Sublime Wreckage (3 page)

Just as I'm about to get on the bus I see the same kid I saw this morning with the short blonde girl. He seems to be waiting for someone. That's when I notice a guy about my age, maybe a little older, pull up in a rusty 1969 black Mustang. I would know that car anywhere. That was my Dad's car. This one needs a lot of work but it's still a beauty. Once I'm able to peel my eyes off the car, I realize that I recognize the guy driving, it's Vincent Moreno. He's known around town as a bit of a thug. He's been in and out of juvy and got kicked out of high school about two years ago. I don't know all the details but I know he's trouble. What the hell is he doing on campus? Just then the younger boy from this morning gets into the car. Of course, their brothers. Hmm. Interesting. As I'm standing there with what I'm sure is a look of deep concentration, Vincent Moreno looks right at me. I'm frozen as we make eye contact. Time literally stops. Well, not literally because that would be pretty cool, but for me it stops. He just keeps staring at me like I'm some sort of anomaly. That's when my teammates come out of the building and I snap out of it. I climb onto the bus and try to forget that one of the scariest guys in town was just looking me over.

Swim practice is great. There is something about being in the water, timing your breathing just right to each stroke that centers me and brings me to a place of peace. That's why I love swimming, you don't have to think, you just move. Being in the water is like second nature to me. I don't really think about anything while I swim laps. I think that's what I like most about being on the swim team. It isn't my teammates or competing but the pure lack of thinking. It is complete bliss to have a safe place to not have to think.

Practice lasts about an hour and then it's back on the bus headed to the school. One of my teammates offers to give me a ride home but I decline. That's the last thing I need. My mother asking questions about who my friend is and why they are hanging out with such a pathetic loser. It's not that far of a walk. It gives me time to prepare myself mentally for all the possible moods my mother could be in when I walk through the door. I really think my mother is bi-polar but she refuses to get any professional help. Anytime you mention the possibility of a mental health issue she loses it and just repeats over and over again that she isn't crazy. I'm no expert but that doesn't exactly seem healthy to me. My mom can be so up and down. She is either manic or depressed. I really don't know which part is better. When she is manic she is all over the place but when she is depressed she just sleeps all the time and when she is awake she's a beast. Since I am the only one around, I get all her frustration and anger.

I slowly climb the steps to my house dreading her mood. I open the front door and put my backpack down. When I look up I'm pleasantly surprised to find her in the kitchen cooking dinner. She must be manic right now. Full of energy and ready to bounce off the walls if she doesn't do something productive. I will take manic over depressed any day. Second thought, at least when she is depressed she sleeps like 18 hours a day. Maybe depressed is better. Hell, they are both bad.

"Hi Mags. I thought I would make dinner since you were at school all day." She knows I hate it when she calls me Mags. Maybe this isn't going to be such a pleasant evening after all. "How was your first day back? Any cute guys ask you out?"

Why? So you can hit on them when they come over to take me out? I ignore her question about boys and focus on school. "School was pretty good. I got Mr. Brown again for English. Chemistry is going to be hard so I will probably have to start staying for tutoring." It's always good to plant that seed now so when the time comes she is prepared. Otherwise she makes an even bigger deal about me not being home when she wants. I really don't get it because most of the time she doesn't even talk to me when I am around. I think it's a control thing with her. She wants to control whatever part of my life she can. I tried to be like her a couple of years ago and it nearly wrecked me so I stopped. Now I just pretend to be a person she can tolerate. She doesn't even know the real me. Amanda is the closest person to me and even she doesn't know everything about me.

"I don't know why you bother learning that crap. I didn't even finish high school and I'm doing just fine. Just find yourself a rich man that will take care of you."

Or find one that will die and leave you with a monthly income until your child turns 18. I wonder what she will do when that happens. I'm sure she hasn't even thought about it. She isn't much of a planner. As soon as I graduate high school the money stops. "I have some homework to do if you don't need my help."

"Don't go. Just hang out with me while I cook. Then you can clean up and go grocery shopping after dinner. I noticed we are out of all my favorites. I also need some laundry done so I have some clean clothes for a change. So what's prissy little Amanda up to these days?"

