Yeah, I know it’s stupid, but pretty much all I ever wanted was somebody to give a rat’s ass that I was sucking air and walking around—you know, notice I actually existed.
Conceived to cement my mom’s then relationship, I morphed into a means of revenge when things went south. The problem with that move was then she was stuck with me. Since it wasn’t politically correct to put a two-year-old out to fend for himself, she did her best to ignore my existence for the next thirteen years. We ended up living with her mother, Velma, who loathed both the idea of being a grandmother and me for daily reminding her of it. Eventually, it was decided I had way overstayed my welcome. So at fifteen I was dumped on the street along with the other garbage.
After being spotted hanging at a location not usually frequented by teenagers at four in the morning, I was placed in Pittison House, the local prep school for the totally pathetic.
My first two years, every other kid came and went. I shoulda felt like a moldy crust in the back of the drawer, unnoticed and for sure unwanted, but that pretty much summed up my life anyway. When Soosie was placed, my reign as champion in the sullen, noncommunicative division was over. Rumor had it she was here because she tried to kill someone. Since most everything you hear in this place is usually coming out of the mouth of some idiot looking to work his way up the Pitt’s food chain, I blew it off.
I should have taken it as an omen when my old haunted dream showed up after a long absence.
It’s night. It’s raining. I am walking along a lit street. The longer I walk, the farther apart the streetlights are, until I walk past the last one and all I can see is endless darkness waiting to swallow me.
This is usually the point I wake up with my heart jackhammering in my chest. Tonight was no different. I lay awake for a long time, so I had a late start in the morning, which meant I wasn’t jockeying for position at the urinals for a change. In fact, the only person in the bathroom was a guy hanging up a towel.
I admit it. I gawked as he carefully aligned the edges. I think that was one of the few occasions in my extended time in the Pitt the towels were anywhere but on the floor.
Although I seldom bothered to learn anyone’s name because so many were gone before I find any reason to speak to them, this guy’s name carried a certain aroma in Soda Springs, so it stuck with me.
Despite the town’s prevailing opinion of his family, he was very quiet and neat, even if he didn’t dress down to the usual standards around here. He did have a way of freaking people out with his over-the-top politeness. “Yes, sir.”
“No, ma’am.” Never cursed. I mean, some pierced, permanently painted thug calling you twelve different pornographic names is the usual morning ride to breakfast. Some guy saying, “Excuse me, please go first” was just wrong in this place.
I spent a couple extra minutes in the bathroom finger-combing my hair so Mr. Clean Jeans could have a head start because another really annoying thing about him was he actually acknowledged you. Me, I understood my function in life was to be ignored, and that just totally messed with my program.
I don’t know why the guy wasn’t already gone when I wandered out, but he was still hanging on the landing at the top of the stairs when Soosie’s combat boots stomped into view.
Honestly, all the guy did was step aside and silently gesture for her to go ahead.
The chick flipped. She grabbed him by his shirt and slammed him up against the wall in less than a heartbeat. “Don’t you disrespect me, Tatum.” Her anger charged the air. “You ever so much as even look my direction, and I’m going to gut you.”
Great, still another fight in the hallowed halls of the Pitt happening between where I was and where I wanted to be. I edged my way around the two, inadvertently glancing into the guy’s eyes. Something there pinched me in a place that felt uncomfortably familiar.
I answered by sucking it in to squeeze past Soosie just as she whipped something out of her back pocket and flung her arm back to take a good swing with it.
Stupidly, I grabbed her arm. And bada-bing, Tatum was a freed man and I had the ass end of a rattail comb looking to poke unnecessary holes in my body.
Maybe the rumor mill wasn’t so far off this time.