Pride's Run (28 page)

One hour. Ten bucks. I am not going to screw
this up.

She doesn’t even know me and she’s repeating
that damn four digit security code, again.
Lady, I got it the
first time
. Christ, what world does she live in? Certainly not
mine. That was clear as Seven Up the minute I crossed the soccer
field, moving from the welfare block of non-descript apartment
buildings to single houses with lawns.

Middle-class, out of my league. This living
room I stand in is as big as my entire apartment and there are two
more levels and a big mother fucker of a garage I would kill to
live in.

“Any problems, call
me.” She flings her large white purse over her shoulder, flicking
her long blonde hair off her shoulders. She looks pretty in her
nurse’s uniform, but her eyes are red, like she’s been crying.

“Thanks. I need to go now. Don’t want to be
late.” Grabbing her coat, keys and purse, she ushers me and Ollie
out the door, but there’s a look on her face I can’t quite figure
out.

“I’ll lock up, don’t worry.” Not sure why I
feel the need to tell her the obvious but when she flashes a smile
at me, I know those words were exactly what she needed to hear.

“Thanks, Jay. This means a lot.” A slight
pause fills the air but then Ollie barks, causing both of us to
give shaky laughs. This job means more to me than her.

She climbs into her Escalade and quickly
backs out of the driveway. I could have those hub caps off in six
minutes flat. The minute she pulls out of the long driveway, I
remember to lock up. My hands start to freeze. Tomorrow I’m wearing
gloves. I’ll have to swipe a pair from the school’s lost and found
box, but I don’t care. Shit, it is freezing out.

I stuff a hand in my jeans trying to keep it
warm when Ollie takes off. Jesus, she wasn’t kidding. He pulls
hard. Ollie is a boxer with sad brown eyes. They probably match my
own. For a dog living in a fancy house I get the distinct
impression he does not get the run of it.

My feet are flying along the icy sidewalk as
I try to keep up with him. You’d have to be blind not to notice how
all the driveways have been shoveled with the snow packed down
around the sides like some freaking thing anal middle-class people
do. The houses are a mix of brick and expensive siding and range
from cranberry soda in color to chocolate bar brown. I feel like
I’m a freaking foreigner in my own city. I don’t recall ever
stepping through the doors of one, besides to get my job. My face
probably had that Disneyland look of awe plastered to it. Pathetic!
The dog pulls me sharply to the left, forcing my feet to do
double-time. I will be lucky if my arm doesn’t get pulled out of
its socket. Then I think about the money.

Seventy dollars. No, I got that wrong. She
said she would pay me fifteen on the weekends because she knew I
would be busy with extra-curricular activities. Her words, not
mine. I didn’t say anything when she spewed that nonsense. I do
nothing on the weekend. Sad state of my life. That means in a year
I will have close to four thousand dollars just from walking this
dog.

Ollie pulls me sharply to the left, again
toward the park the lady talked about. I almost land on my face,
but honestly I don’t care. Grinning ear to ear, my mind is thinking
of all the important things I am going to buy with my money. Four
thousand dollars rings in my head and I feel like I’ve finally won
the lotto. This is going to be the easiest one hour of my day. If I
can keep my arm in my socket from the damn dog pulling me along the
sidewalk like some scrambling wayward kite ready at any moment to
plunge to the hard, unforgiving ground.

Chapter 3

Ollie

The boy is stupid. He is not pulling me back.
I am leading him. Suits me. I recognize his type. I am temporary, a
quick walk and that is it. No ties. Bet he doesn’t even like dogs.
Well, I don’t care. I bark at everything. I don’t get shushed. I
run at another dog and the boy laughs.

I will show him a good laugh.

The minute I hear that click—freedom—I am
off. I run through the piles of dirty snow. I roll in it, savoring
the dirt clinging to my body and the feel of the ice cold snow
against my hot skin. This is not how I normally act, but worrying
that my life will be the plastic cage for days when I get home
makes me act up. Lately my stays inside the cage are getting
longer. I know that is not a good sign.

I pee every few seconds, marking my territory
and it feels great. I take a big dump and watch as the boy kicks
snow over it. Yeah, I figured that. He’s not the bag it type.

