Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind - Treebros

Chapter 4: "Fight The Lonely"

Monday, October 1st

An old, worn-down car is sitting in the driveway as I walk up the front stoop. Which was odd, because Mom is never home until very late. She had been home this morning, her shift not starting until 9.

Maybe she had died, and I had been in the house with a corpse and didn't even realize. That was terrifying, and I recoiled from the door. I didn't have a job, who was going to pay the bills? Wait, I was 17. So I'd get put in foster care and end up homeless in the street and probably have to drop out of school and die alone and sad.

Or maybe, I was overthinking. Because I heard movement inside the house. Which could also possibly have been a burglar. Maybe they broke in and saw my moms dead body and called the cops and I'm gonna get arrested for killing my own mom.

Shakily, I push my key into the lock, and open the door. "Mom?" I call out, and sigh in relief when she pops her head around the corner for a moment before retreating.

"Hey sweetie! How was school?" she asks, rustling some papers. I walk into the kitchen to find her running around, grabbing her bag and looking for something.

"Uh, it was good..." I trail off, but she doesn't seem to notice my confusion or my hesitance.

"Yeah? That's good. You've been keeping up with your homework?" she presses, sliding on her shoes as she rifles through her purse.

"Yeah. You're leaving?" I ask, and Mom pauses her frantic searching to shoot me a tight-lipped smile.

"I picked up an extra shift tonight. I'll go straight from there to class, so I might see you tomorrow afternoon?" she says, but like almost everything, there's a questioning note to it. Like she knows that she can't even make definite plans, and she doesn't want to make a promise she can't keep. Like I don't know well enough by now that any plans she makes will be postponed indefinitely.

"I guess," I shrug, slowly inching my way towards the stairs. I don't want to get away from Mom. I want to get away from the feeling that I was never a priority even once in my life.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in forever. I'm off on Saturday, maybe we could do something together? We haven't been to the Bellhouse in a while, maybe we could go there? They have those pancakes you like," she asks, before snatching her keys from the bottom of her purse.

"Yeah, maybe," I say, noncommittally. Mom's basically already out the door and I doubt she's even registered anything I've said.

"Well, I'm glad you had a good day. I left some money on the counter, please eat. You have an appointment with Dr. Sherman Wednesday. I love you!" she shouts, before the door slams closed and echos with her absence.

"I love you too," I whisper. She's gone. She can't hear me. Even when she's right in front of me, she can't hear me.

Sometimes silence is the most welcome sound. It can fall upon deaf ears, or it can be welcomed with a smile. Silence was an old friend of mine. Ever since my dad left, the house was always quiet. Even when I was with my mom on those rare nights where we could spend time together, quietness would loom over us, watchful.

My room is just as I left it. Of course it is, it isn't like anyone was gonna touch it. But it feels devoid of life. My bed is neat, books lined up on the shelf, map on the bulletin with pins in it. It looks like an IKEA display. Fake. It didn't look lived in.