AllFreeNovel
Share Us
His mere presence sucks the air from the room. If I’m around, I become a target.The house is filthy(Christian and his friends make the mess).There’s no reason you shouldn’t be cooking dinner for the family at night…We work all day(my father never comes home for dinner, so I’d be cooking for Christian and Christian alone).You should stop wasting your time with that “dance shit” and start taking care of this house(yes, at sixteen being a homemaker is my dream). I’d gladly wake up at four in the morning if it meant avoiding a run-in with Christian. He hasn’t been my brother in a long time.
He’s like a simmering pot of water with the lid on, always threatening to bubble over. He can spin tales to his friends and to the stupid girls who try in vain to get close to him, but I see through the act. I know him. In his weaker moments, drunk and tired, he sometimes lets it out—the sadness that threatens to crush him, the disappointment of unfulfilled dreams.
I do feel for him, but if you listen to Christian tell it, Timothy Wade is to blame for every wrong turn his life has taken. And when he gets on that thread, no one around him is safe. There are nights he sits out back with his loser buddies drinking beer. I can sense when it’s about to happen, when he’s about to turn. Ribbing between friends becomes personal, his voice rises above the rest, the others try to pacify the petulant baby, and bottles invariably smash. He’s an angry drunk, my father says, shaking his head as I sweep up the shards the next morning.A chip off the old block, I’m always tempted to say back, but I don’t dare.
Still in my corner booth, I stare at Simon through the window. He’s loading a flatbed with sheetrock for an older man. I know the pieces are heavy, having seen my dad and brother work together to carry the same kind of materials when they started the garage renovation last year that they still haven’t finished. But Simon labors alone, and waves the older man off, smiling but refusing him when he tries to press some bills into his hand for a tip.
He’s being kind. I’ve seen that side of him before, I’ve witnessed his goodness. But I’ve also been at the receiving end when his alter ego is in charge. He’s capable of cruelty. I think of the other night when he offered me and Daisy a ride home. He couldn’t even be civil towards me when he was trying to do something nice.
I’ve never done anything to deserve his scorn. From what little I’ve heard, I know his family is a mess, but how is that on me? Tim Wade, I’m told, sits in a state prison cell to this day—dealing to feed his habit landed him there. I can’t say I feel sorry for him, karma being a bitch and all that. The middle brother doesn’t live here anymore. I’ve never heard the back story on him, only that he was a loner, or a “faggot emo weirdo” as my sensitive, enlightened older brother tagged him. Simon’s family is poor, I’m assuming, but no one is truly wealthy here. No one has it easy. Maybe he feels sorry for himself while he sees me as some trust fund princess, even though nothing could be further from the truth.
Taking one last look at the hardware store as I haul my tired body into the car, I decide that Simon Wade can take his rotten attitude and shove it. I’m done looking his way, done pining for that sour faced jerk. I’m just done.
I tell myself all this, knowing it’s nothing but lies. There’s a thread between us, fragile and shaky, but I feel it, feel the connection. I know I’d give my right arm just to have him look across the street and meet my eyes, to truly see me. I’d give anything for Simon Wade to talk to me. To share his sadness, then hold me and listen as I share mine.
Chapter Six
Simon
March never brings springtime to this part of Pennsylvania. The winters drag on well into April, wet and cold and depressing.
We saw Timmy last weekend, knowing he was recently released from the infirmary following a fight. His arm was in a cast and he had the look of a spooked cat when he limped towards us. He doesn’t say it outright because he doesn’t want to alarm my mother, just plays it off as an “episode” in the rec yard, but I know he was jumped. Mom’s hands shake as she takes the coins from her purse to buy him some snacks from the vending machine. She knows it too.
“What’s going on?” I press when she gets up from the table.
He shakes his head. “You can’t refuse your cellmate assignment and some of these guys are fucking crazy. I mean for real, they’re mentally ill. The guy who did this,” he gestures to the healing gash on his forehead and then looks down at his arm, “he was screaming like a crazy, strung out motherfucker when they brought him by, introducing the two of us like we were gonna be best buddies.”
“They know the guy’s violent and they don’t care?” Timmy raises an eyebrow, shooting me a look like I’m a naïve child. “Is there someone me and Mom can talk to while we’re here?”
“No.” He lets out a tired breath. “There’s nothing you can do for me.”
My mother doesn’t say a word for the entire ride home. I’m quiet too, silently begging for mercy, for my brother’s safety, for his life. Raising my prayers to a god who isn’t listening.
I’m still in a funk by the time Friday rolls around. It also happens to be my birthday, but I’m in no mood to be reminded. So when I walk up to my locker and I’m ambushed by Sienna and a few of her friends bearing balloons, cupcakes and good wishes, I have to repress a sudden urge to rage, to destroy, to take the tray of cupcakes and smash them against the wall.
“How does it feel to be eighteen?” one asks me.
Fucking peachy. The words are pushing past my lips, itching to break free, but with some effort I manage a tight smile. “The same, I guess.”
“I know, right?” Sienna says. “You can already drive, but you can’t have a drink. What’s the big whoop about turning eighteen?”
“You can enlist,” Garth offers.
“Youare not enlisting.” Sienna pokes him in the chest. “Got that, mister?”
He grabs her finger and brings it up to his lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Those two are an item now. Garth is asking her to the prom. When he asked who I planned on taking, I told him the truth straight away so he’d back off.
The prom isn’t in my budget. I truly don’t know how I’m going to eat next year, so plunking down money on a tuxedo rental, flowers, prom tickets and whatever other bullshit goes into that night just isn’t happening. Hell, I’m seriously considering skipping out on graduation because the school is asking for thirty-five dollars to cover the cost of those crappy cardboard caps and flimsy gowns.
“You can go to a strip club,” Tyler adds, earning him a swat on the ass from his girl.
Skylar flips him off when she says, “I can go to a male strip club too, you know.”
“You can vote now,” one of the girls adds.
“You can gamble,” another chimes in.