He is holding something in his hand that
beeps every few minutes. With me being off leash now, he punches
the pad adding to the beeps. Not paying attention to me, I run.
Past the boundary—bet he didn’t know I had one. I am still racing,
loving the feel of the frigid air that makes my eyes water and nose
drip. My drool is freezing to my face but it feels great. When I
pass a large field, I know I am getting near the frozen waters. The
woman hates it when I go in there. She is not here. The boy’s not
here, either.

My paws break through the frozen water,
sending chills to slide up my body. The sound tickles me and my
body shivers. My ears perk up to every sound. The birds tease me
with their songs. A couple of dogs are barking farther away, but I
don’t care—they are not trespassing. The scurry of a squirrel, its
tiny claws attempting to move fast across the frozen swamp, catches
my attention. I am off, barking loudly, chasing that tiny brown
ball of fur with all my might, loving every second of it, knowing
the boy won’t enjoy the chase.

Chapter 4

Jay

“What happened to you?”

I glare at Fay, my kid sister, eight years my
junior, hoping to scare her off and get her to leave me alone.
She’s sitting in her stained Dora pjs, which she had on two days
ago. Her face is crusty with dried food and her socks look more
gray than white. She giggles and damn if I don’t crack a smile.

I look around our “oh-so-spacious…not!”
apartment. One lounge chair, a small shit-colored stained sofa I
hate because my legs hang over the side like a dangling spider, and
a well-used TV found in the dumpster which surprised us all by
working. You have to kick the right side of the set sometimes but
the rabbit ears Mom got from a friend make it so Fay can watch two
English and one French channel. There’s burnt holes in our brown
carpet, which has ugly crusty spots in places you don’t even want
to think about. A flashback to the house I was in sweeps over me
and I wish I could wipe it from my memory. Can’t.

“Mom home?” Hopefully that answer will be
no.

“Not yet.”

Fay struggles to get out of the large torn
brown recliner she’s settled into. She has probably been sitting in
that chair most of the day. I notice the TV’s on, but she’s turned
off the sound. Sad life when television is your friend all day.

Immediately, I yank off my muddy sneakers
thinking about ways to kill that damn dog. I can’t believe he took
off for the swamp again. If this keeps up I’ll have to buy boots
and since I can’t afford those I’ll have to start wearing layers of
socks to keep somewhat dry. “Wait a sec. Let me help.”

She shakes her head. “I’m okay, Jay.”

I force myself to stand still, wondering if
this is how the dog felt when he wanted to race out the door. I am
waiting all right, but ready to pounce to her aid if she stumbles.
My heart’s beating fast, and the sweat from chasing Ollie has
turned cold and clammy on my skin. Fay shuffles out of the chair,
clutches her stomach and moves toward the bathroom. I look at my
seven year-old sister. Her pixie cut black hair looks brittle as if
pieces of it are falling out. Praying she hasn’t noticed, I wonder
when she last bathed. Wishing things were different never helps, so
I swallow that thought.

Almost at the bathroom door, I see her
lurching forward. I am there so fast even I’m impressed.

“I’ve got you, Fay.”

She looks up at me. Her face is that
sheet-white chalky color she turns before she is about to puke. I
haul her forward to the toilet, lifting the seat and holding her
over the bowl. It’s rimmed with earlier throw-up, flecks of
yellowish-brown disgusting things I do not want to think about.

My gag reflex starts to act up. No way am I
losing it.

When Fay is finally done expelling what has
to be Mac and Cheese, and when the dry heaves finally subside, I
wipe her face with a wet cloth, scratching her pale skin to get off
the dried bits. There is hardly any water pressure in the tap and
that worries me. I pick her up without a word, thinking she weighs
about as much as one of her large stuffed animals. Tucking her
small frame close to mine she smells like sour milk and sweat. I
don’t tell her that. I carry her into our room, stepping over her
trio of Little Ponies. It would upset her if I knocked them over so
I don’t. The room is more her room than mine. It is loaded with
stuffed cats of all types. I roll my eyes. She’s plunked two cats
on my small bed, a jaguar and a bright pink one that looks like it
belongs in a freak circus.

She catches my eyes and attempts a sad smile;
even that effort costs her.

