firefly 𑁋 salvis.

XXIV

︶ ♫ ˚ ̟

Lots of cleaning was to be done, and Travis knew it. Between the mess his father had made in his room, and the one he would inevitably encounter downstairs, that in and of itself was going to be extensive work. It wouldn't hurt to tidy up the rest of the house as well, so that, hopefully, Kenneth would be in a better mood when he walked in. Seeing a clean house after a long day usually put Kenneth in a bit of a better mood.

Travis almost felt like a fretful housewife, cleaning up after her angry husband and waiting anxiously for him to get home. Is this how his mother felt? Is this why she left? Did she skulk around the house, dusting here and there, tapping her fingers on the granite countertops as the clock ticked? Did she dutifully clean the dishes, analyzing each of them to be sure they were pristine? Did she scrub the dirt stains out of her son's clothes and the blood stains from her husband's, wondering where the crimson stains came from when, as far as she knew, he only ever went to the church?

Travis distinctly remembers that exact situation. He clambered in from school one day, no older than six or seven, mouth moving a thousand miles a minute as soon as he opened the door. His mother was nowhere to be seen, but he knew she was listening anyways. She always listened as he told her about his day, about what he and Larry played on the playground. That day, they had played pirates, and he fell off the slide while he was using it as a plank. He came home with no more than a few scrapes on his elbows and knees to show it, and his teacher hadn't even called home about the incident because he'd taken it like a champ.

"It hurt so bad! But I didn't even cry, not once! Dad would be so proud!" He rambles on, a smile on his mouth as he tosses his backpack onto the floor beside the front door. He hears no response, but he knows mom's listening. He walks through the house, peeking into the living room and then the kitchen for her. She's nowhere to be seen. He hums a tune, just something he made up, and continues wandering. He walks down the hall, towards dad's study and the laundry room, and soon hears humming. His mom's humming.

Travis runs happily towards it, coming to an unsteady stop in the doorway to the laundry room. There she sat, as usual on laundry days. Toothbrush in hand, a few select cleaning products sitting on the dryer beside her. The dryer rumbles, and the bottles on top of it waver unsteadily, but none of them fall. She's hunched over an article of clothing strewn in her lap, toothbrush scrubbing dutifully at it. Her hair's tucked into a slightly messy braid, stray hairs poking out here and there. That morning, it had been perfectly neat. She had always prided herself in looking her best all the time.