Light as a Feather

Chapter two- a few years later

The unpacked boxes still sat in our kitchen area. In thick black marker are the words: Kitchen stuff. Put away. Put away now. Even my little notes to myself don't motivate me to unpack them. Why should they? They have been sat there now for over eight months and if Laz and I finally decide not to eat frozen food I am sure I will open them. The cup of tea before me has gone a stale colour, it no longer blooms golden, the digital clock on the kitchen counter keeps flashing an illuminous red colour, 07:00. I know I need to get Laz out of bed for school but waking an eight-year-old boy is not safe for my mental health. He is currently going through the tantrum stage. He hates school. His teachers are mean and make him eat his greens before he can eat his jelly, and the boys at his school aren't cool, they are far too childish. This is what I hear, day in and day out. He doesn't want to make friends no matter how hard I tried to arrange play dates, he refuses to get out of my car. I thought Devon would be a nice scenery change for Laz, but if anything, I think the sea air has turned him more boisterous. Thankfully Laz has never mentioned his father since the incident four years ago, he doesn't ask any questions in fact, even when I abruptly moved him two days after that. I saw Mr Kerry watch us from his window as I placed a sleeping Laz into his car seat and shut the boot with all our possessions in. He didn't move from the bloody window and I didn't wave goodbye. I was sure it was him that put the thoughts of his dad in his mind. The clock flashed 07:05, I scrapped back my chair and made my way up the stairs of our small cottage to wake Laz.

*

He wolfed his breakfast down like he was a malnourished child and plonked himself down in front of the TV, he skipped past the children's channels and went straight to the news, sitting there with his elbow on his knee and his head supported by his hand. His wild hair had now turned into graceful curls and his blue eyes seemed brighter than ever, I tugged a stand of my own mousy brown hair and watched as it lay flat upon my chest. Neither of my parents had curls nor hair as dark as Laz's. I usually wondered how they were doing, if they ever think of me and little Laz. I push them far back into my mind, into the eternal pit of darkness. "Okay Laz, shall we get going to school?" I call as I pick up his elf size rucksack.

"I don't want to go," Laz said not taking his eyes off the TV.

"Well, you have to because I have things to do today."

"I can help you," he said still not moving. I picked up the control and switched off the TV, still, he didn't move.

"No, you can't, you have to go and learn." He sighed and got to his feet, he walked over to me and took his bag from my hands and swung it over his left shoulder.

"I hope you know I disagree with you," he spoke, his eyes boring into mine.

"I do," I answered, "now, let's go!" He pouted his lip ever so slightly and made his way to the front door. I turned the lock and pulled it open, he waltzed outside, not uttering a word to me. I felt the frustration rise, but I ignored it, reminding myself he's an innocent eight-year-old, with no greater understanding of the world. I pulled the door too and lock it before unlocking the car and watching my son as he climbs in, making sure I noticed his great big sigh and his folded stubborn arms. "Always theatrical, aren't you Lazlo?" I asked as the engine burst into life and the radio tuned in.

"It's going to be sunny, sunny, sunny today, hardly a chance of rain and reaching highs of eighteen degrees, I hope you haven't locked your summer wardrobe away just yet!"

"It definitely is going to rain," Laz said looking up at the sky, I followed his gaze and was met by a clear sky with one wisp of a cloud.

"If you say so." I placed the car into reverse and slowly backed out of our gravelly drive.