Dear Maria

Chapter 6 - Move

My mom was home by the time we got back. The second our eyes made contact I could tell I was in trouble. I knew my mother very well; all her little quirks, the faces she makes when she has the slightest change of emotion. I knew she wasn't happy with me. I knew the reason - I wasn't in school. When I was a junior I used to skip school a lot, I didn't like people, I didn't like being around moronic teenagers, half of them having a deathwish for me. Instead I used to bunk off, go stroll around LA for a while. She caught on pretty quick but it didn't stop me. It got to the point where she'd just let me stay at home, instead of having to go through finding out I was wondering the streets when I should be learning. This year however I'd already been given strict warnings, on my attendance, both by senior school staff and my mother herself. Of course there wasn't a chance she'd bring this up in company of a guest, yet I knew the second Alex was gone I'd be grilled.

'Hey guys, Alex hows your hand feeling? I've got your medication here you can take it with you make sure your parents know, I need to speak to them anyway I'll drop you off if you'd like, Maria you can come too I suppose'. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, I knew that he was thinking of a way to delicately put 'I don't speak to my father and I, a 17 year old senior high school student infact live alone and have very little to do with my parents other than my mother anymore'. After beating around the bush a little he pretty much said those exact words, minus the sarcastic tone. I watched the colour slowly drain from my mothers face. She was a family person, connecting. Granted, she'd split up with my father but that was only two years ago, when I was fifteen and reasonably well at dealing with them divorcing. Im still close to both my parents, and my mum and dad still get along, it's all her idea of keeping a family strong. So it was kind of okay when I realised she'd never expected such words to be spoken from Alex. I don't blame her, I was a little taken aback when he told me. It was amusing watching my mother try to form some sort of reply. It took her a couple moments yet she did manage a coherent reply to Alex. 'Well, okay then, are you going to be okay living alone, a broken hand isn't the best thing to cope with, especially not on your own, and legally I don't think I can give you these drugs without parental consent, does your mother even know?' All of her words came out in a flustered mush, but still somewhat understandable. Alex did his best to answer everything. 'I've lived alone for almost a month now I find it much better I'm sure I'll be fine, and if I need help I guess I'll call Maria, or something, and well in that case I'll have to ring her, no she doesn't know'. My mom went about getting the house phone for Alex, offering to stay with us over the period of time his hand was broken.

I myself had stayed silent during this whole escapade, opting to listen. After one long phone call to his mother, she consented for his medication to be given to him, and her and my own mom had made a mutual agreement for Alex to stay in one of our spare rooms for the next six weeks, to ensure Alex got the 'best of care'. From what I could gather, his mother was a nervous wreck when it came to Alex's safety, fretting over his accident which he told her was him falling - not entirely the truth yet not quite a lie - and scolding him for not telling her sooner. It was strange, I didn't expect her to be so motherly. I sort of pictured her like his father, stern, business like and and too important to really care about others. She sounded quite the opposite. There was a dragged out goodbye, before he put the phone down and turned to face us. My mother was the first to speak, suggesting that we go to Alex's apartment and pick up clothes and anything else he may need for the next month and a half.

The drive was short to his place, not giving me time to really think. My mind tends to wonder a lot, thinking of the most impossible things, but sometimes there just wasn't time for such things. The drive was one of those times, it being a little tense but not so much that you could feel it dripping through the air like rain, which was I guess a plus. My mother still had that strained smile plastered onto her face, still with the eyes that let me know I was dead meat once we were alone. It's a funny expression, dead meat. We know meat is dead; a cow or a chicken or a pig or a sheep or possibly even a duck was slaughtered in order to get said meat, so why do we have the expression dead meat. Pretty much all my thinking was taken up by this one expression, because before I knew it we'd pulled up outside the apartment complex.