Copyright ©2013 by Ronyx
All Rights Reserved
Chapter 3
I sat handcuffed in the back of the cruiser while the officer typed information
into his computer. I asked nervously, “Why am I being arrested?” As far as I
knew, I hadn’t done anything wrong.

“You’re not being arrested,” he stated. “I’m just detaining you for now.”

“Why?”

He looked in his rearview mirror at me. “Your mother filed a missing person’s
report this morning.” He turned and stared into the backseat. “Right now we
have you listed as a runaway.”

“I’m not running away,” I informed him.

“Yeah, sure, Kid,” he replied with a laugh. He then held up the bus ticket. “I
guess you were buying this for a friend?”

He looked at me for a few seconds before asking, “Where did you get the
money to buy this ticket?”

I responded sarcastically, “I save my money. Is that against the law?”

He turned and began typing again on his computer. “It is when you ‘save’ it
from your mother’s purse.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I couldn’t believe my mother had called the police
because I took money from her purse. He looked at me again in the rearview
mirror. “Theft is a misdemeanor,” he said. “It could put you in juvenile detention
for a couple of months.”

I asked, “Is she going to press charges?”

“Naw, Kid,” he replied. “She just wants you returned to your home.”

I sat back, closed my eyes and said, “I’d rather go to juvie.”

He laughed and responded, “I bet you do, Kid. I bet you do.” He drove off, and
fifteen minutes later we were pulling up in front of my home.

While the officer talked to my mother, I headed up to my room. I didn’t even
look over at her as I entered the door. I already knew the look that would be on
her face. I’d seen it many times before.

When I entered my bedroom, my computer and all my video games had been
removed. I guess she thought she was going to exert some parental control
over me. If she wanted to play mind games, then I was equally prepared.

However, when I went to my closet to put away my backpack, most of my
clothes had been removed. Except for a few shirts I hardly ever wore,
everything else was gone.

I went to the window, and I waited until I saw the officer get into his cruiser and
pull away. I then stormed downstairs to confront my mother.

I approached her and hollered, “Where the hell are my things?”

She looked at me with a cold stare. “Since you are so intent on leaving,”
she replied, “I’m making it easy for you.”

“What do you mean?”

She walked over and took her car keys from the kitchen counter. “Go get in the
car,” she ordered.

“Why?”

“I’m taking you to your father,” she replied.

“What?” I shouted. “You’re driving me to North Carolina?”

“I’m taking you halfway. Your father will drive you the rest of the way.”

I turned and headed for the front door. Before opening it, I said angrily,
“I hate you.”

“I’m sure you do,” she replied. “Any son who would steal from his own
mother...” I slammed the front door before she could finish.

We drove in silence for over four hours. Four hours! I didn’t say anything, and
neither did she. I slept most of the time. When I was awake, all I wanted to do
was grab the steering wheel and drive us head on into a semi. We stopped once
to eat- at a McDonald’s. She went through the drive-thru, and she didn’t ask
me what I wanted. Luckily, I like their Big Mac.

I woke up when we pulled into a truck stop just outside Nashville. It was almost
four o’clock. My mother cruised around until she saw a white Ford Explorer.
When she pulled up beside it, my father jumped out.

I didn’t even recognize him. If I hadn’t known we were to meet him, I probably
wouldn’t have known who he was. He had gained about fifty pounds since the
last time I saw him. His hair was balding with touches of gray. When I got out of
the car, he stood and stared at me. I guess I wasn’t the little runt he
remembered, either.

His mouth curled into a nervous smile. “Hello, Son,” he said as he approached
and extended his hand.

“I’m not your son,” I replied angrily as he glanced over at my mother. “You gave
up that right when you walked out on us.” I opened up the trunk and began
removing my belongings from my mother’s car. They walked away about fifteen
feet and talked while I loaded my bags into the rear of my   father’s SUV. When
I was done, I got into the passenger’s side and slammed the door. I reclined in
the seat and closed my eyes.

This was all bullshit. I hadn’t done anything seriously wrong to deserve the
punishment I was receiving. I knew what was going on- my mother no longer
wanted me to live with her. She hadn’t for two years. She was just using this as
an excuse to finally get rid of me.

And I hated my father. He was a stranger. I felt absolutely nothing when I first
saw him. I thought that maybe there would be some connection from the past.
Until he left, he had been a good father. He treated me like a son. But now, time
had created an empty void. I felt no more of a connection to him than any man I
would pass in the mall on a Saturday afternoon. Any relationship we had died
years ago. As far as I was concerned, my mother was sending me to live with a
stranger.

