Hudson

Chapter 1

Hudson was on fire. Not literally, just figuratively. He had began walking along the street, away from the soul-sucking region that we call high school. The boiling sun was blazing down on his Grateful Dead T-shirt (Why he chose to wear black, he did not know) as he strutted down the Phoenix street. It was May, the school year nearly over. Hudson was exceptionally relieved. He would be going up North to stay with his uncle in the bigger-than-life-itself cabin he owned. Just a few prolonged days until his getaway. As he turned the corner, he almost felt the cool mountain air.

Hudson's apartment was nothing to get excited about.

It had the necessities, like a kitchen (small), 2 bedrooms (smaller), and a bathroom (microscopic), but it had character, you could say. Hudson's mother was an interior decorator, and very good at it. The whole apartment looked as if lifted out of a Metro Home magazine. As Hudson referred to their home as "The Hole", his mother did quite a good job in making it not-so-hole-ish, he just wouldn't admit it. As he reached the front door, he paused. He could hear the TV blaring from inside.

"Hudson, is that you?" So much for a clean getaway to his room. His plan was thwarted by the flimsy, and transparent, screen door. Transparent enough for his mother to see him through.

"Yeah, it's me." Hudson stepped inside. Immediately feeling the air conditioner that the outdoors lacked, he dropped his bag on the floor, and headed straight for the kitchen. He grabbed a soda from the fridge, then re-entered the living room, where his mom sat on the couch.

"Uncle Oliver called. He said that, if you wanted, he would be fine if you skipped your last day of school and went up to the cabin a day early." Hudson smiled, fixing his stormy blue eyes on him mother.

"Yeah. That'd be awesome." What was not awesome, was that Hudson had to now pack all his things by tomorrow. He'd be staying for 1 whole month, which required a lot of preparation. He got packing immediately. Stepping inside his room, it was not what you'd expect. As a teenage boy, you'd think his room would be ridden with food wrappers, blanketed in a thick covering of dirty clothes, with a lovely aroma of moldy cheese filling the space. It was quite the opposite. Hudson enjoyed having his room organized, and nothing was out of place. The only thing he allowed to be messy was his bed, which was a constant tangle of sheets, which strangely resembled twisted spaghetti noodles.

Hudson got packing, and within an hour or so he had basically finished. Plopping himself down on his bed, soda in hand, he actually had time to do what he loved most. He pulled out a clean notepad, and fished a sharp pencil from his writing drawer. His pencil scratched across the paper, uneven lines forming. It was impossible to discern what the drawing would turn out to be, until it was actually done. He held his hand aloft, admiring his work. Hudson had drawn since he could remember. An instant talent for him, and he did it often. He brought his sketch book everywhere with him. It was as much a part of him as was his own hand.

Hudson leaned back to admire his work. A gnarled tree in a barren field. The tree was knobby, like a skeletal limb. The shading implied sundown, and Hudson had perfectly captured the rays of light on the page. Not to brag, of course. Hudson had never showed these drawing to anyone. They were, for lack of a better word, his escape.

It was late after Hudson had finished his drawing, so he reached over to switch off his lamp. After setting his alarm early for tomorrow, because Uncle Oliver would be coming to pick him up, he fell asleep.