To The Grave

Chapter 16. Marty. Day 78.

My hands held onto a large kitchen knife, carving my name into the wooden boards of the porch. The sun was high in the sky, covered by clouds. I stood up, seeing the last of our stuff being lifted into a trunk. I moved into my older brother's car, listening to it start. We pulled away from the cabin, moving back onto the main road. Randall moved in the backseat, stretching out the best he could.

I pulled out a cigarette, lighting it quickly. The CD changed, turning to a new CD. "Sonya's going to the parking lot, probably gonna smoke some weed." I flicked the lighter watching the wind blow it out. I dropped the dark red Bic onto my lap, leaning my head back.

I sat in Randall's backyard looking around at the small area. His hands moved, pulling open the pack of menthol cigarettes his mom had left on the table. He flicked the lighter, taking a drag in his silence.

"I'm kinda tired of everything." I whispered, looking at the smoke drift from his mouth.

He nodded, "Yeah, me too." He pushed the cigarette towards me. I took a drag, feeling the harsh burn on my throat. I handed it back, looking to the sun beginning to set.

The gate opened loudly, my mom rounding the corner to see us. "Marty, what the hell?" She asked, moving closer to us quickly. Randall grabbed the cigarette from my hand, shoving it into the ashtray.

My mom's hand wrapped around my wrist, pulling me to stand up. Her hand flew into my face. I bent over, holding my eye with my free hand. "What the fuck, it's not a big deal."

"You're twelve Marty, you can't be doing that shit." She dragged me away from the backyard.

"Mom doesn't hate you." Ferris' voice pulled me out of the daydream. He looked over to me, turning back to the road. "She did this to Molly when Winona was born. Acted like everything was her fault, got mad at her about everything. She's just in a funk. Give it a few weeks."

I looked at the cigarette, about half remained but it had gone out. "Yeah, sure." I relit the cigarette pulling the smoke into my lungs. "I don't think she's ever liked me though."

He shook his head, glancing over to me again. "She's your mom. She made you, she likes you at least a little bit."

"Remember that time I said a kid hit me, when I had that black eye." I asked, the memory flooding back to me. He looked over to me, nodding. I opened my mouth to push out the truth. Instead they got caught in my throat, building out into a choke.

Ferris looked back to me, trying to keep the car straight. "What about it, Martin?"

I shook my head. "Forget it."

Randall rolled his window down, pulling out a cigarette of his own. "You never told him."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, flicking the ash out the window. "It was Mom."

Ferris moved to sit up straighter. "Why?"

"What?" I asked, taking another drag.

He shrugged. "Why did she hit you, why didn't you ever tell me? What the fuck Marty?"

"I don't know, I didn't want you to be mad at her or somethin- Marty? You've never called me Marty."

"Martin, whatever." He turned down a road, following our parents car.

"Where are we going now?" I asked, tossing the cigarette butt out the window.

Ferris moved his shoulders, "That didn't answer my questions."

I rolled the window up, moving my legs in the seat, "That sucks."