Chapter 3

Spencer

“My mom’s never home. I’m pretty much always on my own around here.” I spat, lighting up the cigarette in my mouth. I hesitated at first, looking to Mila. She sat at the edge of my bed, staring up at my poster-ridden walls, taking in the much different atmosphere then her own. She turned to face me, her brown hair tied into identical braids behind her ears. The cigarette still hanging in my mouth, I took the box and held it in my hand towards her, asking her silently if she wanted a smoke. As guessed, she shook her head.
“No thanks.” She muttered then continued to patrol my room with her daze. I sat against the wall, my legs still falling over the other side of the bed and lit my cigarette. I shook the lighter then stuffed it into my pocket, taking a hit. Mila turned towards me, crossing her legs in an Indian style fashion and blowing the smoke out of her face. I had never met someone who grew so fond of me so quickly. Sure, I barely knew the kid, but the last two days that we had spent together weren’t as bad as I had thought for being with someone so different then myself. We had unpacked every box in her room and piled her clothing into her closet. We had taken a walk alongside Clint-Savory Lake, kicking rocks at people’s heals as they kissed their lovers and played with their children. Surprisingly she went along; hesitant however, yet she wasn’t afraid to be with me. I guessed I saw it that I was her only friend, so she had no choice.
“So what happened?” I asked sharply. Her head swung towards me, along with her ponytails.
“What do you mean?”
“What happened? With your mom and dad? You don’t have to answer, I’m just wondering.” I said, looking down at my toenails that were half covered in chipped silver. I reached off the edge of my bed and underneath to a small box which held black nail polish, eyeliner, a box of unopened cigarettes and black hair dye. I called this box my ‘Help Case.’ Whenever I really needed something, it was there.
Mila looked down at her hands, rubbing them together nervously. I guessed that the question would probably be an unanswered one. I had read the name Charlotte Albadoh so many times in the paper or heard it on television it was crazy. Lines such as, ‘Woman Attacks Another Outside Bar,’ ‘Albadoh Throws Knife at Man’ and ‘Charlotte is charged with Harassment’ were often ringing into my ears. Truthfully, I felt bad for the girl, just knowing this much. Knowing that she had been dealing with yet another tragedy and yet another problem dealing with an alcoholic mother. Sure, I understood the fact that her mother liked to party, I couldn’t say I didn’t, but I also knew the feeling of having parents that went out every night to drink.
“I don’t know. It’s hard to talk about.” Mila whispered, looking up at me with her large gray eyes. She started wrinkling her green t-shirt around her finger, her toes wiggling quickly. I scooted towards her, letting out a puff of smoke in the other direction.
“It’s fine. I get it.”
“No. You don’t, really.” She shot back. I blew out another ring of smoke and nodded.
“My parents go out every night to drink. They don’t care about my brother or I. They just care about the alcohol. Still, that doesn’t stop me from partying every other night. I do know what you mean though.” I explained, running into her shoulder with my own. She looked up into my eyes, her own watering up.
“It isn’t that, it’s what happened because of it. My mother shot my father. My father was saying she needed to stop drinking, and he had said this many times before. Every time he said it, she would usually be under the influence. She would throw chairs at him and hit him while screaming in his face. It wasn’t pretty.” Mila said quietly, her voice low.
“I’m sorry, girl. Was that why your father died?”
“Yes. I was part of it too, though.” She said, her voice fading. I saw her continue to fiddle with her shirt, wrapping it around her index finger over and over again. She gazed out toward the window, looking out into the town that she barely knew. I took in a drag then blew it out in the same direction.
“How were you part of it?” I asked again, thinking she wouldn’t answer. Surprisingly, she did.
“I was sitting at the top of the stairs, watching her scream at my father. He never did a thing wrong, ever. He only tried to help her. My mother was very drunk that night, screaming at him, that she didn’t think anything was wrong at all. I couldn’t take it anymore so I ran down the stairs and stood by my father, crying.” Mila said, a tear falling down her pale face. I stood up, setting my cigarette in the ashtray by the window. I walked towards my desk, picking up a toilet paper roll that I always set there. I handed the roll to her and she wiped her eyes dry.
“Sometimes it’s hard to talk. You really don’t have to if you don’t want to.” I said, hoping that her tears weren’t because of me. She sniffled and rubbed her nose, smiling quickly.
“It’s fine, I need to let it out sometimes.” She said, taking in a deep breath, about to explain more, “So I stood next to my father, my mother looking at me like I was some kind of insect. I told my mom that I thought her drinking was too much as well. I said that I was sick of the damage she was creating with in our family and it was to much for me to handle.
“Then she unbuttoned her jacket and calmly sat on the couch, reaching into her jacket. I thought she just had an itch or something, but I was wrong. She looked up at my father and stared at him. She then said, ‘you have been telling our daughter too much. You need to stop making her go on your side and you need to learn your place.’ She said all this to him, with her hand in her jacket. I slowly began walking towards my mother, sitting beside her, grabbing her arm. She then pulled out a small pistol and pointed it at my father. He stood there, taking in the situation. I couldn’t speak. She pointed the pistol at him and said, ‘Why would you go against the family, Jay.’ And she shot him. She shot him right in the heart, bleeding out onto the rug and then falling onto his blood.” Mila finished, crying into her palms. I didn’t know what to say; I didn’t know how to react to such a dramatic story. I pushed the toilet paper towards her and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, setting my head on her shoulder.
“It will be fine. Everything will get better now, you’ll see.” I said, trying to be some sort of encouragement. This poor, poor girl. How can someone go through so much so abruptly? She moved her head up, wiping her hands on the covers of my bed. She sniffled into her red, button nose and grinned.
“I’m counting on everything getting better now.”