I hated her for what she was doing. We could have coexisted for two more
years. Sure, I had been pushing all her buttons lately, but it wasn’t anything
serious. It was working for us, or at least I thought it was. Only two more years
and I would be eighteen. On my eighteenth birthday, I was planning to leave
anyway. If I didn’t go to college, then I would have gotten a job and found my
own place to live.

I didn’t open my eyes when my father opened the door and climbed into the
SUV. “It’s good to see you again, Son.” He patted my hand, but I quickly pulled
it away. He was silent a minute. I could tell he was staring at me, but I didn’t
want to open my eyes to see.

He asked, “Are you hungry?” When I didn’t reply, he started the truck and
pulled off.

We were on the road for about fifteen minutes before he started talking. “You
have really grown,” he laughed nervously. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so tall.”
He paused for me to say something, but I remained silent.

“I live just outside Asheville,” he said. “I think you’ll like it. I’ll go to school with
you tomorrow and get you enrolled. What are you now? A junior?” When I
grunted and rolled on my side toward the window, he stopped talking. I fell
asleep and didn’t wake up until the truck came to a stop about four and a half
hours later.

I sat up and looked out the window at what I assumed was his ‘new’ home. It
was a tri-level house in what appeared to be a new development. Except for
different landscaping, most of the homes looked the same.

“Well, here it is,” my father said as he got out of the car. “Karen and the kids
are waiting to meet you.”

I muttered softly, “Wonderful.” The front door opened, and a woman appeared
on the porch. My father waved at her, and she waved back as she squinted her
eyes to get a better look at me in the waning sunlight.

I walked to the back of the truck to retrieve my bags. When my father
attempted to take one from me, I pulled it away and threw it over my shoulder.
He shook his head slightly and headed for the house.

I thought about turning and walking away. The whole idea of staying with total
strangers, including my father, didn’t seem realistic. Just because I had called a
teacher a bitch, and now my life was being uprooted. My father motioned for me
to pick up my pace when he turned and noticed I wasn’t behind him.

He smiled at the woman on the porch and introduced us. “This is Karen.” She
extended her hand, but I refused to shake it. She looked nothing like my
mother. She was small and petite. I towered over her. She also looked like she
could have been a few years older than my father. I always read that a man
usually leaves his wife for a younger woman. However, when my father left, I
don’t think there was another woman involved. At least, I never heard my
parents arguing about anyone else. Most of their arguments dealt with petty
things. I think they just made excuses to argue because they didn’t love each
other anymore. One of their last arguments involved the color of the towels in
the guest bathroom.

I pulled my bag tighter over my shoulder and asked, “Where am I going to
sleep?” I brushed past Karen and entered the house. I first entered a foyer. The
living room was on the right, and a large dining room was to the left. Past the
dining room I could see steps leading down to what appeared to be a family
room. At the back of the living room was a staircase that lead, I presumed, to a
hallway where the bedrooms were located.

When I started to walk into the living room, my father grabbed my arm and
stopped me. He pointed towards the family room. “There’s a bedroom
downstairs that Karen made up for you.”

The house was meticulous, and it was furnished in what appeared new and
expensive furniture. The dining room table was oval shaped with eight ornate
chairs. A crystal chandelier hung overhead. I walked down the steps into the
family room.

Unlike the rest of the house, it looked lived in. There were two leather sofas in
the middle of the room, and a 52 inch big screen television was against the wall.
Several recliners were also located against another wall. Everything faced the
television, so I assumed they spent a lot of time watching it. A college basketball
game was on the screen.

When we entered, two boys who were lying back watching the game, popped
up. Both appeared to be in their teens, probably about my age. They stood and
eyed me suspiciously. One appeared to be about my age, while the other was
just a little younger. They had short blond hair and blue eyes. Under any other
circumstance, I probably would have found them attractive.

“Boys,” my father took hold of my arm to introduce me. I immediately pulled
away. “This is my son, Casey.” They nodded, but I stood and stared at them.
My father attempted to smile. “You’re all about the same age, so I think you’ll
get along just fine.”

I grunted, pulled my bag over my shoulder and asked, “Where am I going to
sleep?” I intentionally didn’t ask where my room was because that would have
given a sense of permanence to my appearance. I planned to leave the first
chance I got. I still had about three hundred dollars in my pocket. That should
buy me a bus ticket to Atlanta.

