Jericho

    No matter how loud I turned the volume up it wasn’t enough to block out the yelling from the living room.  Everyday the arguing continued, everyday they fought about pointless subjects.  I couldn’t take it anymore. 

   I heard a crashing sound from the living room and I drove my hands to my ears.  I didn’t want to hear this.  I didn’t want to witness this.  I wanted out of this place.  I needed some fresh air, but the only way out of this apartment building was the front door, and to get to the front door I would have to go past Them.  And that was something I really didn’t want to do. 

    So, what did I do?  Well, what I always did; I pushed the pillow in my face and soaked it with my tears.  I rocked back and forth rhythmically for ten more minutes and then whipped the drenched pillow across the room and against the wall.  I got off my bed and slipped my shoes and hoodie on.  I opened the door and made my way out into the living room, tucking my chin into my chest and keeping my eyes pointed toward the stained carpet floor, but I still noticed where everybody was out of the corners of my eyes. 
   
    Mom was slumped over on the couch with drool dripping from the corners of her mouth, staring aimlessly at the television set.  Craig was in the kitchen with a beer raised to his lips.  As usual, he had no shirt on.  He was showing off his ridiculous tattoos and nonexistent muscles.

    “And where the hell do you think you’re going?” he asked.

    “Out,” I droned.

    “Out where?”

    “Just out, okay?”

    “How ‘bout you tell me where you’re going or I smack you upside the head?”
       
    “I’m just going for a walk.  I need some fresh air.”

    “Then open a window.”

    I sighed and tried to ignore him, making my way closer to the front door.  My hand was inches away from wrapping around the bronze doorknob when a ring covered hand grasped my wrist and turned me around.  I was face to face with my repulsive step-dad.  “Who do you think you are, ignoring me like that?”

    “Just let me go, okay?” I pleaded.

    “Maybe you need to be taught a lesson?  Yeah, I think you do.  Come on; let’s go to my bedroom for a little while and I’ll think up a suitable punishment.”  He started dragging me away from the door when I heard him whisper in my ear, “So, do you swallow like your mother?”  I gasped in shock and fright.  He hadn’t touched me in almost two years now, and that little perverted inquiry had brought back painful memories. 

    “Fuck off!” I shouted, and savagely pushed him to the floor.  I looked at my mother for some kind of support, but she was off in her own little world.  “I hate this fucking place,” I hissed under my breath, as I stormed toward the front door. 

    “Goddamn it, Kristie, you get back here!  Get back here right this minute or it’ll be a helluva lot worse then it should be!  Kristie!” 
   
    The threats from my step-dad were startling, and I knew he meant what he said.  Oh well, fuck him.  I ran out of the apartment building and jogged down the misty night.  God, Craig was a pathetic waste of life.  I hated that man so bad.  I was glad the piece of scum wasn’t my real father, but then again I wasn’t too sure who my father was.  I had a very indistinguishable memory of him and whenever I asked, Mom just said he was 'doing time'.  I often found myself wondering about him.  Was he nice?  Why was he in prison?  Was he a murderer?  A rapist?  Both?  A pyromaniac?  Was he insane?  Did he remember me?  If so, did he miss me?  Did he want anything to do with me?  All those questions constantly poured through my head on nights like this.  I hated to be alone and I hated to be in the presence of that despicable pig.

    I was out of breath by the time I reached Leon’s house.  I knocked rabidly on the oak crafted door and minutes later my boyfriend of fourteen months swung it open.  He was a big guy; red hair that drooped down to his broad shoulders, arms ripping of muscles.  He was nice, too.  That was rare.  He actually cared about me.

    “Kristie?” he said, rubbing his eyes.

    “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

    “Yeah, but that doesn’t matter.  It’s okay.”  He stepped out on the porch with me and gently closed the door.  “Just don’t want to wake up my folks is all.  What are you doing here?  It’s pretty late.  Are you alright?  What’s going on?”

    “I just needed to get out of that wretched apartment for awhile.  Thought it’d be okay if I came over here.”

    “Of course it is, but my dad has to get up early for a business trip, so you don’t mind if we sit out here, do you?”  He gestured toward the porch swing.

    “Yeah, no problem.”

    We sat down and I lit up a cigarette.  I asked if he wanted one, too, but he declined.  “So … “ he said, “do you want to talk about what happened?”

    “There isn’t anything to talk about,” I lied.  “They’re just arguing again, giving me a migraine.”

    “That sucks.  I’m sorry,” he said, and rested his arm across my shoulder.  I scooted in closer to him and I felt warm.  I felt safe.  The wind rocked the swing back and forth and we sat there, huddled up, in silence.  The full moon lit up the night sky and the stars rested in the background.  Snowflakes drifted in the air like dandelion seeds, slowly coming to a rest on the icy earth.  It was a beautiful night indeed.

    “Kristie, wake up.”

    I opened my eyes and scanned my surroundings.  I was still on the swing, must have fallen asleep.  I looked up to see Leon face to face with me.  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

    “You were crying in your sleep.  Are you okay?”

    “I was crying?  Weird … probably just some nightmare.  I don’t even remember it.”

    “What’s wrong with your thumb?” he asked.  I looked down and saw that it was bleeding. 

    “Oh, I hit it on the door to the apartment when I was leaving.  I’m fine, though.”

    “No, you need at least a band-aid.  Maybe some peroxide, too.  Come on, we’ll go up to the Walgreens.”

    “What?  No.”

    “Oh come on, Kristie.  I insist.”
   
    “But um … is it even open this late?”

    “Of course it is; it’s open twenty-four-seven.  Let me go get my car keys and we’ll take off.” He jumped off the swing and went back in his house.

    I really didn’t feel like leaving that spot; I was so comfortable.  My thumb wasn’t even injured that bad, too.  I had smacked it on the drywall of the living room when I was running out of the apartment.  I felt like such a fool, I had cried some of the way to Leon’s house.  But the thumb injury wasn’t really why I had cried, it was just what had set me off.  Craig was the reason behind it.  My mom, too.  They were useless.  Scum.  Just worthless junkies.  I had never really known my mother.  To me she wasn’t much of a mom, but more of someone who just lived with me.  On most nights I found myself cooking the dinner; if it weren’t for me she would have never eaten.

    Leon came back outside.  “Ready?” he asked. 

    “You don’t have any band-aids in your house?”

    “Nope, my mom never buys that sort of stuff.  She probably should, huh?”

    I smirked and reluctantly stood up.  We got in his inferior white 1984 Ford Fiesta and drifted off towards the intimidating moon.