Postcards from the Middle

Book One: Britney

Murfreesboro

I was sitting under the tree out in front of the Walgreens. The one on Old Fort Parkway. The one my mom used to go to whenever she needed something. I don't know what time it was. My phone was dead and I didn't wear a watch. I ain't never worn one. Not even the ones my Grammy used to give me for my birthdays. I saved them though. In a box in the second drawer of my dresser. The one that used to be mine.

Some guy drove up in the parking lot in this beat up Ford Bronco. Dark red and faded. He pulled in sideways against the curb, across three or four spaces. Put the window down and looked at me. He didn't say anything. He just sat there staring. Smoking a cigarette. Then the transmission clunked into drive and he drove to the far end of the lot. Backed into a space and got out. He was still looking at me so I kept looking at him. Then he put his hand up and gave me one of those half sort of waves. Whatever.

I watched him walk up to the door. All important. Like he had something to do. His keys jangled from his belt on one of those retractable things. He put a key in the door. Then he crouched down and undid the lock at the bottom. Then the lock at the top. Then he turned around and looked at me again before he went inside. I can't say I much liked the looks of him or the way he was looking at me.

The kid sitting next to me. His name was Brandon. That's what he said when he came up in the shade of that one tree. Dropped his backpack. And sat down, cross legged.

"I'm Britney."

"Whatcha doin', Britney?"

"Sittin' here. Same as you, I guess."

He ran his hand back through his shaggy hair. "You goin' somewhere?"

"Yep."

"Gotta car?"

"You ask a lotta questions, dontcha."

"Just tryin' to make conversation. Sorry."

We sat there for a while. Not talking. Just watching the morning traffic. "What about you, Brandon?"

He unfolded his legs and pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. "I'm on my way somewhere. Not sure where. Just somewhere. Anywhere that ain't here."

"You from here?"

"Sheb'vul. I hitched up here. A friend of mine has a place an' I was stayin' with him. But then his girlfriend moved in and I was out. 'See ya Brandon.' That's what he said. That was a week ago."

"That really sucks. I'm sorry. Can't ya go back home or something?"

"No. My mom found out I'm gay. She told my dad. He went ballistic. Like totally psycho. And that was it."

What was there to say? I looked at the ground and picked at the grass. "I was living with my dad in Unionville. Out on Haint Hollow Road. Three months ago his girlfriend, Kimmy, moved in and that's when all the shit started. First she said I stole her stupid ring. I didn't. But she said I did. They went through ev'rything in my room lookin' for it. Ev'rything. Then she said I stole a hundred dollars outta her purse. I didn't do that neither but it didn't make no difference. My dad started sayin' that I had to try to be nice to her and make her - this Kimmy - feel welcome. All the time I'm being accused of ev'rything you could imagine. But last night was the worst."

"Where's your mom?"

"I don't know. Last year. Last summer. She started going to that Hatch Hollow church. Like she found religion all of a sudden. Anyway. She started spending all her time at that church. Almost every day. Turns out they had this new preacher. He got transferred out some six months ago and my mom went with him."