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Colt – 10 years old
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I SHOVE THE FRONT DOOR open, swearing under my breath as it swings wide and slams into the wall before swinging back at me. I kick it closed, hard enough the windows on each side rattle.
“Hey. Enough of that,” Dad growls, walking into the entry. “What’s going on?”
“He’s an asshole.”
“Who?” Dad frowns, wiping his hands on the dish towel.
I bounce on the balls of my feet and raise my arm in the direction of Em’s house. “That fuckbucket next door.”
“Language, son,” Dad warns but his smile is there, pulled between his teeth to hide his amusement.
“Tell me he’s not a fuckweasel.”
“Never said he wasn’t, just reminding you to calm down and watch your language.”
“I’ll watch my language when that fucknugget watches his.”
“Colt.”
“Fine. That intercourse-lord just killed my ball.”
Dad throws his head back and laughs. It’s a deep, rumbling laugh that I haven’t heard for so long. Sure, he laughs, but not like that. Not since Mom died.
“Intercourse-lord?” he gasps.
I shrug. “Would you rather I say fucklord?”
Dad sighs. “No.”
“Then intercourser it is.”
“Okay, tell me what that...intercourse-head did?”
“He ran over my ball, yelled at Em so much she ran inside crying, then told me I’m...” I stop. I can’t repeat what Em’s dad said to me, it’ll hurt my dad.
Me? I just glared at the twat and clenched my fists when he said, “Lucky I didn’t kill you too, just like your mother.”
Dad’s back stiffens and he stands at full height. He’s intimidating when he wants to be. “Told you what?”
“Nothing. He told me I had to be more careful.” That was a lie, and Dad knows it too, judging by the way he tilts his head and studies me with narrowed eyes.
Dad goes to the cupboard under the stairs and pulls out a new basketball for me. “Stay away from next door.”
“I can’t promise that. Em’s my friend.” I think. Sort of. We don’t see a lot of each other outside school because it’s not very often she’s allowed to leave her house.
Dad nods in understanding. He’s done everything he can to help Em over the years. The police won’t do shit without evidence and Em’s mom always covers for her dad. Child services won’t do anything either because that son of a bitch is too good at covering his own ass and acting like everything is perfect.
With my new ball tucked under my arm, I run up the stairs to my room and rush to my window hoping Em is in her room and not being punished for being a damn kid.
She’s sitting by her window, arms folded on the ledge and her head buried in them. Throwing one leg over the window frame followed by the other, I climb out and sit on the roof facing her.
“You’ll fall,” Em shouts across the distance, raising her hand as though she can catch me if I do, before bringing her hands to her mouth to muffle her voice. She squeezes her eyes shut.
I chuckle. “I won’t fall.”
She peeks at me with one eye open. Pulling my knees up, I wrap my arms around them and rock back and forth. Always needing to move. Mom used to joke about me being a can of worms, always wriggling and squirming. Not a can of worms, just hyperactive.
“Are you okay?” She chews on her bottom lip.
My mouth twists into a grin and I shrug. “Of course.”
People don’t often worry about me, except Dad. I’m too cold. Too mean. Too void of any emotion, or so my teachers tell me. The doctor says I don’t feel empathy because I don’t care about other people or their feelings, and as a result my feelings get brushed aside and no one cares about me. I like it better that way. No feelings means no pain.
That’s why her dad’s words didn’t upset me. I know they were cruel, and I know I should have got upset over them, but I didn’t because I don’t care.
Dad though, he would care.
“I’m sorry about the ball and...” She trails off, unsure how to finish her sentence. How do you apologize for someone else’s actions? “My dad... He’s—”
“An asshole,” I offer with a smile. At least I didn’t call him a fuckstick.
“Colt.” She giggles, and the sound is sweet and light, making my heart thump a little harder. “You can’t say that.”
“It’s true though.”
She nods.
“Are you okay?” I ask, tapping my foot on the roof.
“Sometimes I wish I could leave here. I hate them fighting all the time.”
“You can always come over here.” I tilt my head back, indicating my house. I climb into her room once a year and spend the night because being around Dad when he’s grieving Mom is too much to handle and I’m afraid I’ll say or do something stupid and upset him even more.
Her smile is sad as she lowers her eyes and tucks her hair behind her ear. “They’d never let me walk out the front door,” she says. “And besides, I don’t think your dad likes me either.”
