the hell have you been?”
“You didn’t even know I wasn’t here. Otherwise, you would have called me. So don’t pretend like you care all of a sudden.”
“Austin!” I chastise him. “That's not the point, and why the hell do you think I bust my ass working all the time if I didn’t care?” I try to defend myself, but it feels pathetic. “You could have at least called or texted me. You have school today. Have you even slept at all?”
“Jesus, Indie, I was only at Joe’s. Don’t have a tantrum.”
“Joe Caponi?” I shake my head at him. “You're not helping yourself by telling me that, Austin. You know I don't like that kid; he’s trouble from head to toe.”
My brother brushes past me and walks towards his room as he ‘pfts’ at me and remarks, “Like you would know what he is like.”
“I knew his brother, Kyle. I went to school with him. And do you know where he is now, Austin? He’s in prison, and that is exactly where you will end up too if you keep hanging out with Joe. He is just like his brother.”
“Well, then what are you worried about? You would have one less mouth to feed and wouldn’t have to...” He put his hands up gesturing quotation marks. “Bust your ass working all the time.” He turns around and continues to his room, slamming the door behind him.
I let out a long-exhausted breath, and tears prickle my eyes. Every day I feel defeated. Every day lately is a battle with him. I don’t know what to do with him. I have no clue what I am doing. I’ve been parenting blindly. Just trying to keep a roof over our heads takes up all my time. I can clearly see the path he is heading down and feel so helpless. I just don’t know how to stop him.
Chapter Three
Indie
I HANG UP MY APRON and stamp my timesheet. This diner is so ancient that it still uses the push button tills and has the same docket system they used back in the seventies. My hair smells like fries and ketchup as I loosen it from its tightly wound bun and throw my apron in the laundry bin.
Leah, one of the other waitresses, sits in one of the booths counting her tips with a tired and disappointed expression.
“It was a quiet day,” I say, sitting down next to her.
Leah throws her tips on the table to show me. “Yeah, it seems like every day lately has been quiet. This week's tips are bordering on non-existent.”
“I know. I was counting on them this week to pay my gas bill, as I don’t have any work booked this weekend.” I brush my face with my hands feeling hopeless.
“Hey, I’m waitressing at a function this weekend for my uncle’s catering business. I know he was looking for more girls, and he pays cash. I could see if I could get you in?”
“Really? That would be great if you could. It would help me out so much.”
“Sure thing.” Leah gets out her phone and starts texting. Almost immediately, she receives a message back. “You're in. You’ll need to be at the Encore, Boston Harbour at four on Saturday. There’s a staff section outback, and the uniform is supplied.”
“Thank you so much, Leah. You have no idea how much I need this right now.”
“Don't mention it.” Leah gets up from the booth. “See you Saturday.'' She starts to leave but stops at the door. “Oh, and, Indie...'' She takes a slow look over me, her eyebrows pinched, her lips undecided whether to smile or frown. “Wear make-up.”
“Got it.” I brush off her indirect insult and wave goodbye.
By the time I get home, it’s dark, and the crisp night air has set in. I am not surprised to see no lights on inside our apartment. Austin is not home, again. I pour myself a glass of milk and flop down on the sofa, imagining it is a wine glass filled with expensive champagne. Except, I can’t afford champagne or a wine glass to put it in.
