Make Your Move

Chapter 2 : The Rat

                                             "You never need to apologize for how you chose to survive."

                                                                                        ~ Google

                                                                                                •••

Later that day

After picking up Keith from school, my mind kept wandering to that boy in Science. He looked so mysterious and closed off from the world. It was almost as if he was trying to escape this messed up thing we call society.

The best description of society ever made would be this poem by Erin Hanson:

Welcome to society,

We hope you enjoy your stay,

And please feel free to be yourself,

As long as it's in the right way,

Make sure you love your body,

Not too much or we'll tear you down,

We'll bully you for smiling,

And then wonder why you frown,

We'll tell you that you're worthless,

That you shouldn't make a sound,

And then cry with all the others,

As you're buried in the ground,

You can fall in love with anyone,

As long as it's who we choose,

And we'll let you have your opinions,

But please shape them to our views,

Welcome to society,

We promise that we won't deceive,

And one more rule now that you're here,

There's no way you can leave.

The first time I read this, I was so shocked that Erin Hanson pointed out basically every flaw in our system. No wonder that boy in class today looked like he was daydreaming about being anywhere except here. Then again, how am I making these assumptions based on the faraway look on his face?

He just looked so... gone and out of it. Like he didn't even want to be here. He looked out the window like he wanted to get swept away in the wind. Sometimes I think I look at life that way too; ready to lose myself in the tides or wanting to climb up a tree and hide from all my problems. Maybe this boy and I have something in common; the longing to escape, to find a better place, to make tomorrow better than today.

"How was your first day of school, little man?" I question Keith with an encouraging smile, trying to occupy my mind with other thoughts that don't consist of that mysterious boy.

"It was okay, I guess." He playfully shrugs off the arm I placed around his shoulder, scowling at me.

Strangely enough, he continues to shrug his shoulder at least four more times. Knowing my brother, he's probably discreetly practicing a new dance move.

"Is that the new dance you middle school kids are doing?" I start copying him, shrugging my shoulders in a weird pattern.

With high brows, he looks at me as if I have grown a second head. "What are you talking about?"

"Never mind." I put my hands in the back pockets of my jeans and we continue to walk in silence until I remember the previous conversation. I get what he was trying to do with the shoulder shrugging*** was trying to switch the conversation knowing well that I have the attention span of a duck.

"I promise you, Keith, it will get better." Though we may fight and talk trash about each other all the time, deep down we both know none of it is true.

He looks at me with compassion but I ruin our short-lived sweet moment by playfully punching him in the shoulder. His face falls as his hand instantly flies up to rub his shoulder. Honestly, I didn't even punch him that hard.

"OW!" He shouts, but I can see the amusement shining in his eyes. We both know I couldn't hurt a fly.

Keith looks up at me in disbelief. "What was that for?" He yells loud enough to wake the whole neighbourhood. Nobody should be sleeping through, It's only three o'clock in the day.

With a smug smile, I say, "that is for trying to distract me with your stupid shoulder shrugs." He has an all-knowing smile on his face, realizing that he has been caught. With a wide smirk, Keith starts to shrug his shoulders again, with me following suit.

Soon enough, we become two crazy siblings walking down the road doing some horrible shoulder shrugging dance. We aren't talking anymore, just dancing with smiles plastered on our faces. Behind my smile, gears are turning. I am brought back to the conversation we were having before. I don't let Keith see the sadness behind my smile, I won't ruin this moment for him.

Keith has always had a hard time making friends due to his anxiety. I'm always there to encourage him, Jord as well. But, sometimes I think he needs more, he needs something that I can't give him: the love of a parent.

Dad is always away on business but sends us money every so often. I can feel it in my heart that he is trying to be a good father, sadly it's not good enough. Keith needs more from him, I need more from him.

Don't even get me started on my mother. That woman belongs in a mental institution. It's hard to believe how a person could change into a monster out of the blue. On the outside, she still looks like the loving and caring mother that used to hold my hand as we crossed the streets. But, on the inside, a cold-hearted plague has infected my mother's body making her The Rat she is today.

Suddenly, Keith stops his shoulder dance, causing my features to crinkle. I stop dancing as well and catch his intense gaze.

"Pinky," Keith holds his smallest finger to me. At first, my nose turns in confusion because I don't know what he means. But then it hits me, he is referring to the promise I made him earlier, about school becoming better for him. His waving pinky in the air signifies that this is going to become an 'official sibling promise'.

"Pinky," I replied, wrapping my finger around his.

We continue walking down the street, enjoying the September air running through our hair and replenishing our skin. The Racheal's are known for loving the colder seasons. My dad always says that the cold weather could never keep us inside. We use the colder seasons to our advantage; skipping school to go ice skating, playing hockey on the frozen ice at the nearest park and building snowmen.

As we continue our walk, I notice that even more trees are adapting into the cooler season of fall and have changed colour. Most of the backyards in this neighbourhood are well kept. People have already started to rake the little number of leaves that have fallen.

The shades of yellow, red and brown take me back to simpler times when The Rat and I used to stroll these streets just for the feeling. We would play eye spy and race each other while taking in the beautiful scenery surrounding us.

An old oak tree shakes furiously, drawing my attention back to the present. She's not that person anymore Zandria, she's not your mom.

When we were searching for a new house five years ago my mom insisted that we look for a quiet neighbourhood. Now I know why she wanted to live in this type of setting, no one would suspect anything bad happening in a quiet neighbourhood.

"If I win this race, you have to buy me a new game for the Xbox!" Keith exclaims with a grin spread across his adorable little face. His legs are already moving fast, itching for a challenge.

