Short Stories

Disaster

My mother was doing that thing she did. That thing with the rag in the sink. She always did it when she was nervous. I have painted countless pictures of her doing this but, can never get the nervousness on her face just right. I could never get the the shakiness of her hands to show in the paintings. I bet she's nervous about that stupid bartender from Seattle. That's her boyfriend. He's a dick. 

She said he makes her feel young again. She said she's losing weight to make him happy. If you ask me she's losing too much. Her bones pop out at sharp angles, and her skin is pulled tight over them. She doesn't listen when I tell her she needs help. She just says, 'Alex this is healthy. This is how I'm supposed to be.'  She needs help. 

When I walk into the kitchen she puts the rag down softly in the sink and turns around. The look on her face scared me. 

"Mom, what's wrong?" I ask her. 

"I forgot to pay a bill, sweetheart." She ran her hands through her thinning, pale brown hair. When she looked back up at me her dark green eyes had tears in them. 

"Mom it's okay. We can pay it. What was the bill for?" I ask 

"It's not a house bill, Alex. It's a different kind. We need to leave. I need you to go pack a bag." She took her pink apron off and wiped her skinny hands on the towel in the sink. 

"Mom-" I started, bit she didn't let me finish. 

"Now!" 

I went to my room and started picking T-shirts, jeans, socks, and other various items into a duffel bag. I quickly threw a green and black beanie on and walked to the kitchen. My mom already had her bag on the tabletop. 

"Where are we going?" I ask. 

"I can't tell you," She replied. She threw on a jacket, even though it was 90 degrees outside. 

We walked outside and we got in the car. She drove fast and reckless through the barren streets of our small town, and within minutes we were on the highway heading out of the state. 

I didn't question her. She's done this before, and the last time I continuously asked her she pulled over and beat me with a belt. I still have the scars. 

She stopped in a motel room and we slept there for a few days. On the last tragedy struck. I walk back into the room after getting lunch and my mom's boyfriend had her at gunpoint. 

"Mom!" I yelled. Her boyfriend turned around and a shot rang through the room, and suddenly I was laying on the floor. 

My mom's screech broke the silence and she ran to my side. Her boyfriend ran. 

My mom had tears steaming down her pale face. She pressed a hand to my torso, and her hand came away bloody. She raked her hand through her stringy hair and the pale brown was now stained red. 

"You'll be okay. I promise. It's not that bad," She said to me, but I was getting tired. 

She brought a hand up to me and brushed my black hair out of my deep blue eyes. Her hand then fell to my face. I suddenly remember something a teacher once taught me in school. He told us that life ends in the middle of a sentence, and up until this point  I didn't understand what he meant. I have more life to live. I have friends. I have family. I have---------