Trapped with a Way Out

by Jeffery Martinez

  "…Why'd you leave all of a sudden like that? We thought you were mad at us or something."

  "I left…" The teen growled, moving his head back to make sure the wall wouldn't cut off his voice. "…because I was bored. I wanted to leave…now let me go back to sleep already."

  Rodriguez stared at the door, his mind as blank as his face. His Mom and William…all of them had been worried about Vincent, and now he says he left just because he was bored? He made them go through all that guilt and anxiety…JUST because he was BORED? Rodriguez's rage boiled as he suddenly struck out at the door, making Vincent start and then wince when his body protested against such abrupt movement. "You're so selfish, you're just…just unbelievable, Vincent! You left because you were bored? Do you know how beat up William was about you when you disappeared? It ruined everything for her last night! And it was ruining our Christmas Eve! My sister couldn't come here herself because she felt so bad about how she had acted towards you yesterday!" Vincent's head had turned on his comforter and pillow, to watch the door. Unfocused eyes rarely blinked while Rodriguez yelled at him through the door. The boy knew his neighbors would be listening, but he wasn't thinking about that right now. "You're oblivious of everyone around you, Vincent! Think about how you hurt other people through the choices you make…you…you…!" Rodriguez scowled and cut himself off here to turn and stride away from the door and go down the stars. That idiot! That idiot had put his mom and his sister through all of that, just because he was bored! Vincent deserved to be yelled at! This was just unbelievable!

  The red eyes stayed with the door as the shadow swept over the curtains on his window. When all evidence of Rodriguez's presence was gone, the boy turned his head to face the wall as his eyes closed. He lay there in silence, his eyes opening occasionally to see the comforter. Jack-bean, and now the Chief, Rodriguez, and Female Rodriguez… Jake was right. He needed to grow up and realize there were consequences for everything. Ignoring them…didn't work for very long. It was impossible for him to mix with the Rodriguez family and still be a part of his normal, everyday life. It didn't work out that way…

  He was such a dumbass, it was disgusting.

  It was sunny, but the air was freezing with a biting wind picking up any heat it could steal from a living body. If one stood still and allowed the sun's rays to build up around you, then it wasn't too cold. But Jake wasn't standing still, and the sun was lowering in the sky, so he had to hide his hands in his pockets to preserve some of their warmth. He took them out when he ascended a few concrete steps to reach the front door of his apartment. A key was revealed and then inserted into the keyhole, unlocking the door so Jake could seek refuge from the cold inside. The wind helped close the door as he shut it and turned the latch to lock and bolt the door, like he always did. His lumbering, giant steps brought him to the end of the narrow, green-tiled hall. To his right was his green-tiled kitchen, the first thing most noticed when they entered his house. Flipping on the lights illuminated the tan carpet area that constituted as his living room, with a desk and an old computer against the wall that built his second narrow hallway leading to a bathroom and, at the end, his bedroom. He laid his ring of keys on the green countertop, and passed the kitchen to walk into his living room, going beyond the outcropping wall that kept his computer company. He stopped by the desk with a lurching halt and his eyes widened, staring at his couch and the black shape that was sitting in the dead middle of it. Slowly, the sound of munching registered in his ears as the figure stuffed a few pieces of popped popcorn into its mouth, watching Jake's entrance as if it were part of a movie and then lifted a piece of popcorn to its dark clad shoulder. A brown and white rat emerged from the hood of the sweatshirt and it's slightly yellowed fangs bit down on the carb-puff and dragged it back into the hood where additional crunching sounds soon came to fill Jake's ears.

  Vincent ate another handful of popcorn and felt the rat come to his shoulder, expecting more food. The rat was ignored while an amused grin came to the pale teen as he chuckled at Jake's dumb look. "I popped some popcorn. If you want some, you'll have to get your own, though. Esmeralda doesn't want to share." He smiled and threw a puff into his mouth as Jake frowned. A giant's arm leaned on the wall by the computer while Jake assessed the situation.

  "How did you get in?" He frowned at the hooded boy and then shifted the expression to the popcorn-eating rat. He pointed at Esmeralda. "And don't feed the rats popcorn. It's not good for them."

