It Started That Day

Him (Brin's perspective)

It has been three days since I dropped out of school. I know no one has noticed. I am just the red head girl that dresses like she lives on a farm. But, I have to go back. It is the only way to get away from my dad.

Ever since my mom left he hasn't stopped drinking. He lost his job last week because he showed up at work drunk. So, now we have no money because, Janet, my mom, rarely pays
child support. When she does, my dad uses it to by his booze.

Anyway, I need to go back so I don't smell vodka and beer all day.

~

I step foot in the putrid Bakersfield High School. I walk to my locker trying to not get attention. I spin the lock on my locker. 15 right, 12 left, 5 right and back to zero. I shove my books in and slam the door shut. A stupid teacher throws their head out the classroom and says, "Young lady!"

I spin around and bump into a boy in a black hoodie. His bundle of books fall to the floor. "Oh, I'm so sorry I didn't know you were there," I tried to keep my head down.

Tucking some hair behind my ear I pick his books up and hand them to him. As I hand them to him I look up. His eyes were two different colors. The left blue and the right brown. I stare in them for a while. Just before I was going to say something the same teacher butts in, "Miss. Ryan!"

I rush into the classroom. I have to know about him. He has a story.

~

When I got back to the trailer there was a note left for me on the old rusted door. 'JJantte dropedd ooff thhe cchek..... wEnttt too Gett Moor burrrbann adn Voodkka'

Sadly, I knew exactly what it said. I jostled the door a little to get the hinges to work. It smelled strongly of spilled beer. After not eating all day I went to the tiny fridge with stains all over it.

I weave around the knocked over coffee table and three legged couch. I crouched and opened the fridge. "Something," I said to myself. I picked up a half eaten sandwich from yesterday. I bit into it softly, waiting for something to be wrong with it. Nothing. I looked at it incredulously, then shrugged and continued eating.

I spun around and scanned the room. "You need some cleaning."

I started by turning the ten year old TV off. Then I moved the three legged monster back against the hole filled wall and stuck a few old books under it in place of the missing leg. After moving the couch there were beer cans and bottles that have been kicked under the puke smelling couch. I poured the not-fully-empty cans down the kitchen drain and threw them in the dumpster outside. I then put the coffee table back in place in front of the couch. I went into my dads room. "Oh my God."

There was a half eaten Hot Pocket sitting on the left pillow. I scrunched my nose in disgust. I went to the kitchen to get and very large trash bag. I crouched under the sink to get one of our largest trash bag boxes. I heard the jostle of the rusty front door.

My father stumbled into the shabby trailer. "Hi, uh, dad," I was scared, considering he wasn't himself, "why is there and unfinished Hot Pocket on your pillow?"

I looked at me, squinted and shouted, "You were in my room?"

"No, no, I-I just saw it-"

He walked over to me slowly. His heeled boots clunking on the checkered kitchen floor. "So you wanna no what happens when you touch my stuff?" his breath smelled putridly of beer.

"I-I didn't touch anything"

"Really?"

"Here is a lesson for the future." He pulled his arm back, formed his hand into a fist and swung it forward.

I felt the heat on my cheek as he took his hand away. I screamed and bolted out of the trailer. I kept running. I didn't know where I was going until I ended up at that guys house. I know where he lives because he took the same bus as me today. I couldn't run any more. I was balling now. I slumped down on sidewalk. I couldn't stop crying.

I lightly touched my cheek. It burns. I pulled my fingers away and looked down. There was blood everywhere. I tried to scream, but nothing was there, just tears.