“My dad likes you. He doesn’t like the asshole who fathered you,” I tell her, hoping it will cheer her up a little. I like when she smiles.
“I still wouldn’t be able to get away.”
I tap my fingers on the rough tiles of the roof and nod. They’d never let her walk out the front door. But they’ve never caught me sneaking into her room either, so maybe...
I climb to my feet and shuffle back at the same time Emerson’s front door slams shut. She pulls back inside her window out of sight, and I press my back against the wall of our house, hoping I blend in in case her dad looks up.
Once the sound of her dad’s truck has disappeared down the street and the coast is clear, I take a few quick steps to the edge of the roof and jump, without a thought or a care in the world.
Em squeals, and I can’t help but laugh as I soar through the air between our two houses and land with a thud on her roof, my hands gripping the window ledge as my feet slip out from under me.
“What are you doing?” she cries and clenches her teeth as I struggle to get a grip with my shoes on the slanted roof.
“Climbing through your window,” I grunt, finally finding my footing so I can pull myself through. Lucky both our houses were built close to the fence line.
It might have hurt if I fell to the concrete below.
“Why?” she whispers.
“We’re friends.” I grin and she narrows her eyes.
We weren’t proper friends.
Sure, I climb the tree daily and leave a plate of food on her window ledge because I’m almost positive the only time she gets fed is during lunch at school. Her face is drawn and her bones stick out. We speak through our windows sometimes when we can’t sleep. Pass each other in the school halls with a glance, a half-smile. Throw the basketball around my driveway when her dad’s at work and her mom is passed out. Then every year on June 29, she leaves her window open for me, and I slip quietly inside and sleep on her floor without a word.
That’s it.
Stepping back as I stand up, she glances over her shoulder. Probably afraid her mom heard me kicking the roof like a stampede of angry elephants.
She shoves me in the shoulder gently. “You could have fallen and got hurt.”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.” Slipping my hands into the pockets of my shorts, I rock on the balls of my feet.
Em rushes over to the door and double-checks it’s locked. “We’ll get in so much trouble.” Her voice is soft. Low. But I’m barely listening. Too busy checking out her room. I’ve never paid too much attention to it before.
It’s boring. No pictures, few toys. A white bed with matching drawers and a desk. Her blanket is the one bright, girly, colorful thing in the room and still it’s old and tatty. The pink has faded to almost the color of strawberry yogurt.
Em looks down at her feet, her cheeks the color of tomatoes. From her window you can see into my room, and it’s a stark contrast. It’s a typical boy’s room. Black, blue, and gray, but there are basketball posters on my walls and trophies on my shelves. My room is messy and full of belongings. Em’s room is barren; she doesn’t have many things.
“When was the last time they came into your room to check on you?”
“I don’t know. A long time.” She fidgets with her shirt and doesn’t look at me. “Most parents panic when their children are quiet for a long time. My parents prefer it. They never come and check on me.”
I clench my hands into fists and clamp my jaw shut before I say or do something impulsive like call her dad knobhead to his face.
“So, we got nothing to worry about.” I move around her room, touching everything, looking at the papers on her desk, her drawings, snooping through her drawers. She barely has any clothes either.
Em presses her ear to the door, still worried her mom will catch us.
“I don’t think she heard,” I reassure her.
Her frown says more than words could. There’s no hope in her eyes. If her mom heard me and came to check on Emerson, it would prove she cared a little. But chances are she is passed out in front of the TV with a bottle of bourbon.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I say, walking back to the window. “You said you wished you could leave sometimes?”
Em nods.
“Well, I’ll leave my window open for you any time I’m home if you ever need to escape this place.”
I climb back out her window and take those few steps to the edge of the roof at a slow run and jump back over to my house.
Em leans out her window, her knuckles white from the grip she has on the ledge. “Are you crazy?”
“I’ve been told that. Why?”
“I can’t make that jump,” she says, gauging the distance between our houses. It’s a decent jump and she has one thing I don’t.
Fear.
“Well, you can use the tree.” I point to the large tree growing in her front yard and climb back through my window. The tree is huge, the branches stretching between both our houses, so it’s not too hard to imagine she can make it across.
“Why don’t you use the tree?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I tap my hand against the wood frame of my window. “It’s open if you need it.” And then I cross the floor to my door hoping she’ll use it one day.
