Ravages

by Kit Bladegrave

  She had never disappeared for this long before; I could tell it was really starting to get to him, too. She might be a horrible mother, but she was still our mom. Blood and all that. On the outside, I hated her, but deep down, I didn’t want someone showing up at our door saying they’d found her dead in an alley. I could play house all I wanted, but I was still never going to be Mom.

  Mason entered the kitchen, stifling a yawn, and showing off his Superman pajamas. His black hair matched mine, messy from sleep.

  I grinned at the sight of him. “You’re getting a little old for those. Maybe I should get you some new PJs?”

  “Nah.” He plopped down at the little bar across from the stove that doubled as our kitchen table. “Wow, you like, actually made food this morning.”

  “Smart ass.” I shoved a plate in front of him. “Eat.”

  “Any chance we have syrup?” he asked hopefully.

  “Sorry, kiddo, no syrup, but we do have butter.” I dug around in the fridge, double-checking the expiration date before I set it out for him with a butter knife.

  Mason was only twelve, and I think that’s what pissed me off the most. Mom could have left me high and dry all she wanted, and I probably wouldn’t have cared—good riddance kind of thing—but Mason was just a kid. A real kid—not kid in the way that older adults like to refer to me. Like a kid who should be outside playing on the weekends instead of hiding out in a bad part of town, in the apartment, because it was too dangerous on the streets for a twelve-year-old to ride a bike. Not that he had a bike. I doubted we’d ever be able to afford that luxury.

  We ate breakfast together. Well, he ate, and I drank the bitter, black coffee since there was no money for sugar or creamer, and I helped him go over his homework to make sure everything was good to go. He was smart. I wanted to make sure he graduated even if it was from just a crummy school. He was going to get his high school diploma; I’d accept no less.

  As for me, I had not entirely given up on my education just yet. Whenever I wasn’t working or taking care of Mason, I was studying for my GED. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a start. I refused to be a statistic. I was going to get that GED and then, hopefully, I could get a better job, or go to community college. Not that I had any idea what I wanted to do with my life, but working in a museum as a janitor was not what I thought I’d be doing at seventeen.

  I dreamt of getting out of this apartment—hell, out of this state. I wanted to start over, take Mason with me, and get our lives back on track. He was too smart to be stuck in a town with no chance of furthering his education.

  Me, I wanted freedom from a life I felt trapped in since the day I was born. I wanted to be part of something bigger than myself… or at least bigger than scraping to get by each week.

  But those were just dreams, and I had to stop dreaming at some point.

  Once Mason was ready for school, I walked him to the bus stop and reminded him to behave and pay attention in class. Not that I really had to say anything, but I hated saying nothing when I left him. I also slipped him a five-dollar bill so that he could get some of the good stuff at lunch today instead of the nasty charity food the school gave out to kids on the poor-as-hell list.

  “If you’re not too picky with that bill at lunch, seventy-five cents will get you a candy bar,” I reminded him. “Think you’ve worked hard enough to get one.”

  Once he was gone, and on his way to school, I sat on the bench and impatiently tapped my feet until it was time for me to leave, too.

  A five-minute wait later, I was on the bus that would take me to the museum. I hated that ride, crammed on a smelly old bus with too many people that either stared too much, or talked too loudly, or smelled like rotten food and cigarettes. One day I aspired to own a vehicle of my own. Didn’t even have to be a nice car. If the damn thing ran when I turned the key, I’d be happy.

  Despite my urge to go work in a place that wasn’t as nice as the museum, that had more to do with my co-workers than actually disliking the place. Most of them looked down on me, but their attitudes weren’t going to rob me of the one thing I enjoyed about my pathetic excuse for a job.

  I had chosen to apply at the museum for a reason. I loved history. I wanted to get a degree in history, and I was going to find a way to do it even if it killed me. And already having a job at a museum had to give me some leeway for the future once I finally snagged that degree. The Museum of World History I worked at was set up in a way that allowed for promotions. When I first started, I was just a regular janitor. My assignment was toilets. Wonderful, disgusting toilets.

  I’ve been there for about a year now—long before Mom dipped out this last time—and at first, had just worked nights after school. After Mom disappeared, I dropped out of school to help keep Mason and me afloat. But, that tragedy came with a blessing. I had actually been promoted… sort of.

  I’m still a janitor, but I’m the second in command, or at least that’s how I liked to look at it. Made my job sound a bit better. I had a small team I managed, and I helped my supervisor with schedules.

  My stop finally arrived, and I wrestled my way off the bus, sucking in a breath of fresh air and turned to see a friendly face amongst the crowd on the sidewalk.

  Jensen, my supervisor, met me at the bus stop down the street from the museum. He had two cups of coffee in his hands, fancy coffee that would actually taste good and amp me up even more than I already was.

  “Have I ever told you I love you?” I snagged one of the cups as he burst out laughing, and not a quiet laugh. A deep, belly laugh that drew the attention of everyone in proximity.

  “Keep that up, and you’re going to make me blush, kid.”

  “Just keeping up the flattery. Part of my job, right?”

  He sighed and gulped his coffee. “You best watch yourself, kid. One of these days that sharp mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble.”