  Vincent chewed while he looked at the rat that sniffed his mouth. "Poor, deprived rat… Jack-bean won't let you eat popcorn?"

  Jake sighed and dropped his hand to his pocket, doing the same with the other as his shoulder now leaned against the corner of the wall instead. "I asked you how you got in."

  "Picked the lock." Chew. Crunch. Shrug. "The usual."

  Jake watched the teen, gradually beginning to pick up on the white features that were obscured by the shadow given off by the hood. A large bruise that bled up into the eye, giving the illusion of a black eye, and a bottom lip that was busted up pretty bad... Jake noticed when Vincent looked down at the rat, his head moving without shifting the hood, that there was a series of cuts on the left side of his brow that looked like the work of gravel or loose concrete. He was as filthy as ever again. Brown eyes blinked at the image, saying nothing when more popcorn was offered to the rat that greedily devoured the puffed snack. The bag of popcorn lay on the teen's lap, and the popcorn and kernels inside the paper bag rolled noisily when it was lifted by the pale hands. Red observed the glasses wearing old man on the bag.

  "Orville Redenbacher's Gourmet Popping Corn." The rat came out to look at the delicious smelling bag, full of curiosity and wonder. Vincent was frowning. "Why the hell can't they just call it popcorn? Gourmet Popping Corn sounds so snobby. Jack-bean…" He looked up at the man with a hint of a scowl. "You have snobby, rich-ass popcorn. Why do you buy this stuff? Get the generic kind…like the Safeway Popcorn. Safeway is not snobby."

  The red eyes were looking at the old man and his polka-dotted bow-tie. Jake didn't say anything, and then he bit his lip, sighing while he chewed on it. A moment expired and Vincent turned the bag around to read the instructions that seemed to be in Spanish. "How come they don't have the instructions in English? I'm telling you, Orville Redenbacher is a racist, snobby bastard. They don't put the instructions in English because they assume that all the English speaking people have the fancy-ass microwaves that have the popcorn button on them, and that all of the Spanish speaking people will have the poor-ass microwaves so they have to put in the time themselves in order to cook their popcorn…pop their popcorn…or whatever. EVEN his damn bow-tie is racist!"

  "How is it racist?" Vincent looked up at Jake and then scowled at the popcorn bag, turning it around in his hands to find Orville.

  "Give me a second. I'll figure out how it's racist…" Vincent concentrated on the bag while Jake's lips twitched, giving a fleeting smile that was more of a grimace. The man sighed and dropped his eyes to his shoes and their black, thick laces. He was about to speak, when Vincent suddenly spoke up again.

  "Oh! I found the English instructions, the bastards… They have a cartoon for the English ones but only boring numbers for the Spanish ones. Everyone likes cartoons…racist bastards…give the Spanish one a cartoon too, and don't make the guy such a white dumbass looking snob with his big, elephant ear…" The boy grumbled for a while, scowling at the cartoon that informed the consumer to 'listen to the pop to know when to stop'.

  When the grumbling died away and it was quiet again, Jake was looking at the teen's swollen, cut lip. "What are you doing here?"

  The paper crackled and Vincent tried to quiet it by taking his hands away from the popcorn bag. Not knowing what else to do with them, he put one hand in the pouch of his sweatshirt and the other in his hood to pet the brown and white rat whose whiskers were tickling his ear. A rough tail swung around the back of his neck as the rat tried to keep its balance. "I was feeling do
wn, so I needed an upper. Esmeralda gives you a good, natural high." He rubbed a soft ear and felt the rat lick his knuckles. His eyes were in the direction of the wall across from him, but they did not see it.

  Jake waited for something to change. He regretted the wait when he rolled his eyes and looked away in response to Vincent's sudden question.

  "How do the girls you bring over react when they find out you have pet rats?"