“Colt!” Her voice is loud, and I rush to the window again before she makes any more noise and alerts her mom.
“Em?”
She smiles. “If you see my window’s open, will you come over?” She eyes the tree. “I’m scared I’ll fall.”
“Sure.” I nod. “Later.”
I pick up my ball and go downstairs to see if Dad’s made food yet. I’m starving.
My feet thud on the floor as I run to the front door.
“Hey, where are you going?”
I skid to a stop, my shoes squeaking as I turn to face him. “Did you realize we eat pizza inside out?”
His eyebrows furrow. “What?”
“Think about it.”
He blinks at me and shakes his head. “Well, what do you know? We do. You want pizza for dinner?”
“No.”
“Then why... Never mind.” He gives up. He doesn’t try to work out what goes through my mind anymore. It’s easier that way.
I pull the front door open and Dad calls after me, “Don’t lose another ball on the road.”
“What about through a window?”
“Colt,” he warns, and I chuckle. I’ll only throw a ball through that intercourser’s window if he provokes me.
I play ball in the drive until the sun goes down, practicing my footwork, dribbling, and shooting until Dad calls me in for dinner.
I forgot how hungry I was, so I run into the kitchen ready for... “Where’s the pizza?” I peer over Dad’s shoulder as he dishes out three bowls.
“You said you didn’t want pizza. We’re having pasta. Go wash up.”
***
AFTER DAD AND I FINISH eating, I help him clean up. Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I tap my fingers on the counter while I wait for him to wash a dish. Slowly. So slowly. I eye the bowl on the table covered in foil. Em’s dinner is getting cold.
I clear my throat and Dad smiles.
Picking up the towel, I twist it in my fingers and reach out for the bowl still clasped in Dad’s hands.
He sighs. “Just go.”
“Really?” My eyebrows lift and my voice is hopeful.
“Yes. Just don’t get caught.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Are you coming home?”
I force out a laugh. “What do you mean? Of course.”
He leans against the counter and stares at me. “I know you sneak over there and stay the night once a year.”
My eyes are like saucers. Wide open and unblinking. He knows. How?
“I’m not stupid. And I’m not going to tell you to stop, just don’t get caught or cause that poor girl any more trouble.”
I nod, spin around, pick up my ball, Em’s dinner, and run up the stairs two at a time. Quickly shoving a pillow and blanket into my bag along with the bowl of pasta, I peer out my window to find Em sitting by hers again.
I throw the bag over my shoulders and climb out onto the roof, making the same jump I did before, only better. I don’t slip and Em doesn’t freak out.
“I brought food.” I grin and hold up my bag. Her stomach rumbles, and she places her hands over it to mute the sound. “Maybe I should have brought more.”
Her laugh is soft and forced, almost embarrassed. When I hand Em the bowl, she brings it to her nose and breathes it in.
“Sorry it’s not pizza.”
“It’s perfect.”
While she sits down and eats, I pull my blanket and pillow out of my bag and set up a bed on the floor.
“You’re staying?”
I kick off my shoes. “If that’s okay?”
Em yawns. “Yes,” she whispers.
It’s not late, definitely too early for bed, but she climbs into bed and switches off her lamp once she finishes eating.
It’s not long before her breathing changes and she’s asleep. Meanwhile, I’m tossing and turning, trying to count sheep, pretending to sleep until I do fall asleep, but it’s not working because I keep wondering why glue doesn’t stick to the inside of the bottle.
I eventually fall asleep but it doesn’t last long. The sound of Em wimpering wakes me. I sit up and rub my eyes. She sobs into her pillow, and I scramble across the floor to her bed. Reaching for her arm I try to comfort her, but she cries harder.
I climb onto the bed beside her and wrap my arm around her, trying to comfort her in any way I can. She buries her head against my chest and her cries slow down. “It’s okay.”
Em sniffs and squeezes me tight, her crazy red hair tickling my chin. “Thank you.”
“What happened?”
Her voice is scratchy and quiet. “Bad dream, I guess. I don’t know. It happens all the time.”
“You okay now?”
She shrugs. I push myself up to move back to my bed on the floor, but she stops me. “Wait until I fall asleep. I’m scared.”
“Okay,” I say and wriggle down onto her pillow to get more comfortable.