Inconsolable » Squid [Holes]

14: What's in a Name

It was hard to do homework at the Carson home. Not because of his nosy elderly neighbor, Ms. Applebee, who battered her eyelashes at him while simultaneously peppering him with questions about his mom's whereabouts. Not because of the shouting from Mrs. Young as she threw her husband's clothes out on the front lawn as she accused him of cheating on her with his secretary (they would make up by the end of the day just to have loud sex with the windows open to repeat the process again the next day). And not because of the man who lived three houses down that ended up wandering around the streets at night in his threadbare bathrobe looking for his missing wife who had died four years earlier.

It was hard to do homework in the Carson home because Mittens wouldn't stop walking across Alan's notebook, sticking his butt up in Alan's face and then headbutting Alan when he wanted to be petted. Alan did his best to ignore him, pushing him away and trying to distract him with a toy but it didn't work and he found himself giving in. He always gave in and Mittens knew it.

"Okay, Mittens, I really need to get my history homework done," Alan said as he pushed the black cat away from his lap. Mittens stared at him. "Don't look at me like that, buddy. I gotta get a good grade." Mittens meowed and bumped his nose against Alan's open palm. He sighed and scratched behind Mittens' ears. He purred and pushed himself into Alan's palm. "You know, you're gettin' real spoil'd."

Alan pushed Mittens away and focused on his book again. At least, he tried to focus on it. He reread a paragraph about the Louisiana Purchase three times until his brain finally clicked long enough to move onto the next one. But even then the words seemed to swim and dance across the page. Fatigue grabbed at him, lulling him to sink into the pillows positioned behind his back but he forced his burning eyes to stay open. He was already behind in some classes and he wasn't sure how many more extensions he'd be granted. Okay, one more time. France controlled the Louisiana Territory and...blah, blah, blah...

Alan pushed the heel of his palm into his eye, yawned, and propped the history textbook up on his knees. Mittens curled up against his side, briefly stretching out his white paws. He leaned back against the pillows, tucking one arm behind his head, reread the paragraph, and then frowned. It was quiet. A tad too quiet. There was always some sort of noise in his home, usually attributed to his mother if she hadn't disappeared during the day. But she was there, passed out on the couch with Dr. Phil playing on the TV when he walked in after school but now he heard nothing.

Odd.

Eyebrows furrowed, he reached for the phone sitting on his bedside table and lifted it to his ear. No dial tone. He set it down and reached a little further to try the desk lamp. No matter how many times he turned the knob and got confirmation clicks the light didn't turn on. Dread landed with a heavy thud in his stomach. Shit. Shit shit shit!

In his haste to hop off his bed he sent his textbook flying one way and Mittens the other. Mittens landed on his feet and seemed to turn his nose up to Alan as he stalked out of the room. He barely noticed as he flicked on and off the switch for his overhead fan. Still nothing. "Fuck!"

He made the short trip down the hall and hurried into the living room. His mother still lay in the same position she was in when he got home, only difference was the spot of drool that had grown on their couch beneath her open mouth. The fan directed at her stood still by the couch and the tv screen remained blank.

"Mom. Mom. C'mon, Mom, get up," Alan said, shaking her shoulder. He dropped to his knees and waited, watching to see if her chest rose and fell with her breath. He pressed his lips together and swallowed the rising ball of panic in his throat. He tightened his grip and shook her harder. "Mom! Mom, wake up!"