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“Taylor,” I heard my father call from across the street. I looked to see him hoisting up two bags of fertilizer and throwing it in the back of the truck.
“Coming, Daddy,” I shouted, taking my eyes back to the strange boy on the street.
“Taylor,” he said, grinning. “I’m Lazarus, but you can call me Laz.”
“Okay,” I said quickly. “I have to go, bye.” I handed him my remaining soda, which had only a sip left, and he smiled at me.
“See ya,” he said a few beats after I started to walk away. I looked back over my shoulder and saw he was still smiling, so I gave him a small smile back. Deep down, I hoped he really didn’t think I look like a circus clown because I lied when I said he was the ugliest boy I’d ever seen.
I got back into the truck with my father and slammed the door hard like he taught me so it didn’t open suddenly like it had the last few times I’d ridden in it.
“See you met our new neighbor’s kid.” I looked up at him curiously. My father and I rarely spoke. My new neighbors were news in this town. No one ever chose to live in Dyer. The nearest house to ours was nearly half a mile away and was a little more run down than our farmhouse.
“Yeah, his name is Laz. He bought me a soda.”
“Laz, huh? Odd name.” I nodded, not knowing if he saw me. That was the last we spoke as we made the fifteen minute drive home.
The following week, I saw Laz with a brand new Huffy riding down the dirt road toward my house. The moment I saw him, I couldn’t explain the amount of pride I felt for him. He was the first person I’d ever met that actually did what he said he was going to. I ran to meet him just as he cornered my driveway.
“You got one!” I said in sheer delight as he smiled at me proudly.
“Told you I would,” he said, catching his breath.
“You want me to wash it now?” I asked as he put down the kickstand.
“Nah, some other time.” He studied me for a long minute before he looked back at the bike.
“No one in our school has one,” I said, “except for Lucy Hardin. She has everything.” I snorted in disgust. “Her parents own half the town. I can’t stand her.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to beg him to let me try to ride it, but I knew better.
Laz studied me for a moment before piping up. “You going to let me come in and see your room?”
I took a step back and shook my head. I hadn’t even thought of the fact that he shouldn’t be here. I was reminded when my mother’s shriek interrupted my thoughts.
“Taylor, get your ass back into this house!” I jumped when the screen slammed shut and winced when I saw the shock on Laz’s face. My mother weighed less than a hundred pounds and was a horrific sight with deeply etched pockmarks cove
ring her face and her signature out of control dark red hair. She had once been a beautiful and voluptuous woman from what I gathered from my father, who to this day still bowed down to her every whim.
“Who the hell is this?” she seethed as she took a step down from the porch. “You the new neighbor?”
Laz nodded, still assessing my mother’s looks, and remaining silent. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to be here, boy? Didn’t anyone warn you away? Go on…get.”
Laz nodded again and turned to me, a deep sadness in his features. Somehow, he knew then that my mother was the bane of my existence, and I nodded in reply. He simply said, “I’m going,” then got on his bike and left.
I turned to my mother just as she lifted the glass pipe to her mouth and sat down on the top step. She’d never made any effort to hide her addiction, and I prayed Laz wouldn’t look back to witness her taking a hit.
“That boy is trouble for you, and I better not see him again, got me?” She exhaled a steady stream of chemicals as Amber screamed from the kitchen.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said grudgingly.
“Get inside. You know we have things to do.”
I nodded, picked a rag out of the bucket then I stepped into the house. The house we lived in was spotless, but on a daily basis, she made it her mission to soil every single rag we had with cleaning. Her addiction drove her to madness as my father kept to the fields, ignoring her and us as we were made to work day and night, sometimes to the early hours of morning cleaning a spotless house.
“You’d think you’d know better than to bring a friend here,” she hissed as she followed me inside. I pulled a piece of ice out of the freezer and handed it to my sister who was still howling from thirst. After she’d wet the bed last night, my mother swore she wouldn’t have another thing to drink. Amber, who was only three years old, took the ice greedily and sucked it while choking on her subsiding sobs.
“What the fuck are you doing?” my mother hissed, taking the ice from her and fueling her cries.
