1: Just Before Junior Year
592 Words
1: Just Before Junior Year“Over My Head” – The Fray
No, no, no, no, no. Not the crying.
His friends had just dropped him off after a night of probably too much fun, and he wanted to pretend that he was too drunk to address his mother. But he wasn't. She was sitting in their darkened living room, not even attempting to cover up her sobs when he lumbered through the front door.
“Everything all right?” He wished he could muster up more compassion, but he had a hunch that whatever she was crying about was self-inflicted. Her bottle-red hair was knotted on top of her head, giving him an unobstructed view to her puffy eyes.
“I got fired,” she hiccupped. Luke let his head hang. She'd actually held a steady bartending job for about six months, but he knew when she started coming home less-than-sober that it was only a matter of time. He ran his hand over his face, his buzz fading rapidly.
“Well, Mom, when you drink at work, that sometimes happens.” He didn't know why he bothered being a d**k. It didn't faze her. She just glared at him before responding.
“I'll look for something new tomorrow.”
“Great.”
“Have you ever been without a roof or food?” Oh god, not this again.
“No, Mom.”
“That's what I thought. So maybe you save your disappointment.”
“Will do. Any thoughts on what we'll do while you're job hunting and training? For, you know, bills?”
“We've always gotten by before.”
“So, do you want to call Uncle Joe, or should I?” The only reason they'd gotten by was thanks to his uncle and the soft spot he had for his hot-mess older sister.
“We don't need Joe.” She sniffed with indignation like it was true.
“Fine, whatever. We can take something out of my college fund if we need it.” He'd have to pick up work every weekend to replace it, but at least they'd have electricity. His mother snorted. It was not a good sound coming from her.
“What? You have a better idea?”
“Yeah, using money that actually exists.” She took a swig of whatever was in her glass, and he assumed it wasn't sparkling water. A cold sensation ran from the top of his head down his arms.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that we have a roof that doesn't leak.”
“Speak in complete thoughts.”
“Three years ago. Big hailstorm. Leaking roof.”
“Yeah?”
“Where do you think the money came from for a new freaking roof, son?” Another gulp of her drink.
The icy feeling had reached his stomach. “You had no right to touch that money. That was from Grandma.” His voice sounded so calm coming out of his mouth, and he didn't know why. His entire lifeline was unraveling at a frightening speed. That money was his way out.
“Until you're eighteen, I have every right to touch whatever money it takes to provide food and shelter, kid.”
“How much is left?” There had been twenty-five grand in the account the last time he'd looked.
“I don't know, Luke. Two thousand bucks?” Her stare was defiant now. He should've known better than to expect an apology.
“God DAMN IT!” The words ripped from his chest as he saw his future disintegrating. He picked up his mother's glass and hurled it at the wall. It wasn't even real glass, and he missed the satisfying shatter.
“Feel better?”
“f**k you.” He turned his back on the woman who wasn't supposed to screw him over and trudged up the stairs. There was nothing to be done. He face planted into his bed and let what was left of the alcohol in his system put him to sleep.
- Writer
