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My molars ground together. I needed to go to this crawfish broil and … I didn’t know what, but I needed to go. I nearly knocked King over in a race toward my room. I felt sound in my ability to kiss, and I knew she loved it, but I hated his hands on her.
I shrugged on a Zachary High Football t-shirt and grabbed my phone. A text from my brother popped up.
Frankie:Mom came home.
My anger switched gears. It’d been days since I spoke with Frankie and she just now came home.
Me:Did she bring food?
My fingertips tapped against the top of my dresser while I tried to compose myself.
Frankie:Nah, the neighbor brought over a casserole I’ve been eating. She did bring home a guy though.
A humorless chuckle left my lips. As badly as I wanted to go to the crawfish broil, I couldn’t, I needed to go get him for the night.
Me:I’m coming home. I’ll call when I’m outside.
I sped home to Zachary with nothing but my mother’s poor decisions on my brain. It was one thing for her to party, but to leave Frankie alone for days at a time wouldn’t fly. The streets in Zachary brought back too many memories that I wanted to forget.
Even though I’d been high-school royalty, no one truly knew what it was like at home. We crossed the railroad tracks, the houses became poorer, dogs were chained to trees in the front yards and vehicles sat on cement blocks in the driveways.
Frankie stood outside on the steps, his elbows rested against his knees and his head hung low. I jumped out, hearing the voices from inside grow louder once I neared.
Frankie looked up, his dark eyes—that he got from his father, who was different from mine, both losers, just different losers—zeroed in on me. A smile tugged at his mouth. When he stood, he jerked his head, pushing his bangs from his forehead.
His worn-out clothes reminded me of my youth and pissed me off. “That was record timing, Big Brother,” he said. “Hey,” he said when I sidestepped him. “I thought we were leaving?”
“We are,” I said opening the screen door. “Go wait in the truck.”
He frowned, but listened.
I jerked the screen door open and walked into the house. Beer bottles littered the wooden coffee table that held cigarette ashes and old food containers. The stench of stall cigarettes and grim hung heavily in the air. Mother walked into the living room wearing fishnet pantyhose, a long ACDC t-shirt, and black leather boots.
She waved her lit cigarette around in her hand. The orange coloring of her hair looked like a third grader tried to dye it. “Well, if it isn’t college boy. What do you want?”
She looked strung out. It wouldn’t be the first time or the last. A man I’d never seen walked up behind her, a beer in one hand and the other on my mother’s skinny waist.
“I want you to stop leaving Frankie here by himself without food. I want you to stop going out and getting drunk and high.”
She chuckled. “Frankie is old enough to stay by himself—,”
“Not without food, he isn’t. The only reason he eats is because I drop off groceries and the neighbor feels sorry for him.”
Mother scoffed. “Don’t chastise me, son. You grew up here just like we did—,”
“You gonna let this kid talk to you like that, Sherrie?” the guy behind her asked. He leaned back against the wall, his graying beard reached the top of his potbellied stomach.
“No one asked you,” I spat. “I’m taking Frankie with me.” I turned to leave before I lost my temper. Mother screamed at me, and I felt something hit the back of my head, but I kept walking.
I wouldn’t hit my mother, even though I wanted to. The guy with her laughed in the background as I jumped into my pickup and sped away.
Frankie held up his worn-down backpack. “I packed some clothes. Am I staying with you tonight?”
I nodded. “You hungry?”
“Yeah, that guy ate the rest of the casserole Ms. Sue gave me.”
We rode mostly in silence back to my apartment, only stopping to get him fast food, and gas.
