Dub
He woke with a start, surprised to find the apartment so light. He’d been unable to sleep and had stayed up late watching television and reading through his history book. He’d have the entire thing finished soon, for all the good it would do him.
He rolled out of the recliner, walked to the kitchen, and glanced at the clock on the stove. 9:00 A.M. Uh-oh. His mother’s shift had started at eight.
He stepped to her bedroom door. “Mom? It’s past nine. You’re late for work.”
She didn’t answer.
He tried again, knocking this time. RAP-RAP-RAP. “Mom? You up?”
Still no answer.
He tried the knob. The door was locked. Dammit. He couldn’t even get in the bathroom to take a piss. “Mom! Open the door!”
Still nothing.
He knocked full out now. Bam-bam-bam! “Mom!” He put his ear to the door.
He heard no rustling.
No snoring.
No breathing.
No signs of life whatsoever.
Gulping back the thick lump that had formed in his throat, he ran to the kitchen, found a paper clip in the junk drawer, and pulled it straight as he rushed back to the bedroom door. He jammed the end of the metal strip into the hole on the doorknob, poking and poking and poking until he heard the click of the lock releasing. Tossing the clip aside, he threw the door open and ran to his mother, falling to his knees next to her mattress.
Her face lay slack, her mouth hanging open just enough to allow a small puddle of drool to collect on the pillow beneath her head.
His ears roaring in panic, Dub put a hand to her shoulder and shook her. “Mom? Mom, are you okay?”
Guilt slammed him when he realized he would be nearly as relieved to find she had passed away as he would to find her alive. At least then he would no longer be sucked into this recurring nightmare. It would be over once and for all.
Her right eye fluttered, then opened to a slit. “Why you carryin’ on like this?” she mumbled. “Someone dead?”
He choked back a sob. “I thought you were.”
Her eye slid shut again.
He stood and kicked the side of her mattress. “Get up! You have to go to work.”
“I’m not going,” she said. “I’m sick.”
“You’re not sick!” He gave her mattress another kick. “You’re wasted.”
She was using again. She’d lose this job, just like she’d lost so many others before. She’d lose the apartment, just like she’d lost so many before. She’d lose herself again, too.
Same song, same verse.
And he was sick of it.
Trying to get her out of bed in this condition would do no good. He stood and gave her mattress a final kick. Sorry excuse for a mother.
After using the bathroom, he found the phone number for the Taco Bell on the Internet and called the manager. “I’m calling for Katrina Mayhew. My mother won’t be able to come into work today,” he said. “Sorry, but she’s not feeling well.”
“I didn’t realize Katrina had a son.”
“That’s all right,” Dub said softly. “She doesn’t seem to realize it, either.”
“Excuse me?”
He didn’t explain. He just said, “Have a nice day” and hung up the phone.
He ran a hand through his hair. Why was his mother like this? Why wasn’t she like those other mothers, who actually enjoyed caring for their children, who cooked and cleaned, who licked their fingers and styled their children’s hair with their saliva? He’d seen mothers do that. Lots of times.
Okay, maybe the whole spit-style thing was gross, but he couldn’t remember his mother even once trying to fight his crazy cowlick with a brush or comb. And now she was missing work and would probably lose her job. It would be one thing if she were on her own, but she’d convinced Dub to stay with her. How could she not care at all?
Screw it.
Someone needed to go to work and earn a few bucks, and it clearly wasn’t going to be his mother. Not in the condition she was in.
He grabbed his cell phone, hoping that maybe someone had left a message for him, wanting to hire him for an odd job. No such luck.
He took a quick shower, dressed, and brushed his teeth. Bam! Dub slammed the door of the apartment as he headed out. His mother probably hadn’t even heard it, but it made him feel better anyway.
He walked out to his van, trying to figure out what to do to earn some money. The only thing he could think to do was to go to the day labor site and see if someone might hire him.
On his way, he made a quick stop at Paschal High, parking in a visitor’s spot and waiting until he heard the bell ring. Bzzzzzzzt. He hopped out of his van and hurried into the building, keeping his head down in case any of his teachers happened to be in the halls. The last thing he needed was one of them asking why he hadn’t been to class and calling the police.
He turned down a noisy, crowded hallway and stopped.
There she was. At her locker.
Jenna Seaver, with her pretty reddish hair and her baby blue eyes and her way of making him feel like he was more than his rap sheet, that he was someone who mattered, that, no matter what anyone else thought or said, she knew the real him and that he was special and wonderful and good.
She could’ve been with another boy, one with better grades, better looks, less baggage. But she’d chosen him, seen something in him that he’d only caught glimpses of himself.
He was crazy for her.
His heart twisted. Probably the best thing he could for her was to turn back around and walk out of her life forever. What did he have to offer a girl like her? He’d only bring her down.
But he couldn’t leave her.
Not yet, anyway.
Especially when she turned and saw him and her eyes got all bright and her mouth got all smiley and she squealed.
She rushed toward him. “Dub! Oh, my God!” She dropped her books at their feet and grabbed him in a hug so tight he couldn’t move his arms. The hug even hurt a little, but in a good way.
When she stepped back, there were tears in her eyes. “I’ve missed you so much.”
His throat seemed to shrink and his voice squeaked. “I’ve missed you, too.” Oh, hell, he wasn’t going to start crying here in the hall, was he? “Here.” He handed her the prepaid phone he’d bought for her. “Be sure to keep the ringer turned off and hide it from your parents. I put my new number in the contacts for you.”
She looked down at the phone, then back up at him. They stared at each other for a few seconds. Dub had so much more he wanted to say to her. She looked like she had things she wanted to say, too.
But not here, not now.
He coughed to clear his throat. “I gotta get out of here before the tardy bell rings.”
“Okay.” A tear running down her cheek, she stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. “I love you, Dub,” she whispered.
He didn’t say anything back. He couldn’t. But he nodded and she smiled again because she knew what it meant. She got him. God, that felt good.
He left the school and drove to the industrial area where the day laborers gathered each morning. Most of the men were Latino and spoke limited English. When he pulled up in his van, a group of them hurried over, thinking he had come looking for helpers.
“Sorry,” he told them. “I’m looking for work, too.”
He parked his van and climbed out, standing at the edge of the group.
Several contractors came by, looking for workers with experience in roofing, framing, masonry, and drywall. Dub had never done any of those things. Unfortunately, nobody was looking for a fifteen-year-old dumbass who was qualified to do nothing.
He began to step up to the trucks as they stopped. “Do you need somebody to clean?” he asked. “I can pick up nails and sweep or whatever.”
Nobody took him up on his offer. Eventually, it was down to just Dub and an ancient man with a stooped back and a single tooth.
A man in a pickup pulled up, a roll of carpeting sticking out the back of the bed. He looked over at Dub. “Either one of you know how to lay carpet?”
The old man nodded and stepped over to climb into the truck. They drove off, leaving Dub standing in their dust.
Alone.