His Dark Words

11 | Perfect Moments

I barely say a word to my Mom when she drops me off at the bus terminal. She looks exhausted and lets the silence drag on. She kisses me hard on the cheek, tells me she loves me and to make sure to call her when I get there.

"I love you too, Mom." I respond without inflection.

I get onto the bus and find a seat by the window. Out of the corner of my eye I see my Mom waiting on the sidewalk. She waves up at me, but I just rest my head back on the headrest, turning to the bus's interior as if I haven't seen her. The bus pulls away and I shuffle down further in my seat, blasting a playlist Alex made for me last summer through my big, chunky headphones. INXS Never Tear us Apart aptly begins to play and I lean into my misery, bathing in it, drowning in it...

It's about an hour's drive to the coast. Around five minutes in the week catches up with me and I fall asleep, my chin tucked into my chest and my headphones still blaring. When I wake up my headphones are still humming, and we're only a few minutes from Allery. I rub my eyes and look out at the sea just about visible beyond the road. 

I'm exhausted. 

It's the kind of exhaustion that feels like it's already sunk into my soul, just like an infection dropping down into your chest.

WELCOME TO ALLERY, declares itself in big, friendly letters on a passing signpost. The bus runs right through it to the bigger town of Wessex where the seven or so people on the bus unload and go off in different directions. I shift my bag hesitantly onto my shoulder. What do my grandparents even look like? I must've been only three the last time we saw them. I get out and stand on the concrete, squinting in the sunshine. It's too bright like the world is in acid wash.

"Harlow, is it?" A gruff voice sounds beside me.

I turn, slowly. A very tall, broad man stands awkwardly a few yards away from me. He's wearing a mid-blue denim shirt tucked into khaki slacks that are held up by worn suspenders. His grey-white hair is combed back neatly, and he has long sideburns framing his round cheeks. His face has a reddish tinge and he adjusts his wire-framed glasses with thick, clumsy fingers. Despite his size and age I can see some resemblance with my father, maybe in the awkwardness, maybe in the eyes.

"Yeah, hi..." I forget all my manners and just stare at him, my headphones still dangling in my left hand.

He coughs roughly and points a large finger back behind him. "The truck's parked back there... Do you need me to grab your bag for you?"

I shake my head. "It's not heavy."

Shouldn't we hug or something? I don't know what to do. My mom's parents always kind of launch themselves at me whenever they see me.

"Well, okay then..." He sidles round and heads for the car and I just scurry after him clutching my bag like a life preserver.

The ride in his truck is just as uncomfortable. He asks about Mom, but I know they don't get along, so I don't know how much to say. He asks about school and I say it's fine, I mean, what else can I say? 

"Hi Grandpa, I know I haven't seen you in thirteen years, but I could really use some help. My Dad is in a mental unit and refuses to see me, and there also happens to be another potentially suicidal boy who really needs my help but also happens to be dating my best friend, who kinda hates my guts right now, any advice?" 

No.

It's better to keep things bland. I don't know how to feel about my mom after that phone call last night, but she kept us away from these people for a reason... Right?