Chapter 5: The Muddy Homecoming
914 Words
Lee Arden lurched through the silent streets, milk tea sloshing precariously in one hand, his other clutched around his knapsack as if it held the secrets of the universe.
Every step squelched.
Every breath felt like inhaling cement.
His clothes were so mud-streaked that he vaguely resembled some sort of swamp creature with excellent posture.
Finally, after what seemed like ten eternities-or at least fifteen minutes-he saw the reassuring glow of his house.
The porch light.
Safe.
Mother.
A chance to live another day.
Arden's relief was nearly palpable.
Almost.
Almost.
Because just as he was about to step onto the front walkway, he tripped over… well, practically nothing.
One second he was upright, the next he was performing an accidental acrobatic roll that would have earned him a gold medal in “How to Fall Without Dying.”
Milk tea flew.
Knapsack tumbled.
Arden landed face-down in the mud puddle that had formed beside the steps.
"I… I'm okay," he mumbled, spitting mud from his mouth.
"Totally fine. This is all part of a… fitness plan. Yes. Fitness. Mud-resistance training."
By the time he finally pulled himself up, the milk tea had splashed across his chest in a pattern that looked vaguely-like a map of some very muddy country.
He wiped his face and tried to look dignified. Fail.
At last, he came to the front door. He yanked it open and froze.
His mother was standing there, her arms folded, her glare sharp enough to cut diamonds.
“Lee Arden Santos!” she yelled. “WHAT have you done to yourself?”
“I… uh…” He offered the milk tea as a conciliatory token.
“Survival? Heroism? Mud experimentation? Maybe all three?”
Mother's eyes narrowed. "Your clothes are ruined. You are covered in mud. Your hair—oh my God, your hair!"
She reached forward and pinched a streak of mud from his temple.
"Arden, how many times have I told you not to wander into dangerous alleys at night?"
Arden winced. "Five? No. six? I lost count. It was. a scientific experiment! Yes! Very academic!"
Mother pinched her forehead. “And the milk tea?
Arden's hand twitched toward it.
"It survived! Sort of in a heroic, sacrifice-my-shirt way. Milk tea never dies!"
Mother groaned, grabbed a towel and started dragging him toward the bathroom.
“We are going to get you cleaned up. Now. Immediately.”
Arden tried to protest.
“But… I need to… explain everything! There were… mafia! Men! Handsome, terrifying, very dangerous men!"
Mother's expression didn't change. "You… what?!"
“Yes! They were very… very interesting,” Arden hastened to say, understanding in an instant that the word could be a bad choice.
“No, worse! Extremely dangerous! And I… escaped. With milk tea!”
Mother blinked, then her eyes narrowed again.
"Arden, I swear… you will be the death of me."
Arden nodded, solemnly.
"I know. I live on the edge. You taught me that."
Mom muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "This is why I drink," then shoved him into the bathroom.
Arden let out a squeaky yelp as she turned on the shower.
"Wait! Wait! I need a… a battle plan! Tactical retreat plan! Emergency escape route strategy!"
Arden shouted, flailing a little under the pressurized water.
“You will get clean first!” Mother yelled above the din of the shower.
“You can strategize later!”
Arden muttered something about injustice, the mafia, and milk tea politics as he stepped under the water.
Mud poured from his hair like a miniature waterfall, and the bathroom floor began to resemble a swampy battlefield.
The milk tea had survived the streets, but Arden feared it might not survive mother's wrath.
After a laborious fifteen minutes of scrubbing, rinsing, and careful negotiations about towel usage, Arden finally emerged--slightly damp, slightly shivering, but alive.
The mud was mainly gone, though his pride remained in tatters.
Mami shook her head, sprinkling water onto the floor. “You are ridiculous. You cannot keep on living like this. Streets, alleys, mafia men—no! You are grounded. You will remain in your room for… one week!”
Arden's jaw dropped.
"One week? That's… medieval! Unfair! Barbaric!"
“You brought this upon yourself,” Mother said.
“You will survive at home and you shall not sneak into alleys anymore.”
Arden huffed.
"Survive at home…? That's going to be… very difficult. Because… inside, there are… couches. And snacks. And homework…"
Mother raised an eyebrow. "Excuses. Grounded. Room. Now."
Arden dramatically slumped onto his bed.
"Fine. but I still think I deserve an award. For bravery. Mud-splash resilience. Milk tea preservation. and, of course, for escaping the mafia."
Mother sighed. “Go to sleep, Arden.”
Lying in bed, Arden stared up at the ceiling as he replayed the events of the night in his head. Mafia men. Mud. Milk tea. Chaos. He had survived. Barely.
Somewhere deep in the shadows of the city, the tall mafia leader's words echoed in his mind:
"Interesting… very interesting."
Arden shivered. "Great," he muttered.
"I made it home… but apparently my adventure is… not over."
He sighed, pulled the blanket over his head, and whispered to the ceiling: "Mother was right… maybe alleys are dangerous. But come on… it was so worth it."
And with that, Lee Arden Santos, hero of the muddy streets and milk-tea preservationist extraordinaire, finally closed his eyes… at least until tomorrow's inevitable chaos. -
- Writer
