by Mic Shannon
“Hey…kiddo…” she said, forcing a smile through the pain, “I…can never…die. I…can…only…give…up.”
MON, APRIL 24th, 2034
Alexandria, VA, USA
3:15 pm
T he day at school was completely uneventful. He slid thru the entire day unnoticed. It was awkward that he went a day without being stared at or messed with. He kept to himself for the most part; he had no clique or group of people who he talked or sat with. He was the quiet kid. The angry kid. The sad kid.
After school, he made his way back to the group home where he resided. The walk was about fifteen minutes, yet he walked alone, separating himself from the other boys. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, just hid behind his mask, avoiding his feelings.
The residence was an old, two-story colonial house, way too small for the number of children living there. Still, it was home, whether he liked it or not. When he first walked through the front door, two kids were already squaring up over a missing wristphone; the watch that acts as a smartphone, with voice activated browser searching, calendar reminders, social media, and file sharing. He sighed. There was nothing he hated more than living with the kids in this place.
He usually kept to himself, despite the occasional test which ended with him blackening someone’s eye or bloodying their nose. At this point the word was getting around, so when new kids arrived they were warned by the others not to mess with the quiet one. To the other kids in the group home it was simple; mess with him, get the fight you’re looking for. The staff always seemed to get it wrong. They always complicated it by thinking he fought because of his pent up anger; in there he just did it to survive.
Today was a day unlike any other. Everyone seemed to pause and stare at him as he came through the door. He wondered if it was because of his school board hearing the day before, or maybe because they were starting to fear him. Who knows. He disregarded the thought and went into his book bag to grab his most prized possession, his ‘BBD’ wireless headphones. They were nothing like the old-school headphones, with plastic going over the top of the head. The two pieces sat snugly over each ear like earmuffs, sleek and comfortable, with all the commands activated by touching the right earphone. It had been a gift given to him on his birthday by his mother before she fell ill with breast cancer. The first few months were a little rough. He remembered her vividly; the hair, the smile, the smell. He often found joy in envisioning her when she was healthy.
“Michael,” barked one of the staff, “the director needs to see you.”
“The director,” he thought, “why does he want to see me? I’m not in trouble, am I? I usually stay to myself.”
As he shoved his headphones back into his book bag for safe keeping he made his way over to the director’s office. The dusty hallway was always reminiscent of, what he would imagine, an inmate’s last walk to the electric chair. He was a little nervous, but it had been little over 10 months, and at this point he had given up on hoping to hear that his mother’s affliction had been cured and he can finally go home.
He knocked on the old wooden door.
“Come in.”
He slowly opened the door. There was a young man, the director of the group home, sitting at a desk filling out paperwork. The director always kept an expressionless face, as if he was shielding himself from the bad luck bestowed upon the kids who lived there. Today, however, his eyes had a faint sadness about them that he had never seen before.
“Sit down,” he said, pointing to the chair opposite his desk, “how was the meeting yesterday?”
“They’ve decided to keep me.”
“Wow, great. I’m really glad to hear that,” said the director with a slightly surprised demeanor, however monotone in his response.
“Listen,” he continued, “I have some really bad news.”
As the words penetrated his soul, Michael froze. From an outside appearance, you would think he wasn’t even breathing. In the back of his mind, he knew. He had been preparing himself for this moment. Inside was a hurricane of emotion, but on the outside, he never moved a muscle.
“Your mother got sick this morning,” the Director paused, looking Michael in the eyes with as much empathy as he could muster “She went into cardiac arrest. They tried everything they could, but her body was so weak that she couldn’t be resuscitated. I’m sorry Michael.”
There was nothing he could do. Nothing. He couldn’t yell, he couldn’t cry. After 10 months, there was no yelling or crying left to give. He was now alone. No father, no family, no friends, and the last little bit of hope in his heart felt like it had just been snatched from him.
“We’ve arranged for you to go to the house and collect some of her personal items,” said the Director, his lips pursed in reverence, “Maybe you should take some time with this. I’ll have Ms. Tanya take you in the morning.”
There was no response. He wasn’t sure what to say. All this preparation and it wasn’t one bit easier. The only thing he knew was that he needed to get it all out now and put his mask back on before he went back out there with the other boys. Some of them were rough kids, and when they spotted weakness they always used it as an opportunity to gain something.
Michael left the director’s office in a daze. He was devastated, but unable to cry. After ten months, there were no tears left. The fact that he distanced himself from everyone just made it harder. He made his way down the dingy hallway, strolling slowly as if he didn’t want to move past this moment. Once he got back into the house, he would have to seem unbothered.
He didn’t have any close friends in the home. That was truthfully his own doing, choosing not to make any friendships, convincing himself since the beginning that he wasn’t going to be there for long. Really, he didn’t want to let anyone in. He was an emotional wreck, and he couldn’t bear to speak with anyone about his situation and drum up those bad memories of his mother’s affliction. Instead, he buried it inside like it didn’t exist and chose not to talk to anyone. Entering the living room of the home, where the other boys hung out until dinner, he went over to the corner and sat down, knees in his chest, alone. He pulled his headphones from his book bag, put them over his ears, then put on his favorite tune and silenced himself from the world.
