SHADOWS OF KAYLA

HOME'S NOT SO GREAT EITHER

Kayla.

“Twenty-four,” I counted, as I watched mom shift uncomfortably in bed and sniffle. As if she had been waiting from me to say the words, she wearily rose from her sleep and checked on the alarm clock by the bedside. Yeah, she was twelve minutes earlier than the timer, as usual...I mean as of late.

She took the blankets off her feet, and placed her legs gently on the ground, with her palms resting on the bed. Her short black hair, which barely reached her back and always stayed in a cute bob style was disheveled. Her caramel brown eyes were sunk in with stress, her once pink succulent lips, now coloured in faded purple. Her face was generally pale, including her entire skin.

I don't know if there was a different way to the ritual I now witnessed everyday, but I was certainly not happy with what I was always seeing. She would step out of her room, looking like she had the most wonderful dream ever. Like she was the happiest woman on planet earth, or even the universe! But had they seen her struggles behind closed doors...?

Of course, I couldn't tell if things had ever been different, but since the past weeks, that we had started sharing the same room, it was not good at all. Let's not talk about the 'mister' yet.

She whispered some silent prayers, then reached again for the alarm clock....no, the picture frame beside it, kissed the picture, and cleaned off some invisible dust, then placed it back in its position. She yawned again and stood from the bed, then staggered into the bathroom.

I slipped out of the room and went straight to where the little drama of the house slept.

Thomas, my little ten year-old-brother. We called him Tom, but he called himself Thor, and insisted we called him that. Our parents wondered where he heard such a weird name, and to top it, give himself the name!

Trust me, no one ever called him Thor. This made him throw some silly tantrums. And he had once threatened to rather have his name legally changed to Thor Jenkins when he turned eighteen, than to be a name-twin with the same guy, who's well known in the Bible and worldwide for his doubting skills.

He was young, yet he snored like a monster and drooled in his sleep like a hungry beast. His room was like a city after it has just suffered an earthquake. Filled with video games, poorly illustrated comics, wraps of chocolates and cookies, smelly clothes flung around...gosh. Boys! I don't mean to be sexist, but you get the point, right? If you asked me, I'd say this is what happens, when he is allowed to mingle with the rough teenagers living nextdoor.

“Wakey wakey,” I called, sitting in the part of his bed that's not filled with stuff. He didn't answer me, instead, his snore grew worse.

Grrrnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnggggggg!

Tom jumped from his sleep and groaned with irritation. Without even looking, he flung the clock away and buried his face in bed again. Of course, the alarm wasn't ready to give in, because it screamed even louder this time. He sat up, plastering an angry, sleepy, and irritated look on his face. His eyes were half shut, his head dangled from left to right in a doze, till he finally opened his eyes and scratched like he had fleas invading his body.

“Ugh.....dad just had to get me this stupid clock,” he murmured, then took his time to observe the room.

When the sleep in his eyes started to vanish, he jumped out of bed, seeing the mess he had made in the room. He tore off the sheets from the bed, causing everything in it to pour on the floor in a crash. He tucked some stuff under the bed, slid some beneath the tables, flung some into the closet, and threw some in the trash can (I think his school note was in there. A good query from his teacher was waiting).

He then drizzled a spray of lavender in the room, a little too much, and in less than five minutes, the room had become the best façade of “good as new.”

'“Quickly get in the bath before mom comes here, Tom,” he told himself and ran into the bathroom. I wondered whether he even took proper baths.

I sat back in his bed and sighed. I looked at the green walls of his room. Weird drawings were taped around. Drawings that could make you murder the artist if you had paid him to make the drawings for you.

A painting of the Statue of Freedom...jeez! I know it's the Statue of Freedom because I saw him copying the drawing from the cover of a magazine one time. If you had been standing here, you would think it was a fat palm tree, who that had a mysterious hand pointing to the sky. There was another drawing of spiderboy, more like the insect itself caught in the web. A young boy with some kind of watch on his wrist, that bore the letter 'X'. He named this BEN 12.

The biggest and worst of all drawings, was a crayoned drawing of Tom himself, wearing his fantasy shirt with the word THOR printed boldly on it.

I shook my head and walked to the window, which had been open since last evening. I peered down, looking at the streets. Vehicles—school buses, passers-by—school children and other people, oldies on their early morning jog. I remembered my encounter with Van and others the day before and sighed. I was starting to lose interest in whatever I had gotten myself involved with, again.

Tom shivered out of the bathroom and I looked away, walking to the door.

I can't be seeing things right now.

While in the corridor, I heard mom screaming downstairs.

“Joe! Don't leave without giving me explanations, okay? Joe! Joe, I'm talking to you!”

“Don't pester me today again!” He yelled back.

Mom dropped sitted in the chair, buried her face in her hands, and wept. Dad didn't look in her direction.

He stood next to the door, doing the buttons of his shirt. His knotted tie hung loosely around his neck. He then went on to tuck in his shirt, fix his cufflinks, and slip into his coat.

When mom just couldn't stop crying, he sighed and crouched next to her, holding her face.

“Look darling, just know that whatever I'm doing right now, is for the good of our family. Please try to understand, I don't mean to hurt you.”

“It hurts when you're not telling me anything, Joe. You have been acting strange lately. A lot has happened and I'm so down. I'm trying my best to take care of my son and do well in my job, but this whole situation is making me worse. We just....”

She stopped talking when she saw Tom coming down the stairs. He was dressed for school, and neat, but his long locks didn't look so good. It had been long since he went to the hairdresser.

“Dad, you made mom cry again?” He asked, walking closer to where the two were and went arms akimbo.

“I'm tired of this early morning drama, seriously. It's embarrassing. Even my new friends have started asking questions.”

Mom turned to him, her brows neared each other.

“Questions? What questions?”

“Never mind. What's for breakfast anyway?”

Mom stood up and walked into the kitchen. She sniffled and said, “Sit, let me get you your food.”

“Actually mom, just pack it in for me, I have to go now, I'll eat in school,” He told her running his hands through his hair. Mom gave him a box of food, extra food, in case he wanted to share. He took it, said goodbye and ran out of the house.

Mom quickly turned to dad.

“Did you see? Did you hear what he said? Did you?”

She started crying again.

“Joe this is wrong. I'm scared for you. I have no idea what's cooking up in that head of yours, but I'm scared for all of us. First you, made us move for no reason, leave through the backdoor everyday, slip back in at midnight, you hardly talk to anyone. I don't think I can handle Tom alone with the way things are going. WHAT IS GOING ON?” She yelled, that I could almost feel her voice resonate in my chest. Really almost.

“I'll explain at the right time,” was all he said, opening the back door.

Mom stood up and shut the door in his face, blocking him from going outside.

“No! I can't take this anymore! I need answers!' She wept again.”

“Joe, we just lost our daughter! You didn't let us investigate her death! Your stupid excuses, but I agreed didn't I?”

“Look...”

'We lied to our son that she's on scholarship somewhere. We hired an impostor to answer Tom's calls whenever he tried calling her. We are already terrible parents and now you go on to make things worse for me!”

“Listen to...”

“I don't even know where your so called new job is at, 'cause you don't talk to me anymore. I'm scared to even take money from you. I'm not so strong! I can't take it!” She wailed loudly like a baby.

Dad didn't know what to do. I could tell he was sad, confused and irritated all together. He didn't utter a word again. His mouth wobbled a little, he was on the verge of crying, but he stopped himself. Instead, he grabbed his bag and went out of the door.

Seemed no one was having a great life.