I kicked at a layer of late summer dust and felt the knots and in my stomach tighten. I couldn't help but feel as if this was all just a vivid dream and I would wake up any moment and all the insecurity and anxiety would vanish along with the clouds of dust.
There was a lump in my throat that just wouldn't go away as I stole a glance at the ranch house behind me that had been home to me and my mom for nearly six years. I honestly had no idea what was going to happen to the house when I left and took any evidence that someone had lived there with me. I sighed, resting my chin in my hand as my mind wandered to mom. That was her house, her farm, her memories. If I tried really hard, I could still catch the faintest scent of her rose perfume when I walked up to her room which was dominated by a queen sized bed and a portrait of her and her horse, Oliver. I didn't want to forget her scent or the way her nose crinkled slightly when she laughed or how her French toast on Saturday mornings tasted. I could feel stealthy tears prick the corners of my eyes and I wiped them away immediately. I wasn't going to cry, I had cried enough already.
In an attempt to push all thoughts of my mother from my mind, I glanced over to the neighbor's house where I knew my faithful border collie, Mustang, was going to stay. I couldn't take my dog with my to Tulsa, it just wasn't possible. I turned him over to the neighbors and asked if they could take care of him. They were a young couple with two playful kids and I just hoped Mustang didn't give them too much trouble. I was secretly hoping that the neighbors would emerge and give Mustang back and tell me they couldn't keep him and I should take him with me. That didn't happen though. The only movement around me was a fancy looking car pulling into the dirt driveway in front of me. I had been expecting my social worker, Ms. Collins, for over an hour. The house was locked up, I had a suitcase and my backpack at my feet, ready to go at anytime. It was my entire life stuffed into my mom's old suitcase and my tattered blue backpack that I had used for school for the last two years. Shit, this was real. This was happening, and I had to get over it. I couldn't sit on the front door of my old house forever and just cry about my mom and my dog as much as I wanted to.
Ms. Collins, slender and sure of herself, stepped gently out of the car, her heels scraping against the packed dirt that led up to the ranch house. I clambered to my feet unsteadily and didn't bother to meet her gaze. I merely slung my backpack over my shoulder and allowed her to lift my half-full suitcase into her trunk. I slid into the backseat and resigned to staring out the window in a tight-lipped silence. She didn't say anything except for her standard, "everything's going to be alright, Jesse." before starting the car and pulling out of the driveway. I took one last look at the house, ignoring the years blurring my vision. I didn't even get a stupid picture or anything. I guess sometimes life screws you over like that.
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I must have dozed off after we left the house because when I awake again, confused and nearly starving, it was dark and the only light was a dim streetlamp that illuminated the car. I noticed that Ms. Collins was gone from the front seat and I peered out of the window, fogged up with my own breath, I noticed her standing at the front door of a run-down house with an overgrown garden and chipped paint on the door. My stomach nearly did a somersault. I wondered if they still hated me.
I waited somewhat patiently for Ms. Collins to return to the car and she opened my door, surprised to find me awake and alert. I slowly exited the car with more reluctance than usual and grabbed my backpack from the seat next to me. She lifted my suitcase out of the trunk and put both of her hands on my shoulders, forcing me to lock eyes with her.
"Stay strong, Jesse." She instructed and I wanted to scoff and roll my eyes and tell her she was just saying that because she had to. Another part of me wanted to fall into an embrace and just let her comfort me and make her take me back home or just anywhere else. I was not ready for this. I went with the third option which was muttering a quiet "thank you" before solemnly dragging my feet up to the front door which was wide open, the bright light spilling out into the garden and providing a false sense of security. I hesitantly pulled my bags inside and closed the door behind me. I took in my surroundings with a deep inhale and couldn't help but feel disappointed. I could see my father seated at the rickety wooden table, a few empty aluminum beer cans surrounding him. A lean figure was sprawled out across the couch that I assumed was my brother. His dark hair was loaded with grease and I cringed, running a hand through my own mop of sandy blonde hair that was free of any product. Was that how they wore their hair in the city?