The sun was setting gently in the distance over the lake and the smoke from my joint made the water look like it was on fire. Maybe it wasn’t the smoke exactly; maybe it was more what marijuana does to you. It seriously makes you see things that aren’t there.
Right now, I felt as if I was on a pirate ship and I was the front mantel. Usually those things were mermaids or some beautiful, topless women. My legs hung out the window and I hung onto the bar surrounding my window with one hand and the joint in the other. I took in a drag and blew it out, leaning against the side of my window. Windows should have been made much higher off the ground, so kids like myself, wouldn’t dangle out them or sneak out at night. This was always very dangerous, but it was something relaxing. Every night this summer, I had sat and watched the sunset while smoking. One wonders where I store my treasures. I keep it all in a little hole I dug into my flooring under my bed. I chiseled out a small square into the wood floor with a knife and it pops up barely enough for someone to see it, yet enough for me to open it and find it.
As I gazed into the sunset, a small red jeep drove into the parking lot, the car’s interior vibrating with sound. I dropped my joint and a smile plastered my face. Ian was home. The jeep’s door opened and my brother popped out, staring up in my direction.
I swung my body out the window, both hands gripped onto the bar inside. I slid one hand down to the bottom of the sill then popped onto the grass and raced towards my brother. Thank goodness for living on the first level. The grass was layered in fresh dew as I ran, my feet bare through the strands of emerald grass. As I got closer, I realized that Ian’s hair had grown out to a little below his ears and his clothing had changed a bit since he had left for Boarding School. I ran towards him and threw my arms around his waist, him doing the same. He lifted me off the ground and swung me in a circle. I let go of him and backed up. He set his hands on his hips and leaned on one leg.
“How the hell are you? You’re home earlier then I expected.” I exclaimed, hopping up and down partially because of my excitement but also because of my high. Ian scratched his head and his arm fell to his side. I realized that his jeans were much baggier then usual and he was just wearing a brown, long sleeved shirt with the usual navy blue cap on backwards. I pushed him in the shoulder in a playful manner then stepped back, leaning onto his jeep.
“My flight got in early and I wanted to surprise you! You’re still smoking I can see.” He said, flinging his hand in front of his nose. I nodded and twisted in a circle around myself.
“Yes I am! Would never give it up!” I shouted. He turned to close his door then began to walk towards his trunk, opening it to show four suitcases full of belongings from boarding school. He reached in and grabbed two suitcases then predicted I was going to assist him, which ended up being the truth.
“I think you should give it up. It’s a wicked bad habit. It wont be cool in a few years.” He said, closing the trunk. He picked up his suitcases and walked towards the entrance to the apartment complex, I following. We walked down the hall to room 114, opening it with the key in my pocket. We proceeded towards his room, directly next to my own. We set his bags on the ground and then he fell back onto his bed, sighing.
“It’s great to be home.” Ian stated, leaning onto his elbows. I sat beside him, my legs wide apart.
“Yeah, for a year. Then you got college. You’re already done with school.” I murmured under my breath. Ian sat up and pushed his shaggy brown hair out of his face, revealing his stunning green eyes.
“I’m just taking a break. Sure I’ll be one year behind in college, but at least I can spend your junior year with you!” He said, punching me into my abdomen and making me fall back onto his bed. I kicked him with the heel of my foot in his shin and he elbowed me back in the waist. He laughed then sat back up, pushing his suitcase aside. I sat up as well, realizing a statement he said earlier.
“Since when don’t you smoke?” I asked, standing onto my two feet, my hands on my hips. Ian began to unzip his suitcase, kneeling on the floor. He looked up at me and grinned, lips locked.
“Since tenth grade when I quit. Some of the kids told me about their friend dieing from doing marijuana and ecstasy. It isn’t real cool, Spence.” Ian stated, pulling out a few dark colored tops. I was used to the preppy, pothead Ian Clavorok, not the dark straightedge Ian. He folded sweatpants onto the floor, followed by a sweatshirt. It seemed that everyone around here was unpacking.
“Well I’m fine. Besides, you left here where you were in tenth grade. You were smoking the reef back then too.”
“I smoked for about a year then got over it. You should too.” Ian insisted, leaning against the bed. I bent down to sit beside him, biting my nails. I guessed he was right, about the drugs and all. But I had done what I had done and I would never regret it. Never.
My brother continued to fold his pants then went on to folding his deep green and navy blue t-shirts. I smiled; I couldn’t help it. Sure I was high, but that didn’t change how I felt about my brother. He had always been amazing to me, no matter what situation I was in. I had missed him the last few years and couldn’t believe he was back. He was back in the household being the one and only son my parents adored. Being the perfect part of the not so perfect family.
“Any drama been going on?” He asked, turning to face me. I nodded my head slowly.
“Well, if someone’s father being shot because of their alcoholic mother is drama… then yes, there’s been drama.”