Never turning down a challenge, I say, "you're on, little man."

With that, we sprint down the quiet streets leaving behind our doubts and replacing them with bright smiles pointed up at the dying sun.

A few speedy minutes later, I finally catch up to Keith on the porch of our worn out house.

"You owe me a new game! Hmm... I'm thinking about, maybe, Mortal Kombat" Keith announces from his position on the porch, a hand on his chin. I breathe out a chuckle, knowing he actually didn't think about the game he wanted at all, he already knew he was going win.

"That's...No...Fair, that man with the bike was in my way." I pant, resting my hands on my knees gasping for air.

Who does he think I am? Usain Bolt?

I've never really been the athletic one in the family. Most, if not all of the trophies belong to Keith and my father.

"Well, you could have told him to move, but you didn't, and I won." The sass behind his words almost makes me want to laugh. Keith is one of the most competitive people I know. Actually, he and Jordyn tie for a high second. My friend Zane, is also crazy competitive and will turn the littlest action into a war. One more thing about Zane is that he has the worst personality combination known to mankind; competitive and a sore loser

"Whatever." I pull out the key from the smallest pocket in my backpack and enter the white suburban house with Keith hot on my heels.

Instantly, the nauseating smell of cigarettes hit me. I find it weird that after living here for five years, the odour is still a surprise to me.

After living with an abusive mother for a while, you pick up on little tips and tricks to keep out of harm's way.

In a synchronized pattern, we remove our shoes and place them on the tiny rack located inside the slide door closet.

"Go upstairs into my room and lock the door," I tell Keith with a serious look concealing all the joy we left behind that brown wooden door.

"Okay." I watch him turn the corner to head upstairs, but his little head pops back up over the ledge. "What are you going to do?" His voice is barely above a whisper.

"Feed, The Rat." I shrug off my jacket with newfound courage and make my way into the disgusting place we call a kitchen.

Our kitchen is the complete opposite of my bedroom. The tiles on the ground are covered in shoe scuff marks, there is a gradually increasing spit corner, and cigarette buds are trashed around the floor. Random bottles of alcohol are strewn on the kitchen island, making my task of cooking even harder to accomplish. You would think that The Rat would be the classy professional wife of a successful CEO. But instead, my father glamorizes his marriage, not knowing the true identity of the woman he loves.

I reach for a pot to start boiling some pasta when I sense a presence watching me, placing me at an internal crossroad. On one side, it could be Keith begging for me to smack the back of his head because he disobeyed me. But, on the other hand, it could be Sandra, my mother, ready to beat me just for the fun of it.

My mind gets the best of me and I spin around, hoping to be greeted with my curly head idiotic brother.

Hey, they did say curiosity killed the cat.

I am now facing my mother that looks at me with a murderous glint in her eyes, something I have seen many times before.

She looks like how she always does; a wreck. Her wrinkled brown face makes me want to puke at the lack of pride she takes in her appearance. She has had the same piece of brown weave in her hair since I can remember. It is frizzy, stringy and dry, I don't even want to think about the smell. The Rat is wearing a normal pyjama set because let's face it, we all know she hasn't left the house.

"Zara, why are you home so early?" Her sentence leaves her mouth as a threat, daring me to answer.

My dad calls me Zara, he never liked the name Zandria, so he settled for the next best thing. Now whenever I hear her say it, I'm mentally pained, because the nickname means so much to me.

Fright surges through my body as I glance at the beer bottle she is shaking in her hands and the cigarette hanging from her filthy lips. I have felt the pain that can be brought from those two dangerous items one too many times.

"We ran halfway, mother." The fear behind my words tears down the wall of courage I built just minutes ago. I would never call her The Rat to her face. If she is doing this to me now, I wonder what she would do if she knew how I addressed her in secret.

No normal mother would get mad at their children for coming home early. But for me, this is normal.

"DON'T LIE TO ME ZANDRIA!" She rages towards me bringing an entire storm with her as she forcefully grabs onto my chin with her rugged hands. She will take anything and turn it into something bigger.

This is how it always goes. She asks me I question, I reply, and then she becomes upset because she isn't satisfied with my answer. It's like a song that is stuck in your head playing on a loop. We go through this same routine almost every day when I come back from school and there is nothing I can do about it. Sandra only stops when my dad is around. Unfortunately, he is barely here.

I twist and turn as she holds my head in place, forcing me to look into those sinister eyes. I grit my teeth in pain and disgust. It's like she doesn't even know what a toothbrush is.

"I AM YOUR MOTHER, DON'T YOU EVER LIE TO ME!"

You are not my mother.

A mother is supposed to cherish their child with unconditional love. All she does is abuse and hate us. I wish I could say these things to her, but to suffice, I clench my fists together and pray that she will let this one go.

This is just one example of what I experience every day The Rat is in one of her 'moods''. I've tried to ask her multiple time why she does this, her reply is always 'this is what you deserve, Zara.'

The cigarette is still in her mouth and before I can even react, she uses her hand on my chin to her advantage and forcefully pushes me into the stove.

My neck snaps back, causing my head to hit the oven top, leaving my body to slide down the rest of the way until I meet the ground. Luckily, I didn't hit the burner that the boiling pasta is on. That would have hurt even more.

Tears are already escaping my eyes as I strain to raise my head and look at my attacker.

"MAKE SURE YOU CLEAN THIS ALL UP, YOU WORTHLESS PIG!" And with that, she leaves me and my deflated pride.

The tears come to my eyes like a waterfall and I crumple up on the floor into a little protection ball.

The sad thing is, this isn't the worst thing she has done to me.

                                                                                                    •••