An Open Sky

Chapter Thirteen ~Aidan~

 I saw her walk out onto the street. I took my first step toward her, and then I froze. Jay. Of course. All the anxiety in my body drained when I saw them go separate ways. Not today, Jay. I knew there’d be confrontation. There was always confrontation with Jay. I remember what he’d said to me before he went outside that night, before he slammed the door and shut out all the trust I’d ever had in him.

                “You have to get to the top, Aidan. You’re weak, hopeless. But that’s not going to happen to me, and I’m going to make sure of it. The top is a cruel place, and you have to be strong to get there. It’s all or nothing, Aidan. I will get to the top, and I don’t care who I crush to get there.”

                And I don’t care who I crush to get there…me. He crushed me. He stormed outside into the rain knowing what he was going to do. He knew, but I was completely unaware. I was unaware; she was helpless, vulnerable, and he knew it. 

                I followed her, just like I’d followed Layla that night. I made sure I stayed far enough behind her so if she’d turn around, she wouldn’t recognize me. But I also made sure that she wasn’t too far out of reach, so it wouldn’t happen again. Not again. She wouldn’t lie there just out of my reach, not like Layla…

                I shrugged my sweatshirt off of my shoulders as I walked. I let it fall into my hand. It was getting warmer. I had to go home. I needed more clothes. The few outfits that I’d packed in my backpack weren’t enough anymore. The thought of returning to the house made my pulse race. I knew what would be waiting for me behind that door.

                I kept walking. It was the same as every other time. One step in front of the other, the constant thud of my sneakers against the pavement, the few dried up pieces of dirt that were left behind after every step, but my destination was different. I was going home.

                I watched her casually step onto her porch and walk through the door. The comfort of the whole thing almost made me envious. I turned back down the road. I shoved my hands in my pockets and prepared myself for the inevitable meeting.

                I walked down the gravel path to the house, outlining the pain and bitterness inside. I could tell that she hadn’t cut the grass or done any work to the house whatsoever since I’d been gone. I stood there, looking at the broken house, thinking about all of the broken memories inside. I couldn’t go in, but I had to.

                I turned the door knob slowly. I peered through the opening to make out the dark silhouettes of furniture in a dimly lit hallway. I walked in and pushed the door back behind me. I made sure not to close it completely in case I needed to make a quick escape.

                I turned left down another short hallway and started to turn right up the stairs that were just before the kitchen. The dirt-caked carpet, along with the rest of the filthy house, looked like it belonged in an inner-city, not Rexford. The first stair groaned under my weight. I tried to recoil before she would notice, but it was too late.

                “Nice to have you home,” said a raspy voice coming from the kitchen. I stood there, silent on the stairs, praying that she didn’t hear me. “Well don’t just stand there like an idiot, come here,” she called. I numbly walked into the kitchen. I could barely make out the bottle that she was tipping into a glass in the poor lighting of the single light bulb that hung above me. I tossed my sweatshirt on the back of an old wooden chair that used to be one of three surrounding a table. I looked at the empty space in front of me and wondered where the table went.

                I glanced back at the bottle in her hand. I could smell the liquor from here. “That stuff will kill you,” I said as she turned toward me.

                “So where have you been?” she asked, completely ignoring my comment.

                “Do you really care?” I muttered, avoiding her eyes. I knew they looked as tired and bloodshot as mine.

                “Look, I could care less where you’ve been. Whatever you’ve been doing, it’s your problem, but excuse me for trying to be a good mom.” I laughed under my breath at how she struggled to get the words out because she was so drunk. I turned to head back up the stairs when the liquor hit my back. I was drenched with the foul-smelling liquid before I could duck out of the way. The glass that was in her hands moments ago, shattered on the doorframe next to me, sending shards of glass into the side of my face.

                I clutched the burning skin on my left cheek and fell back into the wall. Her footsteps were loud, threatening, as she stumbled to me. She reached down and knotted her fingers into my hair. After a few seconds of straining, I was once again standing at her level. I flinched as she pulled me close. I could smell the pungent liquor and the faint smell of vomit on her breath. I looked up at her with the eye that wasn’t covered by my hands. I could feel the blood oozing from my face.

                “What did you say?” she demanded.

                “Nothing,” I said, trying to shrink back against the wall.

                “Good,” she said, dropping me back onto the floor and stumbling back to the cupboard to retrieve another glass. “Oh, and since you’re here, clean your room a bit. I’m having company over later and it’s embarrassing how messy that thing is.” I sat there staring up at her. My room? Do you not see the house around you? “Didn’t you hear me?” she said walking over to me. I wanted to run, but I was frozen there against the wall. “I said go!” she screamed raising her arm above me. I knew the force she could use to bring her hand right into me, and it would only take a second. The panic that gripped me allowed me to scramble up the stairs and lock the door behind me as soon as I got to the safety of my room.

                I left my door and walked over to my closet to retrieve a large duffle bag that I’d bought myself for my basketball gear. I dumped the shoes and other various items I’d accumulated throughout the years into the closet. I knew I wasn’t going to be playing this year. I kept the finger tape and deodorant in the side pocket, knowing I’d need them. I went to go throw the bag on my bed. I paused for a moment when I saw the pillows stuffed under my undisturbed covers, just like I’d left them the morning I left. She didn’t even check if I was still here.

                I looked away from the bed and tossed my bag on the floor, focusing on throwing all the clothes I had into it. I opened drawer after drawer and packed as much as I could before my bag was almost impossible to zipper. I absent-mindedly looked at my bedside table, just as I’d done every second of every day before. I numbly stared into her eyes. I scanned her smile, her long blonde hair, all of it. I could see my reflection in the glass of the frame. I ran my fingers through the dust on my dresser. All this time and I’ve kept her picture clean. I could see the large gash and the many tiny cuts that freshly lined my face. My fingers gingerly traced the blood that was dripping down my cheek.

                I promised her I’d be back soon and opened my window. I couldn’t take the picture with me. I couldn’t remove her from my life, my old life. I threw my bag to the ground, and climbed out onto the roof not bothering to close the window behind me.