My mom doesn't like anyone that I focus any amount of attention on that takes away from my attention to her. "Amanda is fine. She is going to start helping her dad after school at the shop."

"That's nice. Maybe I can get a discount on repairs since you are such good friends." That's my mom. Always trying to figure out what she can gain from knowing someone.

"So what are we having tonight?" I don't know why I bother asking. The woman only knows how to make three things, spaghetti, pork chops with rice, and frozen pizza. I do most of the cooking over the summer but once school starts I'm just too busy. I still try to work about 20 hours a week while keeping up my grades so we mostly do take out or frozen food.

"Spaghetti. I know it's your favorite." It's not. It's her favorite. But I sit quietly and keep my thoughts to myself. "Ok. It's ready. Can you get the plates out and fix something to drink?"

"Sure mom." I pull open the old, lime green cupboard door and get two plates and two glasses. Then I head to the refrigerator to see what we have to drink. Of course she finished off the last of the tea. I grab the tea kettle to fill it with water from the rusty kitchen sink. I walk the four steps to the stove and turn the burner on to get the water boiling.

"What the hell Maggie! Why isn't there any tea left? Why didn't you make more when you finished it off? Now we have to wait to eat because there isn't a damn thing to drink in this house. As soon as you finish cleaning up get your little ass to the store so we can have something besides tea. Got it?"

"I'm sorry mom. I'm sorry I didn't make more tea. Why don't you sit down, start eating and I will get you an ice water until the tea is ready." This is how things go around here. I get blamed for everything even though she knows it wasn't me. I take that blame to avoid an outburst of rage from my mother. I will do just about anything to keep the peace. When my mother loses control it's like something else takes over her body. All reason flies out the window. I never know what is going to set her off. It's usually something little like the tea being gone. She just blows up over tiny things. There isn't a better way to describe her sudden shift in moods. It's almost like flicking a light switch on and off. It happens that fast.

"Never mind. I'm going to eat in the living room and watch TV. Bring me my tea when it's ready. You can do whatever the hell you want. I try so hard Maggie but you don't make it easy to get along with you. You are so ungrateful sometimes. I really don't know why I try."

And just like that the evening is turned to a disaster. It is very rare that she can stand to be in the same room as me for any length of time. She fixes her plate and heads into the other room. I stand by the stove waiting for the water to boil. When the kettle is ready I pour it in the pitcher with the tea bags. While I am waiting for the water to absorb the tea I get her glass and put 2 tablespoons of sugar in the bottom. My mother loves her sweet tea. I personally find it sickeningly sweet so I drink my tea with no sugar at all. After a couple of minutes the tea is ready so I pour it in the glass about half way, stir then add ice. I take it to my mother in the other room. She glances up at me with a look of disgust on her face, grabs the glass from my hand then turns back to the television.

I wish I could say it hurts my feelings but this is how she treats me most of the time. I got used to it about five years ago. I learned to let it roll off of me otherwise I would be a blubbering mess and who wants to be around that? I fix my own plate and sit down at our tiny kitchen table. It's an oak table with three mismatched chairs all different colors. I eat alone as I do most nights. After I finish eating I put the rest of the food away, pull the tea bags out of the pitcher and put it in the refrigerator. Then I head into the living room to gather my mother's dirty dish and empty glass. I immediately fix her another ice tea so she has no reason to complain. I set it on the table in front of her not expecting any sort of thank you or appreciation. I finish cleaning all the dishes and sweep and mop the kitchen floor. Next, I gather up the laundry and start a load. Now comes the fun part. I actually get to drive the car!

"Do you have a list for the store?"

"Yes. It's on the counter along with the money. Don't dilly dally or go for a joy ride. You hear me young lady?" I hate it when she calls me that but it's better than Mags.

"Yes Ma'am. I will get back as soon as I can so I can finish up the laundry." That should get her off my back and allow for some extra driving time. I grab the keys, list and money off the counter and head out the front door grateful for some time to myself.

