The Boy in the Gray Hoodie

TWENTY-FIVE | PB & J

Lisa could tell he was under the influence of some kind of medication before they even made to the front steps of Pam's house. Strong stuff, too. Whatever it was made him dangerously unsteady. He tripped over his feet in the grass, forcing her to catch and support him more than once. She might've blamed blood loss and the missing shoe if it weren't for the few brief glances she managed to steal at his glassy, vacant eyes. The incoherent and monotoned mumbling only seemed to confirm what she already knew; he was drugged. And not by cold medicine, or an average sleeping pill.

Halfway up the steps, he slipped again, pulling her down too. She landed hard on the edge of the wood, her head slamming back against the railing. He slid down the stairs on his side, arms flailing, and grabbed her leg. Gingerly poking at her scalp, Lisa felt a bump forming on the back of her head. It was a little one—smaller than the one she'd gotten when she fell off the bleachers at school—and barely hurt. "Are you okay?" she asked, pushing herself up to a sitting position. Kicking at the ground, he clung to her for dear life, panting, then rested his cheek against her knee. His hoodie had hiked itself up to his ribs, but he didn't seem to notice, too busy kicking the ground with his bare foot, pushing himself up momentarily before sliding back down again. He continued to do this, stuck in a loop of motion as if he had no control over his body at all.

"Here, let me—" she stopped, sliding her arm under his to pull him up so that his other foot—the one with a shoe on it—could get traction and support him. It worked. Sprawled on the stairs next to her, he locked his knee to stay still and sucked in air as if he'd forgotten how to breathe. When he exhaled, a soft noise accompanied it. Half moan, half cry, he seemed not to know which sound was more appropriate.

"Are you hurt?" Lisa reached out when she saw a long red scratch running up his side. She pushed his hoodie up further and noticed the scratch connect to a scar just under his ribs. Her fingertips brushed lightly over the white line, the skin around it smooth and milky. When she touched the edge of the scar, a sharp pain in her stomach made her gasp. She pulled her hand away and curled her fingers into a fist, fear cascading down her spine like a frozen waterfall.

Reaching both arms out to the railing, the boy pressed his face into the side of her leg and grunted, trying to leverage himself up the stairs without having to get to his feet. He was, apparently, oblivious to what had just happened. Despite the fear she'd felt a second ago, Lisa cracked a smile at the sight of him. He almost seemed drunk, but very determined. Crawling backward up the steps, she got to her feet at the top and came back down to help him, easily breaking his weak grip on the railing in order to drag him carefully to the porch. He helped a little, kicking and crawling until they made it to the top. With his legs still hanging over the steps, she released him so they could both catch their breath. As thin as he was, the task hadn't been an easy one. And it wasn't over yet.

"Just a bit further," she said, tapping his elbow. He'd thrown both arms over his head to breathe easier. "On your feet, soldier," she joked, nudging him. That's when she felt the first few drops of rain hit the top of her head. She looked up at the sky, dark rainclouds blocking out the light and the blue.

"Don't cry."

Lisa looked down at the boy, confused. "What?" she said, watching the rain hit his cheek as he rested on his side, still panting.

"...don't...cry..." he said again as another drop landed on his chin. His eyes were wide open, staring at nothing.

"It's just rain," she muttered and held out her hand to catch a few fat droplets. Leaning over him, she put her palm in front of his face. "See. It's rain."