The Good And The Bad

+|Three|-

+|Joey|-

Curious to know, my brain did wander a field of ideas as to what Ryder's family might be like. It did picture a family with chaos and hectic actions day to day. That wasn't Idea A, that was more like Idea C. Well, turns out, Idea C was as correct as it could be. Ryder walked into his home with me trailing behind. Two little boys were fighting over a toy firetruck. A little girl was playing with a doll in the opposite corner of the living room. Ryder's mom was nowhere in sight.

"Look I have to be to work in twenty minutes can you please just- but I- I need your fucking help for christ sake! Help out with your damn kids-" Ryder's mom paused when she noticed her eldest son had returned from school.

Whoever she was on the phone with had hung up, so she just lowered it from her ear. She didn't really look embarrassed, just a little upset by the phone conversation she'd been having. Ryder's mom took her attention over to the two boys pulling the toy firetruck back and forth. She took the truck away and showed the boys what else they could play with. She walked back over to me and Ryder.

"Is this Joey?"

"Yeah. Joey, mom. Mom, joey," Ryder introduced us.

"Nice to finally meet you, Joey. Thank you for helping Ryder with math," His mom thanked me.

"No problem, he's getting much better," I replied to her truthfully.

"We're gonna go hang out in my room," Ryder said to his mom.

"Can you babysit for me?" She asked Ryder.

Ryder sighed, "I babysat twice last week and you never paid me like you said you would."

"I'm getting paid today, I'll see what I can give you. I have bills to pay," Ryder's mom started to walk towards the front door.

"I'm not babysitting. Ask Aunt Faith," Ryder refused.

It seemed like Ryder's mom didn't exactly own up to what she would say she'd do. It wasn't just a quick first impression assumption. I learned later on that she let her family down countless times.

"Ryder, just do it-"

"No I'm tired of-"

"Hey hey, I'll help you," I put my hand on Ryder's shoulder.

Damn, he had muscular shoulders too. He looked at me for a few seconds and then sighed. I knew he didn't want to watch the kids in the living room, but his mom really needed his help.

"I'll be back around 8:30, I'll try to get dinner from work, thank you for the help, Joey," And like that, she was out the door.

Struggling. Ryder's family was definitely struggling. I didn't know much about his family at the time. From that first meeting, I know Ryder's mom has a good heart and good intentions. His siblings were clueless to the times of struggling. They were still young, they didn't understand what the value of a dollar meant. It was hard to do, but after school sometimes, I'd go over to Ryder's house for an hour or two and help him watch his little siblings. He kept telling me I didn't need to and he could just do it, but I insisted on providing him the help he did really need. Each day I'd go over to his home, I'd notice Ryder really beginning to feel more comfortable around me. I felt like he was seeing me as a friend, I could've been wrong. During my time spent with the boy I'd been tutoring, my vision began to unravel why Ryder had the attitude he had; the specific attitude he carried like a bag glued to his shoulder. Lots of things added up. Lots of hints became answered. After awhile, we started doing the tutoring sessions at his house, sometimes in the living room, sometimes in the kitchen, and sometimes in his bedroom. His bedroom matched his character. It had character. I still remember the first time my eyes met with that room of Ryder's. Each brush of paint, which was now dry, that covered the stable walls were the color of gray. Posters covered most of those gray-colored walls. Music CDs were stacked vertically and a tad unevenly next to a matte black boombox on the floor next to his wooden dresser. The dresser had a few chips and small marks on it. I remember wondering if he was one of those people who left the insides of his drawers a mess after picking out a shirt or a pair of pants to wear. His bed wasn't very big; a twin size mattress dressed in white bedsheets and a plain black comforter stood in the farthest right corner of Ryder's bedroom. There was only one pillow with a few tiny rips in the seams of the white pillowcase. The pillowcase complimented the bedsheets because they were color twins. Two skateboards leaned against a wall next to each other. Some spray paint cans were near the skateboards on the floor. The hardwood floor creaked slightly and quietly. However, the sound was just loud enough for ears to catch. A thirty-two inch flat screen television sat atop a black stand and the DVD player sat on the shelf under the top one. Two remotes rested beside one another next to the DVD player. I walked in and took it all in. The next time I stepped foot in Ryder's room, I'd already been used to the scenery of his bedroom, so there was no need to take it all in like the first time around. Four months into the tutoring had already come and gone. Fast, I know. I didn't expect to have the patience I ended up developing with Ryder Blakeman. He was different, much different from anyone I'd ever met before. He wasn't like my friends. He wasn't like my ex-friends. He wasn't like my school friends. He wasn't like my acquaintances. At that point, I guess we could be considered friends. We hung out and studied an awful lot. We didn't do tutoring on the weekends obviously, so on Friday nights, Saturdays, and Sundays we'd sometimes hang out at his place or at the park across from school. My house was pretty much a no-go. I knew my dad would hate Ryder the minute he'd get the chance to lay eyes on him. Somehow, a Saturday evening turned into my mom asking to meet Ryder. After four months, she finally had the time to. Her patients had been keeping her mind and attention on their toes.