Problem Children

Chapter Twenty Two

Wednesday.

Four thirty five p.m.

One hand delicately held the phone while the other twirled the cord around a finger. Two feet stretched upwards allowing the girl to see out the kitchen window where lay an empty driveway outside of it. Three rings later and a voice picked up. Not the voice she was hoping for, but close enough; the driveway was still empty. "Hello?"

"Malcolm?" A loud sneeze was heard on the other end of the phone along with a sniff or two. Finally ending in a sorry groan.

"Sorry, Hannah," he answered. "Cold bug goin' 'round. Didn't get you, did it?" the boy asked wiping his nose on his sleeve. He'd have grabbed a tissue, but they were on the other side of the room, where he couldn't reach. His laundry pile was growing every second.

"No, I've been-I've been away from the kids at school a few days," Hannah answered, rubbing her wrist.

"Oh, 'cause of Friday?" Malcolm asked. "Or...what?"

"Uh, I kind of, sort of, maybe..."

"Yes?"

"Quit school," Hannah finished. "About that fight with my mom? I told her how I felt and dropped out. Of course I had to anyway 'cause of Friday, but...I still made it my decision." She laughed nervously. "Pretty dumb, huh?"

"Not at all! I mean, that's what I did," he laughed. "But, hey, you okay? You don't seem the type to fight with a parent. Especially yours."

"Well, we all have our breaking points," Hannah sighed glancing out the window. "I didn't realize mine shattered until I stepped on the glass... yeah, I'm okay."

"Ya' know, Angus would be real happy to know what you done. He'd be proud of you."

"He wouldn't be proud of the real reason though, this is just a cover up. Is he, uh-" Hannah looked around her kitchen. "Is he available? Do you know?"

"He's grounded, remember? Not to mention his match in the ring," Malcolm chuckled, then sneezed into his wrist again. "Christ. Yeah, he's been nursin' it all week. Course, who knows if he actually knows what he's doin'. You, want to talk to him?"

"Uh, it's okay, I can-well, I was calling to see if he was there, but if you can't get him it's fine-"

"Then I'll get him for you," Malcolm said, cutting her off. "Hey, Angus! Hannah's speakin' on the phone!" He strained his hoarse voice as loud as he could, and when he got no answer, he wondered if Angus really couldn't hear him. "She wants to talk to ya'!" Still nothing. No footsteps or voice came from the hallway upstairs. "Get your arse down here!"

A muffled voice came from Angus' bedroom, which Malcolm couldn't understand. He tried again and received a more audible response. "Bring the phone up here then! If she wants to talk!" Malcolm coughed into his hand.

"Fucker! Sorry, Hannah, not you. Angus!" Malcolm placed the phone on the table and started towards the stairs. He picked it back up again. "I'll be right back." Quickly Malcolm took each step and ended up at his brother's door, right across from his own. His fist pounded on it, increasing the volume each time. "Hannah's waitin' for ya' on the phone! Angus?" Pressing his ear against the wood, he could hear the faint voice of Chuck Berry playing on his record. "Angus, open up!" The boy on the other side sat on the floor, his back to the door. A notebook was seated on his lap, a pencil in his right hand. His left hand was curled in a fist, leaving a dimple on his left cheek. The whole morning he had spent practicing his drawing, and he was finally getting the hang of drawing a person. This person bore a resemblance to Angus with his curly hair and lips. A pair of horns stood on his head with a whipping tail behind him. If Angus could build any sort of persona of himself, he'd pick this one. Next to him lay a magazine, open on a scandalous woman, sporting nothing but a street sign saying, 'One Way'.

It had been glanced at a few times, and his fingerprints still lingered on the pages. And sure he got some entertainment seeing the different women. What boy his age wouldn't? But after a few minutes the magazine got set on the floor beside him while his notebook took its place. Along with a few drawings he caught himself subconsciously scribbling a name on the paper. His own, and another. Eventually he had a whole page filled with the same name, different fonts covering the surface. One written in cursive next to one surrounded by hearts. He hadn't put those there, his pencil did. Malcolm kept pounding away on the door, soon overriding the music. "What?" Angus yelled over his shoulder.

"I've got your girlfriend on the line, she's got a few things to say!" Angus rolled his eyes and continued scribbling. "C'mon, Angus, show some decency!"

"I'm a bit busy here, Mal, maybe later!"

"Busy," he muttered. "Busy, what? Busy wanking?"

"Busy! So fuck off!"

"C'mon, it's somethin' important! I don't know for sure, but if it's what I think..."

"She ought to come over then, if it's so important!" Angus yelled. "Tellin' me over the phone isn't real courteous!"

"She's worked up all this courage to tell you, the least you could do is pick up the phone!" The pounding continued. Malcolm was ready to pound a hole into the door. If he hit Angus, well, served him right. "Get your fuckin' arse out!"

"Don't let Mum hear that mouth," Angus taunted, smiling at his words.

"Mum's pickin' up your milk an' ain't home. That's why I picked up the phone, now it's your turn to talk!"

"Rain check," was his only response. Malcolm persisted on knocking the door down, only to be drowned out by the record player's volume increasing. Angus smiled to himself again but winced when a sharp jarring behind him pushed him slightly forward. Malcolm was glad he was still wearing his shoes, though he would have preferred the door open. Turning back to his work, he sighed at the single yet many names he had printed in his notebook. Slowly his pencil ceased to shade the letters in the center of the page. His left hand took hold of the top and ripped it out, crumpled it up and threw it against the wall, bouncing off the trashcan.

Malcolm stormed down the last step and grabbed the phone still lying on the table. "Hey, sorry, Hannah, I can't seem to get through to him, he's bein' an ass again tonight." He sniffed a little and cleared his throat expecting an answer. "Maybe you can come over later? I hate to give in to him, but he's not budgin'." Still nothing. "So...are you gonna...Hannah? Hello?" Nothing but a lifeless dial tone replied. Hannah's phone in her kitchen was hung back up on the hook, her footsteps retreating upstairs. The driveway was no longer empty.