TUES, APRIL 25th, 2034
Alexandria, VA, USA
11:15 am
T he ride to his former residence felt a lot longer than normal. He spent most of his time looking out of the window of the old van used to shuttle around the children at the orphanage. It was a dreary day, drizzling off and on, and the sky was a drab shade of gray, almost as if the atmosphere could feel the emotions he was doing so well at hiding. As they made their way through the city streets, bouncing from the potholes in the road, Ms. Tanya broke the silence.
“Honey, they need to fix these roads. They have been messed up like this for years!”
She was an older brown skin lady with warm, caring eyes, and a beauty that was youthful beyond her natural years. Very supportive and helpful, it was apparent that this job was more than just made for her, it was a part of her. Michael pressed a button on the control panel between them, pausing the radio with an audible beep.
“Roxy, play Lil’ Crazy Slime,” he said, activating the voice command in the vehicle.
The car radio switched to the artist’s latest hit, the weird combination of unfamiliar sounds and barely coherent lyrics causing Ms. Tanya to cringe at her lack of understanding. She gave a voice command to change back to her oldies station, snapping her fingers and dancing in the front seat to her favorite commercial song as the car steered itself, completing a right turn using lane control technologies and sensors for guidance. Michael sunk in the chair and folded his arms; they both knew that playing the local urban station in the group home vehicle was something he had never been able to get away with.
As they pulled up to the parking lot of the old familiar apartment complex, everything in him wanted to run. He imagined what it would be like if he cou
ld run backwards in history, to a time where he was a normal kid. A time where it was just him and his mother, laughing and being silly. He felt his eyes well and quickly wiped his face to mask his emotion. The last thing he needed was to break down now. Ms. Tanya took control of the wheel after they turned into the parking lot, maneuvering through the parked cars until she reached a spot. She pressed a small button on the steering wheel, and the car backed into the parking spot on its own.
“Is there anyone besides myself or the other staff that can help you clear the rest of her items out of the apartment?” asked Ms. Tanya.
“My mom didn’t have any family,” he replied dryly from behind his mask, “and neither do I Ms. Tanya.”
“Oh, stop it! Sure, you do, honey,” she rebutted, “you see me here, don’t you?!”
Her smile was warm and sincere. A smile that could melt through the coldness in his heart like a knife through butter. He had always liked her. Even fantasized about her from time to time. If he was just a little older, he probably would have tried his luck. But it wasn’t all physical, he just admired her sincerity and kindness as a part of her amazing personality.
The landlord thumbed through the keys on his key ring until he found the master. When he swung the door open, Michael could smell the faint calming scent of his mother’s favorite candle. He walked through each room, taking in the energy and feeling a peace like he hadn’t felt in ages. As he walked into his old room, the smell changed slightly. He never remembered his room having the faint smell of feet when he resided there. Maybe that’s why his mother was always nagging him to clean up and open a window. He almost laughed at the memory of her cracking jokes about him being stinky. Flopping down onto his bed, he felt as though he would give anything to spend just one night there, reminiscing of a simpler time. Even though things weren’t the same, it reminded him of the only woman he had ever loved.
Ms. Tanya stood in the doorway for a few moments, in complete understanding of the moment that he was having. “Michael,” she said in her soft voice, “we have to start cleaning.”
--- 2:20 pm ---
Boxing up the last few items for storage, Michael took one last trip through the apartment to make sure he had retrieved all his mother’s things. He walked back into her room, staring at the mattress that he would run in and jump on every morning as a child. It made him feel warm inside, as if she could walk through the front door at any moment. And suddenly, just as quick as those old familiar memories of happiness flooded back, the new memories of sorrow and loss overpowered them.
He sat down on her bed in silence, several tears rolling down his face. He couldn’t hold them back anymore. He was all alone. At that moment, the sun began to shine through the blinds of the window directly onto the bed where he was sitting. It comforted him instantly, as if his mother had wrapped her loving arms around him once again. He wiped the tears from his cheeks with his sleeve and scanned the room with his eyes, imagining the different items in her room and their associated memories. In the corner, he noticed a piece of carpet coming up from the wooden floor.
“Michael, I’m going to start taking these out to the Salvation Army truck,” Ms. Tanya shouted from the front doorway, boxes in hand.
“Okay Ms. Tanya, I’m just finishing up in here,” he replied, clearing his throat to make sure he didn’t sound like he had been crying, still curiously staring at the one piece of carpet bulging above the rest.
Walking over to it, he tried to push it down with his foot, but the carpet moved even more. It seemed like someone had intentionally pulled up the carpet and tried to hide it by putting it back. As he pushed his foot down on the corner, he heard a distinct creek that he couldn’t hear by walking on any other part of the floor. He knelt to the floor, pulling the carpet back slightly. Underneath were only floor boards.
“Nothing,” he whispered to himself.
As he went to push the carpet back into place, he saw one of the floorboards move slightly. His curiosity began to entice him, wiggling the floorboard back and forth and knocking on it twice. It sounded hollow. He tried to get his fingernails underneath, but was unable to get a good grip.
