~Broken Family~

Smoking Candy Cigarettes

A few years ago
Rose Hill, Tennessee

"Faster, Harley! Faster!"

Harley threw himself forward, skidding in the dust until he slapped his hand against the old, cracked base that had to be at least fifty years old.

"Yeah!" As Harley pushed himself up off the ground, his sneakers held together by duct tape, hands pounded his back. Seemingly the only kids in the world that didn't bully him all the time. "Great job, Harl!"

Harley spat in the dirt, smearing his mouth with the back of his sleeve from the old red jacket he'd picked up at Goodwill. Somehow it still fit. "We playin' another round?"

The several other neighborhood boys shrugged.

"I've gotta go back for supper," Dennis said. His brothers Darrell, Austin, and Mickey nodded, and they headed out.

"Later, guys," Harley waved, picking up his wooden bat he'd let them borrow and heading in the direction of his backyard.

"Where you goin'?" Ace shouted over his shoulder.

"Checks!" Harley called, jumping on his bike and flicking up the kickstand. He stood and pedaled as fast as he could down the familiar, beat-down road. Ace's warnings of it being a lost cause were whipped away in the late summer wind.

Sagging power lines bordered the cracked sidewalks, getting in the way of huge, old trees. The streetlights changed every few moments, some blinking red, others out completely. Most of the cars that drove by had arms dangling out the windows, holding smoking cigarettes. Harley remembered trying a cigarette once or twice before---they left a bad taste in his mouth for days and made him cough, plus his mom was always warning him how unhealthy they were.

Not to mention the fact that it was illegal at his age.

He swerved to avoid broken glass on the sidewalk, then jumped into the grass and swerved between chain-link fences with snarling, slavering dogs straining against them to the other road behind it.

A 7/11 gas station sat, looking mostly abandoned, at the corner of Harbor and Oak. There were a few pickups at the pumps, their owners pounding at the buttons furiously with cigarettes sticking out of their mouths.

"'Scuse me," Harley called as his bike bumped up the curb and in between the cars. He came to a skidding stop right by the doors where he threw his bike down, yanking the door open and stepping into the store.

As usual, disappointment hit him almost as hard as the smell of cleaner and undercooked hot dogs. He sped walked over to the counter where they sold the scratchers, poking his face up above the counter to give the girl behind it a big smile. Schoolboy crushes were the best.

"Seen him?" he asked hopefully. The girl looked down at him with a mixture of disgust and pity. She snapped her bubble gum, then scratched her nose ring with a shake of her head.

"Sorry, kid."

Harley shrugged half-heartedly, then turned to the candy isle. "It's okay." His fingers slid over the circus peanuts and the sour candy. "Anything interesting happen this week, Molly?"

"No, and I told you to stop bothering me. I don't even know why you came back here."

Harley grabbed a handful of candy before moving on to the isle where they sold the stationary. It'd been two weeks since he'd sent Tony a letter.

"To look for him. I'm sure he'll come back someday."

Molly sighed, tossing her purple hair as she messed with a Swiss army knife. "Dream on, kid."

"Hey, that's mine," Harley exclaimed as he dumped his candy and stationary on the counter. Molly raised an eyebrow.

"Really? I found this on the floor here yesterday."

"That's mine, you know it." Harley tried to grab it from her. "Come on, Molly, my dad gave that to me."

"When you were four? I don't think so."

"Look at the name!"

She didn't. "Okay, but first you'll have to convince me." She slapped a box of cigarettes on top of his pile of candy and he sighed.

"Whatever." He pulled a handful of coins and mashed-up dollar bills from his pocket. She rang him up with a smug smile, then traded the cigarettes for his knife.

"Thanks, little dude."

"Don't call me that."

He pushed open the door roughly, making the bell jingle, and dumped everything into his bike basket before heading off.

He didn't want to go home---not just yet. He didn't know if he could see his mom now the way the morning and afternoon had gone. He didn't like it when she pulled bottles out of the fridge.

Instead, he pedaled to the garage where, one year ago, Tony Stark had tried to take shelter and steal his stuff. His classmates still wouldn't believe him, which led to even more bullying. He was thankful that Tony had fixed up his gun to use against them, but he still couldn't make himself do it. EJ and the other bullies may have been stupid and always beat him up, but he couldn't make himself fight back. That would just make himself a bigger target.

He entered in through the side door, which he locked as soon as he pulled his bike through. If he was really quiet, he could hear his mom crying in the house, so he grabbed the old radio and flipped it on after blowing some dust off of it.

He dumped his new stationary and sugary fuel onto the workbench, popping a sucker in his mouth and cracking open the pack of paper and stamps. He had to hunt around the garage for awhile until he found his old pencil, which needed sharpened. Soon he was flopped down on the couch writing the letter with Chesney curled at his side and Billy Currington playing on the radio.

Deer Tony, he wrote. Things have been good. How are you? Today I found my missing nife. It was only missing for a day. How is Peper? I hope she has her baby soon and you send me pictuRes of her. I'm excited for when she is born. Are you happy to be a dad? You beter be a good dad not lick my dad. Rember when you almost ran me over with your car? That is not something a good dad dos. Don't run your dater over, ok? Please rite back and don't send this letter back with your red pen all over it that fix my gramar ok?
Rite back soon
Harley KeeNer
P.S. Do you know what you will name your dater yet?

Harley folded the letter and stuffed it into an envelope, licking the glue, leaving green marks from the candy in his mouth, and pressed it closed. He peeled off a stamp and stuck it to the corner, scribbling his address onto it in fancy blue pen that might have gotten smeared as he wrote.

He went over to the other side door and cracked it open to peek out, but the house was silent. His mom had probably fallen asleep on the couch.

With a skip in his step, he dashed over to the mailbox, slipping the envelope inside with more excitement than when he sent letters to Santa in the North Pole mailbox at the mall.

His dad might have left and forgotten about him, but Tony Stark was a superhero. He was different. He might have left, too, but he hadn't forgotten about the little kid who had helped him save the day.

And that made Harley a hero in his own way, too, didn't it?