January
CAMDEN KENT
Fifteen Years Ago
Sitting with crossed legs on my bedroom floor, I stared at my sneakers in front of me as if I was waiting for them to say something. I reached for them to inspect the holes on the side, and the two forming where my big toes go.
My mom was downstairs just drinking like she had been since I came home from school, but I didn't know what kind of mood she was in. I never knew what kind of mood she was in.
But I needed new shoes. Not only did these not fit me anymore, but I was tired of getting made fun of for having shoes with holes and rips all over them. The funny thing was that everyone thought I was poor, but that wasn't even the case. My parents just didn't like to waste money on me.
Either way, I stood and trod lightly to leave my room. In the hallway, I paused to make sure she wasn't talking on the phone or watching a TV show, but all I could hear was the distinct sound of liquid being poured into a glass.
Walking on my toes, so as not to make unnecessary noise, I found my mom standing at the kitchen counter, sipping from the glass full of red liquid. She was scrolling through her phone, and she didn't seem happy or upset.
"Mom?"
With her head still hung to see her phone screen, she lifted just her cold, icy blue eyes to glance at me. She said nothing, so I took the chance to proceed.
"I was wondering if I could get some new shoes?"
As soon as I spoke the words, I regretted them. I should have started by reminding her that I cleaned the house the day before, or maybe I should have tried my hand at asking her how she was doing. I shouldn't have just asked for a favor right off the bat.
"You have shoes," she said.
I swallowed. "They don't really fit me anymore, and the kids at school are making fun of me."
Her crow's feet crinkled as she laughed into her glass. "That probably has nothing to do with your shoes, if I had to guess."
Glancing around the kitchen, I held my hands behind my back and twisted my fingers together. "I could find some really cheap–"
"Where the hell do you think money comes from, Camden?" She snapped, setting her glass down with a cringe-worthy clanking sound. "You think we have a tree in the backyard just sprouting hundred-dollar bills?"
I shook my head.
"God," she laughed, "you have some fucking nerve coming in here to ask for new shoes when you know that your dad has been having trouble at work."
I did not, in fact, know that.
"Do you know that some kids don't have shoes at all? How would you like that? Huh? How would you like to be homeless, living on the streets downtown when it's 120 degrees outside?"
For just a moment, I thought about how much nicer that might actually be than to live under the same roof as her. "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry," she chuckled, refilling her glass before it was even empty. "You're ungrateful is what you are. Maybe you should think about getting your own job, then you can buy your own shoes? How about that?"
That was surely the end of the conversation, or if I had half a brain I would make sure it was. So, I made the trip back up the stairs and quietly shut myself back in my room.
