ON THE ROAD

Max

Two days were enough to make me forget how good it felt to be free.

Taking a moment to inhale the smell of seaweed, I looked up to the sky. The stars seemed to be lighting up a path to help me find my way back into town. I could hear a dog barking, which I suspected to be Barney, my old babysitter's dog that I used to love, so much that I once stole him for a few hours.

It was an early spring day and my parents were, once again, completely blacked out on the couch. They knew they had to give up something to keep the social services away: drugs or me. So, every weekend, when the urge to drink and smoke became an obsession, they would send me to this babysitter living on the other side of the town. If she knew what was going on, she never showed it. At first, she was surprised to see me come up to her house, always alone, but she eventually started waking up earlier to wait for me on her porch.

That day, my parents had received friends over and their barbecue had started looking more like a Bob Marley concert at around eleven, which I knew was my cue to go. Leaving behind the white lines of powder and empty bottles, I walked slowly around town. I lived on the bad side: the houses were smaller and none of them were taken care of. As soon as we crossed Main street, it seemed like a whole new world.

When I arrived to Martha's house, she was, as always, waiting for me, sitting on her doorsteps. Her home was white and blue and she had colourful flowers all over her front yard. She waved at me as I came closer and must've seen the bruises my dad had given me last night, grabbing my arm in an attempt not to fall down after a few too many drinks, but she didn't say a word. Sometimes, I wondered if she was blind.

For some unknown reason, she made me mad that day. I was so angry I left her home before dinner, which usually never happened, since her home cooked meals were much better than the frozen meals I was given at home and that we had to eat cold since our microwave had been broken for a few months. As I started running down her alley, I saw Barney. It was looking at me with its big eyes that always seemed so sad and I simply decided that it was fair for me to take it. After all, Barney deserved someone better than that old grumpy lady.

She must've seen me. But she didn't say a word, not even when the animal reappeared the next day in her garden. Not even when I arrived the next day with a guilty look on my face. I felt so sick, of myself and of my gesture, that I thought I would throw up on her pretty green couch, but as soon as she took the cookies out of the oven and served me one with a warm smile, that feeling got away. And just like that, it was as if it had never happened.

I stopped going to her house at the age of ten. I used to pretend being at her house, but would actually wander around town until the sun would set. Then, I'd come home and realized my parents didn't care where I had spent the day. They probably wouldn't ever have cared if I never came home. So, I stopped leaving. I would hide in our garden. When noises stopped, I knew I could come back in. I would usually find them half asleep half dead in front of our small tv. I would clean up the empty bottles and sweep away the drugs from the table, before heading to my room. Every night, I prayed for one of my parents to come into my room and thank me for making our home a little more liveable everyday. Without any surprise, they never did.

As a kid, I told myself I would never use those substances that stole my parents from me. But, at sixteen, I discovered how good they made me feel. I started to drink to forget and to smoke to heal the wounds. I would come back home and everything just seemed better. For the first time, I stopped wishing my parents would care more. I stopped caring. About them, about myself, about everything.

I still went to school, but I rarely was sober. My weekends would usually be spent drunk and with people I would never really knew the name of. And then, I had to stop.

I was lost. But not stupid. When I became a danger, both for myself and for other, I stopped.

But the damage was already done.

It all went down on a Friday.

That used to be my favorite day of the week.