  “Eh, I can handle myself.”

  His look turned sympathetic. “Don’t I know it. Just wish you didn’t have to.”

  Jensen had become my best friend since starting at the museum. The first time I met him, I’d been shaking in my boots, literally, but the second he started talking, I knew he was nothing to be scared of. He was a big, fat guy with a bald head and an embarrassing excuse for a mustache, failed handlebars really.

  The man’s chubby cheeks, bright eyes, and warm gaze could make anyone fall in love with him. He was approaching his sixties, but you could hardly tell with that enthusiastic and almost youthful pep he had in every step as we walked the rest of the way to the museum together.

  He’d become protective of me, too, which was a nice change. Usually, I was the one in full-blown protective mode over Mason. Knowing Jensen had my back helped keep my spirits high throughout some of my harder days.

  He was also one of the few I trusted to tell what was going on at home, including Mom taking off for this long.

  As we entered through the front gates of the museum, he sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes, and his pot belly gave a jiggle that nearly had me spewing my mouthful of coffee everywhere.

  “Breathe in that museum quality air and all that wonderful history. You ready for another fun-filled day? Crazy, is what I should say. I saw that you took first and third shift today.”

  I caught the scowl he gave me as I shrugged.

  Jensen told me all the time I worked too much, but what was I supposed to do?

  “Don’t remind me,” I said. “Jack wants me to take his second shift today, too.”

  “You know I won’t let you do that. Especially not after working second and third yesterday. You have to sleep at some point.”

  “I did, a whole three hours. It was fantastic,” I said brightly, and he grunted in annoyance at my chipper tone. “I’m fine, really. I’ll sleep when I’m dead, isn’t that the saying?”

  “Everest, please,” he said, quieter as he rested a hand on my shoulder. “I do not want to watch you dropping dead of exhaustion before
you’re eighteen. Alright? You have a life waiting for you out there.”

  I nibbled my bottom lip, hating that I made him worry so much, but I was doing what I had to do, and that wasn’t about to change anytime soon. “Thanks, Jensen, really, but what I need right now is to ensure Mason eats and we don’t lose the roof over our heads.”

  I patted his hand and made for the employees break room to shove my stuff in my tiny locker and get to work.

  I drained my coffee as fast as I could, surprised when it didn’t burn the roof of my mouth, and found my supply cart to get on my to-do list for the day. I started in the east wing, Jensen in the west, his music blaring from his Bluetooth speaker on his cart was my soundtrack for the morning and set a steady tempo as I polished, dusted, and cleaned floors for the early morning hours. At least I could be happy my only item was no longer toilets.

  Though sadly, those would come soon enough.

  Being at the museum with Jensen before it opened in the early morning or late at night when the last patron left was always my favorite. He would blast music and dance while he mopped, and the two of us would wind up in some sort of silly sing-along.

  Not only that, but he loved history as much as I did. Most of the janitors at the museum couldn’t care less or were so stupid they thought the Jurassic era applied to all dinosaur-like creatures or that Christopher Columbus was from the same period as George Washington. Jensen and I could talk history, and I loved that. Part of me felt he did it as a way for me to keep my brain sharp, and I appreciated having a conversation with someone that didn’t revolve around middle-school math problems, or which superhero was better.

  Two hours into our routine, I breathed deeply as I unlocked the doors to the museum to let the next round of staff inside.

  The five curators arrived on the dot every morning. That was my goal, right there. That’s why I wanted to get a degree in history. I wanted to work as a curator. To be paid to study history. To give insight on the museum. To travel to obtain knowledge. Be in charge of keeping everything preserved for the next generation, and the next after that.

  That was the dream, and if it meant working myself to death, I was going to make it a reality someday. If Mom had been the kind of parent to hold down a job, maybe then I could have already been putting money aside for college.

  At the time, all of my money was going to bills. I would find a way someday. I was sure of it.

  Chapter 2

  Everest

  The museum was open early and closed late. There were three different shifts available. Most people would work just one shift or two, back to back. That day, I worked first and third, so I had taken the bus home to take a long nap, take care of some chores, before returning for the night shift that started in the evening, a few hours before the museum actually closed.

  The night shift was fun, and I was working it that night with Jensen as I had worked first shift with him that morning, so I was not about to complain.

  The first few hours of night shift included a few people with nothing else to do with their evenings other than traipse around the museum. The last several hours were clean-up duty. Sometimes night shift wasn’t dull if there was an evening event going on—that was always fun. Not this night though.

  This night I was just hanging out with Jensen while checking on all the exhibits and occasionally pausing to have a conversation with the night security guard, Hank. He was younger then Jensen, and was always up for a good debate on what would’ve happened if specific events in history turned out differently.

  Jensen and I were in the colonial exhibits when he asked me about Mom.

  I winced, glancing around to be sure no one would overhear me. “Still gone and I’m still finding bottles everywhere. Can’t believe she managed to hide so many for this long.”

  “I’m sorry you got to deal with that.”

  “Could be worse, I guess. At least I’m not finding drugs everywhere,” I muttered with a shrug. At least not yet was what I should’ve said. “It’d be nice if she’d at least send word that she was breathing.”

