INDIGO

PART FIVE

Upon our arrival, I walked Indigo to the entrance, holding him up as he had a bad limp, and entered the code to my door. Indigo seemed really confused by this and even more nervous about walking in. He went along though, probably still in pain and hoping this would eventually lead to relief. My mom called out in an annoyed tone, "East, why are you home so late? I said to be back by 6 o'clock!" Indigo was startled by this and tried to retreat back to the door, but I whispered to him that he was okay and walked down the hall towards the kitchen where my mom was. "Uhm, mom... so my friend got really hurt...," I said, nervous about what my mom might think about me bringing a stranger home.

In my head, I didn't think of Indigo as homeless, which everyone might assume is a dangerous and negative thing. I thought of him as family-less. Maybe that's just how little kids' heads work, but, even so, I didn't think of him as any less than I thought of all my other friends. In fact, I thought of him as far, far more. But when my mom turned her head towards me holding up a boy who was half-broken and looked sickly, her immediate thought must have been, "he isn't safe." She pulled me towards her, causing me to fumble out of my hold on Indigo. Indigo staggered but caught himself against a wall.

"Who is that?!" My mom spoke louder than when she had called out to me from a separate room while I was right by her side. I was about to respond, when the tattered boy beat me to it, softly and shakily saying, "Indigo..." For a second, I was fighting between looking at Indigo in pride for his understanding and seeing my mom's reaction, but as my gaze drifted, I felt my mom's grip around my shoulder loosen just slightly, and that was an answer enough for me. "He's in trouble, mom... his arm's hurt real bad," I made eye contact with Indigo, my expression probably telling of my attempt to sway my mother's view on the boy before us.

"Did you just meet him? Where did you meet him? Are you hurt?" My mom's anger quickly turned to concern as any mother's would. "I known him for a while, mom, like, since I got lost downtown," I walked towards Indigo, "and I'm not hurt at all, but he is!" My mom seemed confused, but knew this wasn't the time to ponder our friendship. "Come on, er... Indigo, was it?" My mom still had a tense look on her face, but she was trying. Indigo didn't quite understand, but he still stepped towards her slowly.

"He, uhm... doesn't speak much English, mom" I said as she rummaged through a kitchen cupboard looking for our first aid kit. I didn't know how to tell her that he actually didn't know how to speak at all. "What's that? Does he speak Spanish??" She leaned towards me and whispered, "but he looks super white?" I laughed a little as she snickered with me. I really loved my mom, she was as light hearted as she was cautious with me. "Uhm, well, I don't know what he speaks..." I trailed off a bit, glancing towards him as he scratched at an old scab. "Mom, can he stay over tonight?" I spoke without thinking—not that I regretted it.

"Well... I guess I'm okay with it, but shouldn't he go home and tell his parents what happened first? I wouldn't want you out if you were hurt!" Finally, she pulled out some rubbing alcohol and a box of bandages. "Huh, I thought we had a kit but I guess not... this should do fine, though," she waved her hand for Indigo to go to her, the same way I did to him. He understood immediately and tipped to her side. "Uh... so..." I stuttered, not being a very good liar, "his parents... are... they're not home with him right now! On vacation, yeah, I think they went on vacation."

"Ohh, man, I could never understand how people can just leave their kids at home all by themselves," She rambled on a bit more about how she was always alone as a kid since her parents worked from dusk to dawn, grabbing some paper towels and gently soaking up the blood from the gash on Indigo's arm. Indigo didn't flinch or struggle, he was really tough, I thought. I'd have probably been crying and pushing her away if it were me.

"Thank you," he whispered to her, blushing a bit. 'Whaaaat?!' I thought, I'd never seen him this flustered before! "Aw, so polite~," she smiled, rubbing his shoulder a bit, empathetically humming, pouring a bit of the alcohol onto the paper towel. "Now this'll sting just a little, but I promise it's quick!" She pressed the paper towel onto the cut, and he winced slightly, but stood still nonetheless.

My mom quickly finished cleaning up his wounds, banding large ones and putting bandaids on others. She looked up at Indigo's face, and just like he had when he first saw what he looked like, her face became melancholic. "East, baby, why don't you let him borrow some clothes and take a sho–" She spoke, before abruptly double-taking everything and cutting herself off with, "Wait, wait, wait–oh jeez–what did you say happened again? How'd this poor boy get so hurt anyways?" Indigo just fidgeted with the loose end of the bandage on his arm, not being able to follow what was being said. I decided the truth was as plausible as any excuse could be, and explained, "Some middle-schoolers jumped him because he was hanging out in a spot they wanted to skate in... those stupid jerks..." "Oh, don't be like that. What they did was very bad, but maybe 'stupid' isn't the conclusion you should be coming to from that. Jerks, I can completely agree with, however," she always nitpicked how I talked about others, but she was honest.

Eventually my mom would finish her request of getting him to wash up, and I agreed, despite knowing I'd definitely have to help him out.