While the others watched, my father put his hand on my back and attempted to
lead me across the room. I stepped back and shouted, “Don’t ever put your
hands on me again.” His eyes widened with surprise.

“Take it easy, Casey,” he said. He seemed embarrassed by my outburst. Karen
and the two boys watched our exchange.

I don’t know what he, or they, expected by my unexpected arrival. I’m sure that
just two days earlier, they were a happy family. The house appeared
comfortable, and the family room looked like a place they enjoyed together. Now
a stranger had been brought into their home. I wasn’t even sure my father had
even told them about me until my mother’s call. By the look on everyone’s
faces, though, it appeared they weren’t ready to accept me.

Karen stepped forward and touched my father lightly on the arm. “Randy,
perhaps I should show him his room.” My father moved aside, and I followed
Karen across the room to a closed door. She opened it and turned on a light.
“We fixed this room for you when we heard you were coming to live with us.” I
stepped in and looked around. They had hastily turned an exercise room into a
bedroom. A treadmill and weight set were pushed to one side. On the other side
of the room was a single bed and dresser. A poster of a skateboarder was
pinned above the bed.

“All the comforts of home,” I muttered nastily as I dropped my bags to the floor.

Karen smiled and said, “There’s a bathroom next door.” She looked at her
watch. “It’s late, and I’m sure you want to clean up before going to bed. I’ll
bring you something to snack on before you go to sleep.” She then quietly
closed the door.

I toed off my shoes and lay across the bed, staring up at the ceiling. I kept
asking myself, “Why am I here?” I could tell my father wasn’t pleased with the
situation. I would loved to have heard the conversation between him and my
mother when she called and told him she was ‘dumping’ me on him.

For two days, my anger had festered into hate for her. Since the incident with
Rollie, she hadn’t even attempted to get along with me. Even though I was only
fourteen, I still understood how hurt and disappointed she was to find her only
son in bed with another boy. However, that was two years ago. She should
have moved on by now. I did everything I could to make her accept me, but she
refused. After a while, I stopped trying. Each day we grew further and further
apart. Now, she had achieved what she always wanted- to be free of me.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I really wasn’t sleepy since I’d been sleeping
all day in the car. However, there was nothing else to do but sleep. I could hear
the television in the outer room, and occasionally one of the boys would let out
a yell. I guess they were still watching the game. I had no idea what time it was.
I had left my cell phone at home when I left, and I didn’t have a watch. There
was also no clock in the room. I suspected it had to be rather late.

I was awakened a little later by a rapping on my door. I didn’t answer it, so a
few seconds later, the door opened and Karen peeked inside. She whispered,
“Are you asleep?”

“I was,” I replied sarcastically. She entered carrying a tray. “I brought you
something to eat. I figured you might be hungry.” She laughed and added, “I
have three boys in the house.” Three boys? I only noticed two when I arrived.
She placed the tray on the bed beside me, smiled nervously and left.

I wanted to refuse the food, but I was starved. I hadn’t eaten since my mother
bought lunch at McDonald’s. Dad had offered to buy me dinner, but I pretended
to be asleep when he asked.

The food was good. She had made me a tuna salad sandwich on a hoagie bun.
It was loaded with mayonnaise- just the way I like it. She had also included a big
bag of barbeque potato chips and a bowl of chocolate pudding. It tasted like it
was homemade, not store bought. Ten minutes later, I was placing the empty
tray outside the door.

I walked out and looked around. Everyone had gone to bed, and the room was
dimly lit by a nightlight. Remembering what Karen had told me when I arrived, I
went into the bathroom to wash up. A large cotton towel and an unopened bar
of soap was sitting atop the counter. I turned on the shower and waited for the
water to get hot. I then removed my clothing and jumped inside.

The warmth cascading down my body felt refreshing. My body still ached from
lying on my side and facing the car window all day. I must have showered for
fifteen minutes before turning off the water. Since it was late, I figured no one
else would need hot water.

I slightly opened the shower curtain to reach for my towel. As I felt around for
it, someone placed it in my hand.

I shouted, “Who the hell!” I pulled back the curtain just enough to peek out.
Sitting on the toilet with the seat down was a small boy. He appeared to be
about ten or eleven. He had the widest grin on his face.