  “There’s a point in time when you need to let someone else know about this,” he replied quietly. “You know I’ll never report you, but there’s always a chance someone else might.” He frowned as he leaned on his broom. “If it gets that bad, I just want you to know that I have an empty house, plenty of room for you and Mason.”

  It wasn’t the first time he offered to take us in, unofficially, but we were both worried about what type of red-tape that would mean in case Mom did come back to the apartment to find it empty and her kids moved in with an old man who had no blood relation to us whatsoever.

  I always appreciated the offer, though. I’d be eighteen soon enough, and then it wouldn’t matter as far as I was concerned.

  “I know and thanks, but we’re okay for right now. No one else knows she’s gone.”

  “Keep it that way,” he urged. “You okay on money?”

  “Fine, Jensen.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me, young lady. If you need anything, you better damned well ask me. Living off of coffee is just as bad as running on no sleep,” he scolded. “Can’t believe a mother would leave her kids like this.”

  “I’m used to it, really I’m fine. We’re fine.”

  “What have you been telling anyone else who asks where she is?”

  I shrugged. “That she’s sick and was told to stay home and get some bed rest.”

  “For weeks?” he asked, brow raised.

  “What can I say? Our neighbors are either old, high, or don’t give a damn so we’re getting away with the lie for now.”

  “You better hope it stays that way.” His lips twitched in a grin as he added, “You know, I have noticed that you’ve seemed a little perkier lately. Part of me held out hope she’d come back sober or something, but I guess that’d be too lucky, huh?”

  Lucky, or convenient. Not sure I’d even believe it if Mom miraculously came back home sober and ready to turn over a new leaf. I more or less expected her to come crawling back with some new loser on her arm, swearing to take care of her for two weeks before she became too needy and he left her. Then she’d get depressed, and her drinking would increase like it always did. She’d take her anger out on us, the apartment, destroy what few items were left whole, and probably run off again. Without her around, my days were brighter, in a weird twisted way I wasn’t sure I should enjoy so much.

  I probably did seem happier, though. Life was better when Mom was gone. When she was home, it was a nightmare. A holding her hair back for her every other night kind of nightmare. Helping her shower when she had one too many. Checking on her four times a night to make sure she didn’t throw up and drown in her mess because I had to be the one to worry about her so that Mason wouldn’t have to.

  Her being gone was just easier. I could breathe without feeling like I was drowning in the hurt and the bitterness she brought down on my head. Without her around, I could let myself imagine it had always been just me and Mason. No crazy, alcoholic Mom who made me want to pull my hair out and scream at how unfair the world was. When she was home, it was right there, in my face, a living nightmare that had no end in sight. I’d pinch myself, and the pain would remain, as well as whatever was happening. Her drunken screaming, telling me I was worthless, yelling at Mason until I’d finally yell back, and she’d storm off to her room.

  I hated that I would lay in bed every morning hoping I would wake up and she’d be gone again, maybe for good this time. With her gone, Mason didn’t have to see our mom, slowly fading away from alcoholism. I didn’t have to see it.

  Her government assistance checks still came in the mail, and I cashed them. If she had been home, those checks would have gone straight to booze instead of rent, or the other bills my money didn’t cover. Hell, I doubted she even realized I worked when she was around.

  If she ever came back, she’d get drunk and scream at me for being a dropout and a bum, for living on her dime
, even if I paid for a good portion of everything.

  I glanced up to see Jensen watching me with a worried frown.

  “You keep doing that, you’re going to make those wrinkles of yours worse.”

  His eyes narrowed before he gave a loud belly laugh that had me smiling, too despite my depressing mood all of a sudden. He was my closest friend, especially since I had dropped out.

  I never had many friends beforehand, and when I left school, no one came to check on me, or called. Jensen was the only one there for me now, and I wasn’t sure I could ever explain how much it meant to me, him just caring.

  “I hate that you dropped out of school.” Jensen said, as if reading my mind, his face grim. “You know, it’s not too late to go back.”

  “I’ll have my GED before you know it.”

  “There’s a home in my neighborhood for kids—”

  “Don’t,” I cut him off, sharper than I meant to, and hung my head. “I’m sorry, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but you know how dangerous that could be for us. I don’t want to get us dragged into the system, and you know that. I’ll be eighteen in less than a year. I can file for custody of Mason then. I just have to keep my head down and not draw attention to the current situation.”

  Jensen huffed, and I waited for him to keep arguing with me, but he didn’t push the issue, for once.

  An hour later, he glanced around and nodded at a job well done. “Looks like we’re done here. I’ll close up shop, so you can be sure to catch that last bus ride home.”

  “Thanks, Jensen,” I said, and headed towards the janitor supply room to put my cart up.

  I doubled back and gave him a hug for being a shoulder I could lean on, and letting me split a few minutes early. He didn’t like the idea of my walking several blocks home at night in this crummy city, and neither did I.

  I got to the bus stop just in time, and took the final bus home. My stop was a relatively short distance from our apartment, and I was thankful for that. I would always walk quickly whenever I came home late; there were several known drug dealers in our neighborhood, but everyone knew there was worse than that.