“They were lonely, Jay. Shelly loves Drake so
I had to put them on your side for a bit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Don’t sweat it.”

“Want me to get them off your bed?”

Her tired voice pulls me. Placing her under
her covers, I wipe her long bangs off her forehead and tell her not
to worry about them. She starts to shake. That happens after she
pukes her guts out.

“You want some water?” I am already moving to
get it before she answers. I look back, watching her slide her tiny
body halfway down in the bed, hauling the covers up over her head
for warmth. In the kitchen, the pile of dirty dishes, still there
from yesterday and the bowl of leftover Mac and Cheese are my
treats. J
ust freaking great!

I look in the cupboards for a clean cup. No
luck. Rinsing out a mug, I get Fay her water, noticing again
there’s hardly any pressure in the tap. Hitting the faucet does
nothing. Fay doesn’t move when I enter our room. I place the mug on
her night table knowing she will sip at the water if she needs it.
Clicking off the TV in the living room, I start cleaning up.

Back in the kitchen my curses only get heard
by me. I look around for bread. No luck. Now I know why she ate my
Mac and Cheese leftovers. She had no choice. But she knows better.
The only thing her sensitive stomach can handle after her radiation
treatment is toast, bananas and vanilla yogurt. None of which are
evident.

The door opens with a bang. I don’t even
move. Mom’s home.
Oh goodie
.

The stench of cigarettes and booze hits me
like a shaken up can of soda before Mom stumbles fully into the
kitchen. Shit, if she can afford that why can’t she buy groceries?
My anger rises and I force myself to take calm breaths. There is no
point in bringing that up. It’s the same old, same old.

She settles into the plastic seat. We only
have one. A flashback to the designer kitchen I stood in only an
hour ago grips me.

“What the hell happened to you? You fall in
the mud or something?” Her voice sounds gravelly as if she’s been
sucking cigs all day.

No way am I about to tell her what happened.
“Something,” I mumble, noticing there’s dried mud all over my
jeans.

“Fay got sick.” I wait for her reaction,
hoping once it will be the right one. It’s not.

She leans back in the chair, drapes a skinny
arm over the side and rolls her eyes. “Shit,” she says, like it’s
Fay’s fault. That is the end of her motherly words of concern.
Pathetic
.

We look at each for a good minute. A staring
contest won’t help. My stomach grumbles. “Where’s the food?”

She shrugs her bony shoulders, uncaring. How
on Earth is this woman my mother? Circumstances. I know all about
the how. Mom made sure of that. I don’t have to like it. Christ, I
don’t even like her.

“Where’d you get the booze?” I feel my rage
begin to boil.

Not looking at me, she says, “It’s not like
you think.”

She starts to twist a strand of her dirty
hair but her voice sounds resigned and weary. I hate that I
recognize that too. I’m fed up with this. The anger gets the best
of me. In a blink I find myself standing next to her, staring down
at her heavily made-up face, making her see me. Her mascara has run
and there’s only red lipstick left on her top lip. What I want is
for her to see both of us—me and Fay. That is not going to happen.
She slides her eyes down to the floor. I hate it when she does
that…as if she’s afraid of me. At five-foot eight I’m a lot taller
than her five-foot two, popsicle-thin frame. I wonder if she thinks
I’m going to hit her. I would never do that. I see the bruises she
attempts to hide after her time with “her friends”. I’m not stupid.
I know exactly what she does. Fast screw equals easy money. Her
words she likes to throw at me when there’s no money for heat and
no food to eat. Wouldn’t matter. We could have all the money in the
world and my mom would throw it all away by drinking or drugs. Two
things I’ve vowed never to touch.

I wish I didn’t notice how tired she looks,
or how toothpick-skinny both of us are, or the fact we have the
same thin dark brown hair that could use a good cut. I’m glad the
similarities end there. There had been a time when I cared…when she
cared, but all that changed after Fay was born. I used to resent
Fay for causing Mom to change, but no longer.

Still not looking me in the eye, I move away
from her stench. I barely hear her throaty voice. “Charlie gave it
to me.”

And what did you give him?
I don’t ask
that question. TMI. I already know the answer. Disgusted, I back
away from her to face the pile of dishes I know she won’t touch. I
turn on the water—none, go figure.