  "At least I get girls to come over, First. You don't even have enough room in your place to bring a girl inside." Jake frowned when he realized that the teen had brought him down to his level, and he turned back to go through his kitchen. He opened a cabinet that had a jar of money in it, and then closed it to find the one he was actually looking for. He found the box of popcorn packages, tipped it towards himself to see how many were left, and then pushed it back on the shelf. "Do you expect me to feed you scraps whenever you scratch at the door, Max? If I did that, all the strays in the city would come over and eat me out of house and home in minutes…"

  Vincent didn't comment as he stared at the red and yellow ink coloring the paper bag in his lap, petting the rat that he had moved to his arm. He could hear Jake rummaging through the kitchen, deliberating on what his 'giant' stomach wanted to eat. "Hey, Jack-bean…"

  The rummaging continued as the red eyes wandered up the wall in front of them.

  "…can you drive me to the hospital tomorrow?"

  The kitchen was quiet and Jake was standing, looking at the couch over the counter and the short dividing wall that was behind it. "What for?" He chewed his lip again when Vincent didn't look in his direction.

  The teen was watching the rat now as his hand ran across its back. "I'm planning on visiting my uncle tomorrow, so I was wondering if you could give me a ride."

  Brown gazed at the green countertop for a while, and then Jake went back to his cabinets and opened one that creaked loudly. He needed to oil the hinges. "Sure. What time?"

  Vincent got to his feet and took the rat into his hands. He started for the rat cage sitting on the carpet that ran into the short wall in front of the kitchen. He stooped down to open the door on top of the cage. "Whenever." The door of the cage closed, and Vincent stood. He headed for the narrow, green-tiled hall.

  "I'll drop by."

  "Thanks." Vincent was unbolting the front door while he listened to Jake in the kitchen. "You're gonna have to lock the door again."

  "Damn you."

  Vincent grinned to himself when he caught the humor. "Bye Jake." He called through the door and then shut it, bracing himself against the chilled wind that hit his face. He ducked his head, pulling on his hood to make sure it was covering as much of his face as it could, and walked down the grey paved sidewalk against the traffic of cars beside him, with the sun falling under the horizon somewhere off in the distance where one could see it hit the curve of the Earth. The city always darkened before the rural areas, because the taller buildings raised the horizon closer to the sun. Vincent submersed himself in shadows as he walked down the sidewalk. Here, he had entered the night.

  The teen walked amongst the night crowds and passed the snow filled shop widows when he reached them. But he had an uneventful journey home, and was soon in bed, forcing himself to fall asleep. He coughed a few times before he was able to.

  Blue swept over the stiff sheets of paper in his hands, the enlarged photographs that had been sent home with Vincentimir several months ago, but had failed to ever reach his uncle's hands...until now. Walter's eyes noted, in general, the young faces of the boy's sixth grade class. The bottom row, to the right, where the teacher stood, the layout looked odd to the man as she seemed to be made less prominent, overall, because of her obscure placement in the photo. They were focusing on the children, he assumed. No one really cared about what the teacher's face looked like, what her gender was, only what grades her lessons produced on her students' report cards. The eyes moved to the smiling young face beside her, and then to the one that followed, all the way down the first row containing the smallest of the children. Vincentimir wasn't among them. Walter blinked, but thought little of it for surely the pathetic child would be in the next row. He looked. Vincentimir was not present. Four rows. Two more to go. The third? No Vincentimir.

  Now Walter paused to let his eyes check the first two rows again, and then the third. His lips twitched involuntarily, affected by the man's slight surprise. Well, they're all brats. They're all scrawny and small, and especially this batch. Some look like they still have baby fat on their cheeks…the eyes lifted to the final row and slowly progressed across the line. He reached the end and the blue eyes twitched again, but this time it was meant to suppress a cringe.

  The abnormally white skin was shocking when made in such a close comparison with the healthy child standing next to the boy…be it that they were separated by more space than the other children tended to be from one another in the photo. The red eyes even picked up the light, if the camera had flashed, and they glowed eerily in the gloom that seemed to be sucked towards the child. There really was no shadow, no gloom at all. But looking at the boy and his dark clothes, mostly black, and his face, the only one without a smile…this boy was nothing like Vincentimir, the shy, timid boy… This boy, this stoic face and the cold, granite-like characteristics of a statue coupled with the red eyes…more like a gargoyle, in just the feeling, the prickle on the back that chilled a strong heart with peculiar awe… The child, that really could not retain the definition of such an innocent, warming youth, could not compare to the nervous little boy that lived in his home. Vincentimir was a meek, affectionate little creature, like a deformed or mutated lamb. But the student in this class picture, was like a ghoul, a haunt…a demon. Walter didn't blame the boy that had been assigned the place next to his nephew, for keeping that breadth of space between them. This thing, his nephew…not a thing…was something one would see in a ghostly horror movie, a specter child that appears behind the main character with bloodied clothes…the one that might whisper into an ear with a frigid breath…I see dead people…they're coming…or other such nonsensical things that managed to make a heart skip a beat in a dark room.