“Hmm,” he thought.
He stood up and walked over to the small box full of his mother’s things and looked inside.
“Where is it, I just had it,” he mumbled to himself.
He dug through the neatly packaged things until he found a small letter opener that his mother kept, engraved with her name: “Lisa Hearowe”.
Ms. Tanya returned to the front door, startling him as she picked up another box to lug out to the truck. He slid over to the bedroom door and peeked around the corner slowly. She was walking out of the door with the box in her hand, humming the tune that had been playing on the radio during the car ride over. He quickly flew over to the corner and used the letter opener to pry open the floor boards. They came up easily enough, so he removed them and sat them on the carpet next to him.
Looking down into the empty space, he saw a small metal box with a handle facing him. He blew into the hole, regretting it immediately as dust flew up into his face. Closing his eyes, he coughed a few times and waved away the dust. Then, he peered into the hole, wondering what this box could have been. He reached in, grabbing it gently, and slowly pulled it up.
It had a basic latch and bared no distinctive markings of any kind. His heart pounded with curious excitement as he released the latch on the old box. As he began to open it, he heard Ms. Tanya return to the front door again.
“Michael, where are you?” yelled Ms. Tanya, “Are you in your mother’s room?”
“Umm, yes, just one minute,” he replied as he shoved the metal box into his backpack, “I’m about to come out now.”
“Okay, well, hurry up we’re almost finished.”
“Okay, here I come.”
He frantically threw the wood pieces of the floorboard back in their place and replaced the carpet over top of it, making sure that it was tucked back in place properly. Slinging book bag over his shoulder, he picked up the last cardboard box of his mother’s things and headed out the door.
WED, APRIL 26th, 2034
Alexandria, VA, USA
12:01 pm
T hat next day at school he kept to himself for most of the morning. When the bell sounded for lunch, he made his way through the hallways, blending in with the crowd to avoid attention, and swiped his finger on the fingerprint reader at his locker. He did well in his subjects, math, being his favorite. Although his grades had started to fall over the last year after his mother’s affliction, he was still pulling in some A’s and a few C’s, mostly B’s, and the occasional D whenever one of his teachers butted heads with him. He was a smart student, and he knew it, but his behavior had suffered over the past year due to his pent-up frustration and anger.
The anticipation had taken over his imagination for most of the morning as he daydreamed through his classes. He wanted to keep the box he had found a secret. He wasn’t sure what was in it, but whatever it was, he felt that it was a part of his mother and that he had the right, now after her passing, to know more about her.
According to her, they had no real family. His mother had rarely talked about her life before she moved to the United States. “I was given up young,” she had always said, “I don’t remember my mother, so I’m going to make sure you know yours. You can do anything that you put your mind to my son. The key is and has always been knowledge, do you understand?”
She always had a passion in her eyes. That was one thing he remembered. A sanguine passion in her demeanor that reminded you of an undefeated heavyweight champion. Her eyes were brown, but there was also a color in her eyes that only he could describe, a dusting of purple and gold in her iris, as well as in his, that he had not seen on any other person that he’d ever met. He loved the way her eyes met you. It was almost as if she had no fear of anything on the face of the earth that life could throw at her; she had been through it all. It was pure confidence.
When he was young his favorite thing to ask were questions about was his father. “Where is he,” he would ask, “and when is he going to come see us, mom?”
“Don’t worry yourself about him,” she would always reply warmly, “just know that he loves you more than anything in the world.”
“Then how come he never comes over to play with me or take me to the park? That would be fun, right?”
“Yes, it would,” she agreed, “but Michael, one day you’re gonna learn that life isn’t so simple.”
The subject of his father had always made him a little sore. He rationalized it in his head by saying, “I’ve never met him so why the hell do I care?” but it never truly made him feel as if the gap in his heart wasn’t there. Why couldn’t he stop by? Did he even know he had a son? After the 13th year without him, he had dismissed the thoughts completely. If that asshole didn’t want him as a son, then he damn sure didn’t want to have anything to do with him as a father. How could you just abandon your child like that and never even wonder how they felt about it? If he ever met him, he decided, he was going to hit him harder than he had ever hit anyone before. Maybe it would hurt as much as he hurt those first thirteen years.
Standing at his locker, he looked down into his bag at the small metal box, contemplating its contents. He needed a safe place to open it just in case it contained anything valuable. He ran his fingers along the handle, zoned out in thought.
“What’s up Mikey?” yelled Manny from the middle of the hallway, arms raised to absorb all the attention in the area. The sound of his voice almost startled him as he quickly zipped his bag back up, “you trying to go get some lunch or what?”
Manny was one of those lighthearted individuals who had learned to deal with his situation through comedy. They had met at the group home, Manny introducing himself when he first arrived. Manny was a few years younger, so of course Michael didn’t pay him much attention at first. Constantly trying to get Michael’s attention with his antics, he just hoped to make him laugh, valuing his opinion. He was one of those people you couldn’t hang around without him uplifting your spirit. Manny’s antics kept him sane, and over time Michael began to look at him more like a younger brother.
