Who He Is

three

Jessa

"Are you crazy?" My frantic, over dramatic mother spat at me after I told her what had happened a few nights ago when volunteering.

I shouldn't have told her anything.

I rolled my eyes and stabbed a piece of scrambled egg with my fork before eating it. My stomach churned, still aching with guilt.

"I was helping him, he was hurt." I hissed, picturing his busted lip, black eye and bloodied skin. I shivered at the remembrance; I was still upset for leaving him without offering to get him medical attention for his wounds. He wouldn't have accepted it anyways, probably would have just cursed me out.

"That's his fault for getting hurt, no reason for you to get yourself hurt Jessalyn."

I immediately crumbled up my napkin and tossed it on my now empty plate, already wanting the conversation to end.

"We don't know his story, or anyone's for that matter. It's not his fault for some low lives stealing his things."

My mother raised a brow and laid her palm on the surface of the kitchen table beside my plate before speaking:
"I can tell you his story right now," she stammered in a cold and now emotionless voice.
"He most likely got into drugs and dropped out of school, if he even went, and has zero education. Which explains why he's living on the streets, Jessalyn. People like that don't deserve help from people like us that actually work hard in this world."

Her voice went from completely emotionless to as chilling as venom; venom from a poisonous snake with a fatal bite.

I blinked rapidly and struggled to collect my thoughts on what she just said. I simply couldn't believe the words that were came out of her mouth. I grew up with those words, sure, and I expected them at this point, but she's officially reached a new level of cruel.

"I think you should take a break from volunteering, you clearly have forgotten the rules and you're becoming too reckless with it. You think everyone in the worlds innocent!"

I angrily stood up from my chair, the legs of it screeching against the floor as it moved.

"I do not! You just seem to think everyone in the world that doesn't have a lot of money is scum to the earth! There's something more wrong with that if you ask me." I spat, literally spitting a little as I yelled at my now red faced mother.

"Woah, woah, woah," my fathers deep and stern voice boomed from the hallway. It surprised me that he was actually still home.
He put a hand on my shoulder and looked at his wife with a concerned eye. "What's going on?" He asked.

"Nothing." I spoke before she could get a chance to. "Nothing at all."

I grabbed my school bag from the chair and slung it over my shoulder.
I let my dad give me his usual kiss on my cheek and swiftly made my way outside to my car, not feeling an ounce of guilt for not saying a word to my mom as I left.

The air outside was humid and warm, almost wet. It was about to rain, I could tell by the smell of the air. The leaves on the trees that flooded my neighborhood blew softly in the wind, the wind that sounded like angels whispering in my ear each time it blew. I closed my eyes as I felt a raindrop fall on my forehead, and with that I quickly hopped into my car.