  Walter stared at the picture of his nephew, expressionless features adorned with only the unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. The white stick moved, rolled to the side as the blue eyes narrowed and the picture was brought closer. The stiff sheet behind it was shuffled to cover the class photo. Four basic positions for taking a year book picture were presented. They were cheap, meant to be examples that a parent would choose from and purchase in wallet or other dimensions of size. Timid little Vincent wasn't in any of them. The stoic white statue and the burning hellish eyes had replaced him.

  No emotion. None, absolutely nothing like human emotion could be found in the child's face. It was simply blank, like he had no soul, only the fire of his eyes. Walter looked at the photo and gradually passed this interpretation of the picture. There was nothing hellish about it. Vincentimir seemed like he was bored, or tired, and that he would rather not be there, so his face was blank for those reasons. If a different child had such an expression, that is what they would come across as being; bored, tired, and possibly unhappy, while Vincent took on the form of a supernatural thing…creature. Not a thing…this was his nephew…a miniature person…not a thing.

  The other sheets were more pliant pieces of paper and they folded, making paper-sounds when they were shifted through. They covered the photographs before a hand shoved the stack back into a drawer that was organized with all of the boy's school papers the child was supposed to keep track of. The man flipped the corners of papers, removing one when something caught his eye. This one was tinted pink, possibly to make it more noticeable and seemingly important. Valentines Day Party…no, not important, just crap…but Walter still allowed his eyes to glance over the message. Why was the boy keeping useless scraps of paper? He would have to tell Vincent what to keep and what needed to be…

  Walter's t
houghts stopped, and his eyes went to the beginning of the paragraph again, oblivious of the nauseating heart border and the fancy print.

  This is a reminder for parents to help their son/daughter decorate their own Valentine's box and bring enough Valentine's Day cards for the entire class. We have twenty-eight students this year, so there should be twenty-eight Valentines. Candy is optional. The Valentine's box is a homework assignment that will be graded for completion, not artistic skill.

  This year the fourteenth falls on a week day, so our class party will be held on February 14th, after the student's lunch break which ends at 12:25 p.m. The parents responsible for organizing our much awaited Valentine's Day party and card exchange are the following: Mrs. Blair, Mrs. Lee, Mr. Stanton, Mrs. Clifford, Mr. Ramos, and Mrs. Kirkpatrick. Please plan one holiday activity and communicate as to who will bring food and who will be in charge of bringing utensils, cups, and paper (or Styrofoam) plates. Unfortunately, as we remember for our Halloween party, there were not enough disposable cups for all of our students. Keep in mind, we have twenty-eight students.

  Thank you…

  Walter stared at the paper, a frown beginning to dent his mouth. Mr. Ramos, he read it again. February 14th…this notice was several weeks old…but the boy had never mentioned it. Maybe he hadn't read the paper before stuffing it away in the drawer… The frown came and Walter put the paper on top of the order forms for class pictures. Then there was a pause, a moment of consideration. A hand drew out the stack of papers, emptying the drawer, minus a few orange pencils and a paperclip that were left behind. The papers were brought to the table while one of the mismatched chairs was occupied as Walter sorted through his nephew's school papers.

  Vincentimir had never made a Valentine's box…or any Valentines, for that matter. So he had failed to complete that assignment. Now other papers, only a few, told of the other assignments that had been skipped. Well, not skipped, but left incomplete or done without answering a majority of the questions correctly. A handful of progress reports listed the boy's grades for the first, second, and third quarter. Two B's and the rest were C+'s. The second quarter, before the end of the semester, straight C's. Third quarter, one B, mostly C's and one D.