Ratbags and Scallywags [bxb]

Chapter 19

It was a quiet night, but I could hear the rustling of a tree right outside. Its branches would occasionally knock against the window, startling me awake every time I started drifting off. While I loved being here and didn't mind staying over at night, I didn't feel comfortable pulling out my hearing aid to sleep. We were fifteen minutes out of the suburb, and something about it felt so lonely.

I felt restless; jittery and alert when it was already past eleven at night. My head ached, and I could hear footsteps coming from the porch. I climbed out of bed and tip-toed down the hall, finding the front door slightly ajar. Through the crack, I saw Tom leaning against the wooden railing, taking a drag from a cigarette. He was wearing a white shirt and pajama pants that crinkled beneath the heels of his bare feet.

Coming closer to the door, I spoke. "I thought you quit smoking," I said, watching him jump with fright.

He put his hand to his chest, sighing. "Jesus Christ, Aubrey," he muttered, bringing his cigarette back to his lips for an even deeper drag. "You almost gave me a heart attack. And I did... as far as your mother's concerned."

She could be aggressively concerned for Uncle Tom when she wanted to be, which I'd heard started after her sister cheated on him. This sentiment had only magnified in recent months, although I wasn't informed why.

The porch light was on, but shadows cast over him in ways that appeared almost melancholic. There must be a type of pain that comes with living alone in the house of a deceased loved one that you spent most of your life with. My family grieved and dealt with the pain, I endured it; but I wondered how Uncle Tom had gotten through this all. If he'd even gotten through it at all.

"Why... Why is she so concerned?" I asked, pulling the door open wider and stepping out with him.

He looked at me, then returned his gaze to the front yard. There wasn't much to see. Just his car, the grass, a gate, and mostly bare land spanning the length of the isolated street. It was perfect for Grandad, but I wondered if it was okay for Tom to be living here alone. Could a person die of loneliness? I didn't know why that thought popped into my head. Tom wasn't at risk of dying; the melancholia just seeped through the crisp air and into my bones.

He took another drag of his cigarette before putting both hands down on the rail, tapping his fingers against the wood while looking out ahead. "Like I said before, I'm not getting any younger. And you know what a worrywart she is."

I smirked a little. "I guess."

Uncle Tom was different from our teacher I saw every day in class. Teacher Tom was upbeat, cool, poised, and collected. Private Uncle Tom seemed agitated and tense like he didn't know what to do with himself. Yet strangely languid; lethargic. Or maybe that was my interpretation of him. I thought he'd be the type to be in bed by ten, but he'd shot down half a bottle of whiskey and was outside smoking cigarettes past eleven.

I noticed a tray sat atop the railing that was riddled with them, and I watched ash subtly picking up in the wind. Strands of my hair fell down my face, tickling my skin. I moved it out of the way, scratching where it left an itch. Seeing that he was fine, my body began to relax, feeling drowsiness wash over me. Maybe I came out here, following a feeling or a hunch.

I wasn't sure. I glanced back at him briefly, seeing the sorrow on his face that was fitting for a poet; a soul scorned. "I'll see you in the morning."

-

One of his hundreds of whiskey bottles rested hidden in my bag. My heart palpitated; afraid he could hear my thoughts. If I was caught stealing alcohol, then my head would roll for sure. But three days with Charlie gave us plenty of opportunities to sip some whiskey. We were legal age to drink, and it could be fun... Unless caught. I didn't sigh in relief until I was out of the car, watching him drive off. I waved until he disappeared then headed inside.