“Bet I scared you,” he laughed, “Didn’t I?” He had long, sandy brown hair.  He
wore thin rimmed glasses over a freckled nose. He appeared to be about 5’4”
tall with a slight build. He probably didn’t weigh 100 pounds, fully clothed with
his shoes on.

I asked, “Who are you?” I closed the curtain and started wiping myself dry.

From behind the curtain, he giggled and asked, “Who are you?”

When I didn’t answer, I could hear him get up from this perch. Seconds later,
he pulled back the shower curtain. I stood naked before him.

“Do you mind?” I asked angrily as I pulled the shower curtain closed. I continued
to dry myself when he suddenly pulled it open again.

“I got two big brothers,” he said. “You ain’t got nothing I ain’t already seen
before.”

“Have it your way,” I replied as I continued to dry myself off. He stood and
watched me for a few seconds before returning to his seat on the toilet. He sat
down and continued to stare at me.

He said, “You didn’t tell me who you are.”

I pulled on my underwear, looked down at him and replied, “You didn’t tell me
who you are.”

He thrust out his hand for me to shake. “I’m Lane, but everyone calls me
Skipper.”

“Why they call you Skipper?”

He giggled and responded, “You’ll see.” When I exited the bathroom and headed
back to my room, the small boy skipped behind me.

I started to close my door, but he grabbed it and came inside. He stood and
looked around. “Hey,” he exclaimed, “What happened to all the stuff in here?”
He sat on the bed and bounced on it. “Is this your room now?”

I took a clean shirt out of my backpack and pulled it on over my head. “Listen,”  
I stopped. “What did you say your name is?”

He grinned broadly and announced, “Skipper.”

“No,” I replied. “Your real name? What is it again?”

“Lane,” he responded, “But everyone calls me Skipper. You can call me Skipper,
too.”

“I’d rather call you Lane,” I said.

“Why?”

I quickly scanned his body. He grinned as he watched me. I asked, “How old are
you? Ten or eleven?”

He started laughing. “No, silly,” he giggled. “I’m twelve, almost thirteen.”

He giggled louder when I said, “Really? You don’t look that old.”

“I hear that a lot,” he replied. He giggled again. “Mom says I’m a late bloomer.”
He pulled down his pajama bottoms. “Look. I don’t even have any hair on my
willy yet.”

I looked away and said, “I’ll just take your word for it.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I saw your willy. I ain’t afraid to show you my willy.”

I looked down at him and laughed. He looked so sweet and innocent. “Boys
shouldn’t be showing other boys their willy.”

“Why? We each got a willy. Some are just bigger than others.” He pulled his
pajamas out again and looked inside. “Mine’s kind of little. Curtis said I look like
a little girl.” He rose and stood before me. “Do I look like a little girl to you?”

I reached out and tousled his hair. “No,” I laughed. “You don’t look like a little
girl to me.”

“Good,” he replied. “I’m glad I don’t look like a little girl.” He got up and looked
inside my backpack. “You got any candy in here?”

“No,” I replied as I pulled the bag from his hands. “You sure do ask a lot of
questions.”

He shrugged his shoulders and sat back down beside me. “I guess so.” He
looked up at me. “So. What are you doing here? You homeless or something?”

I looked around the room for a clock. “Shouldn’t you be in bed? Isn’t it kind of
late?”

“Probably,” he replied as he got up and walked over to a stepper and began
playing around on it. “I don’t sleep too good.”

I stood and walked over to him. “Why don’t you sleep well?”

He started stepping faster on the machine. “Mom says I’m a ball of energy.” He
stopped stepping and gave me a sad look. “I gotta take pills for it.”

“What about school?” I asked. “What grade are you?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I’m in special classes. I don’t think we
got a grade.” He looked sadly at me again. “Curtis says I’m in the retarded
classes.” He started stepping on the machine again. “I don’t even know what
that means.”

He got off the machine and stood in front of me. “Do you know what that word
means?”

I tousled his brown hair. “It means you’re a very special person.”

His eyes lit up. “Is that why I’m in special classes?”

I knelt down and looked into his face. “Yes,” I said. “Now, don’t you think you
should go to bed?”

When I stood, he hugged me tightly. “I like you,” he said. “Can I sleep down
here with you tonight?”

I took his hand and led him to the door. “I think you should sleep in your room.
Okay?”

“Okay,” he replied cheerfully as he hugged me again. I smiled as I watched him
skip across the family room and race up the stairs.


                                            * * * * * * *

                                 
Chapter 4            Return to TMJ
Birds Don't Sing
    Before a Storm