Separian - Book 1

Chapter 31

Mike was eighteen. He'd dropped out of school a little less than two years ago, after Blake took over. He couldn't find a reason to educate himself in the ways of this world if he wasn't able to save it when the time came. So now, he spent the majority of his days harnessing his abilities and helping others like us to do the same.

His family knew nothing about the reasons he'd dropped out, nor did they care. Mike's mother, his adoptive mother, was a single woman who spent all of her free time with strange men and alcohol. It was Mike's responsibility to take care of his two younger brothers while he knew his mother couldn't, leading her current lifestyle. With his body's rapid development, he was able to pass for someone several years older than he actually was.

With that, he went out to find work. Somewhere they wouldn't card him or ask where he was from. I'd never worked on a sod farm before. I didn't even know what it was until Mike's mind explained it to me.

The lawn-grass that rich people bought came rolled up in a bundle, waiting to be laid out on their new lawns. That was sod. And at this farm where Mike worked, his job was to lift the already bundled grass onto a pallet. I wouldn't have thought the job too difficult, but working during the blazing sun and six days a week for eight hour shifts? This man was a machine. And the advantage to being Separian: he never grew as tired as the men working around him. When they went off to lunch or to take a fifteen minute break to catch their breath, Mike continued to work until his shift was over. Money for the job done may not have been great, but for a sixteen year old kid not in school and supporting a family of four practically on his own, sometimes, it was exactly what he needed.

Mike's home life was what caught my attention most. Even though his mother drank and lived a very promiscuous lifestyle, she never mistreated her children physically. I'd heard enough stories from kids at school and seen enough movies to know what some of those homes were like, especially when the father was the drunk one. I'd seen one scar on Mike when we first met. A slit in his skin just below his left eye. Until now I'd written it off as nothing, but in reality, it's the very reason his mother wasn't a physically abusing mother to her children. At least not anymore.

When mike was thirteen, his mother went out one night with a man, a much older man. She said she'd be home before 11:00pm, and when she wasn't, Mike grew worried. So he called her and received her voicemail. He tried several more times and received the same response. After waiting another half an hour and she still wasn't home, he tried again but still got her voicemail. At this point, Mike was more worried about his mother than any thirteen-year-old boy should have been and he called the police, telling them that his mother was missing. Ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door. The police had shown up, two squad cars. One man introduced himself as a Sergeant Harris and asked if Mike wouldn't mind if he waited around for his mother to come home. His younger brothers were asleep in the next room over, but seeing no reason to distrust the officer, he agreed to his request and the officer entered the house, making sure Mike understood that he wasn't the boss of the thirteen-year-old nor there to make him uncomfortable. But a thirteen-year-old boy in a house with two younger brothers and a missing mother wasn't something to write off. Sergeant Harris' partner remained outside in his vehicle.

Another hour passed by and Mike and the officer were now sitting to the kitchen table talking about what plans Mike had for his future. An artist, so known that the rich would pay him millions for one of his paintings. Admirable for a thirteen-year-old. But the officer continued to talk with him, regardless of his own thoughts on the matter and then, there was a knock at the door.

Mike's mother rushed into the house and immediately asked what was going on. When the officer told her to calm down, she only grew louder. He proceeded to explain the situation to her, but she lied. She said, "I'd told him one o'clock, not eleven." But the officer wasn't impressed, pointing out that while a thirteen-year-old is legally allowed to remain in a house alone without parental supervision, it was a very different story when two other children, neither over the age of four, were also involved. It was irresponsible, he'd said, for her to think nothing of the action. But seeing as how no laws were broken, the officers were forced to leave.