I am so giddy I actually jump up and down and squeal like a twelve year old. I hop into the front seat of my mother's maroon 1998 Pontiac Grand Am. It's not the nicest car or the newest but I don't care. I get to drive! I roll both windows down and prop my left leg up against the dash. I put the car in reverse and back out of the driveway. As soon as I am far enough away from my house I blast the radio. I immediately start singing along with classic 90's music.

After about 20 minutes of driving around enjoying my freedom I decide I've wasted enough time so I head over to the grocery store. I park in the only open spot, grab the list and head inside. Once I get a cart I look down at the list and then check the money I shoved into my front jean pocket. Dammit. Of course she didn't give me enough money to cover everything. Not even close. Why does she do this to me? If I come back without getting everything on the list there will be hell to pay. I hate that she makes me do this. Even if I use the $22 I have left for my lunch money this week I still can't pay for everything on the list. I take a deep breath realizing what I have to do. Thank goodness I wore an oversized t-shirt today. Doesn't she realize this is even harder in the summer when I don't have a bulky coat to help?

I grab the cart and clench it until my knuckles turn white. Then I let it go. At least if I get caught she will bail me out with no questions asked. I take a few minutes to examine the list more carefully. I add up how much this is all going to cost me and figure if I "five finger discount" four of the items I can pay for everything else and only have to use some of my own money. This is the reality of my life. So I suck it up and head into the store. I'm about halfway through the shopping list. I have two of the four "free" items securely tucked down my pants. Just as I'm reaching up on my tip toes to pull the asthmatic inhaler off the top shelf I hear a deep voice laugh behind me. I turn slowly, lowering myself back down to the balls of my feet, just as I notice who that sound came from. Standing right behind me is Vincent Moreno.

"Sorry, but you might want to keep your shirt down. I can see that box peeking out of your jeans and I would hate to see a pretty little face like yours end up in juvy. Hi. I'm..."

Right before he can introduce himself I snort. "I know exactly who you are Slick. And I don't need advice from you." I turn back around, reach up high and pull the box down. I turn back around with the box in my left hand, cross my arms over the cart handle and slowly begin to open the box. After it's opened I slide the inhaler out of the box and into my front pocket. My shirt covers the bulge there but even if someone sees it I can play it off as my own. I cross my arms again still holding the empty box. Vincent is standing there watching me like a hawk with a small smirk on his face. Oh my God! He is so damn good looking. He looks like his little brother but more mature. He has dark skin, dark brown hair that is almost black, cut very short almost like a military buzz cut. His eyes, oh my, his eyes. They are the deepest brown, they remind me of my dad. I have to get away from him but he is blocking my way. "Do you mind, I kind of need to finish my shopping."

He is just standing there staring. What is his problem? He's the thug not me. I do this out of necessity not by choice. I've heard the stories about stealing, car theft and beating kids up just for the heck of it. Thug. He is a thug. So I do what anyone would do with a thug, I run right into him with my cart. Okay, so no one else would do that to someone they are afraid of but I guess my brain isn't working right now.

"Ouch. That really wasn't necessary. I would have moved. I just haven't seen a girl with such huge balls before. You're pretty good too. That's rare."

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about." I push my way past him while rolling my eyes when I get a whiff of his scent. And I say scent because it's like nothing I have ever smelled before. I don't even think I could describe it other than to say it's just him. Fresh, clean, bright with a hint of grass mixed in with the best cologne I have ever smelled in my entire life. It reminds me of being in the park on a cool fall day laying on the ground so close to the earth you can smell it. Very rustic but also very...very...I just can't place it. It seems to suit him as odd as that sounds.

I turn the corner and go over two aisles to the bread. I tuck the box into the palm of my hand. As I reach for the loaf of bread I quickly place the empty box behind the other loaves and push it all the back. One more thing to get then I'm done. I go down the last aisle to take the last item. Cream for my mother's eczema. I repeat the same process and slip the tube down the front of my pants. Well, that's uncomfortable. Just act normal and get the hell out of here. Confidence is the key.