"Steve, git off the couch and make some room for yer brother to sleep on it." Dad instructed in a gruff voice and I sighed. I guess sleeping on a couch that was most likely older than me was better than having no place to sleep at all. My gaze trailed to my older brother and I felt a pang of guilt resonate in my chest. I could only barely recall swapping letters back and forth for about a year after I left Tulsa with mom. He wrote about his best friend and how mean dad was. I wrote about mom and horses and chickens. It was barely a relationship and the distance only grew the six years I was away from him. Hell, I wouldn't have recognized him at first if not for the fact he was in the house. Steve gradually rose to his feet, not even looking me in the eye as he cleaned up around the couch. I pitifully dragged my bags over to the couch and settled into the side, wanting desperately to just dig the stuffed dog mom had given me years earlier out of my bag and try to convince myself everything would be fine. I didn't though. I stayed still and hardly even flinched when Steve announced he was leaving and slammed the door behind him, making the walls shudder. I could hear dad clamber to his feet in his semi-drunken state and he hovered over me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"Good to have you home...kid." He announced, hesitating before the word 'kid'. The minute he retreated to his own room, I quickly retrieved my stuffed dog from my bag. Stuck in a place where not even my own father remembered my name and my older brother detested me for reasons beyond my control. Great.
I fell asleep with the dog clutched to my chest and I awoke the next morning with a blanket loosely hanging off my shoulders. I didn't care who put it there, but I convinced myself it was mom nonetheless.
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Steve's POV
I shot back the last of my glass of whiskey and hardly cringed at the burning it left in my throat. I was used to it by now.
"Go easy, Steve." Soda warned warily and I rolled my eyes, but resisted saying something I would probably regret later on. Soda didn't do nothing wrong, I shouldn't take it out on him. I concentrated hard on the ball in front of me but as I pushed the pool cue forward, it sunk one of Soda's stripes anyway and I cured under my breath, pushing a hand through my hair. Alcohol and pool almost always took my mind off of my problems, but for some reason it just wasn't working as well as it always did.
My mom was dead. She had died last week. I was just now learning about this. My kid brother was probably terrified and where was I? At some shit bar ignoring my problems with two of my friends, drinking the night away. I had to stop this shit eventually, I'm nearly seventeen and I ain't got nothing to show for it except for a lifetime of bad decisions and my skill for fixing cars. Fixing cars wasn't gonna get me nowhere in life and I prayed everyday that I wasn't going to be stuck in this town. The second I turn eighteen, I'm joining the military and getting outta here without looking back. I ain't even told Soda yet, but it doesn't matter. I know he ain't going unless he gets drafted and that's somewhat up to fate.
Despite all the alcohol, my mind still wandered to the sight of my almost eleven year old brother, light hair falling into his eyes and a scowl plastered on his face. I felt partially guilty for just leaving the kid there alone to deal with dad, but I knew that it could have been worse. I decided I wasn't gonna tell Soda or the gang until tomorrow. Tonight was for drinking and forgetting my problems. Besides, everyone else has shit to deal with and I ain't got no business burdening them with my stupid problems. So what? I haven't seen my mom or brother since I was eight and suddenly they're the only thing on my mind. I sighed, bidding a quick goodbye to Two and Soda before ducking out the front door of the bar. They didn't try to stop me or nothing, which I was somewhat thankful for. I knew what I had to do.
I walked home in silence, every passing car making me flinchin anticipation, praying that it wasn't a soc looking for some late night action or something. I kicked at the sidewalk with my scuffed sneakers, letting my mind wander to whatever I could think of. I knew I was better off than the Curtis' which was mainly why I wasn't going around whining about my problems. Both of their parents, two of the greatest people I had ever met, were dead. It wasn't fair to any of us, especially due to the fact we had to keep on living after they had died and there was nothing we could do to erase the pain. Having your basically estranged mother die was nothing compared to having a person who acted more like a mother to you die along with the only father figure you've ever had. I knew I wasn't going through what Pony, Soda, and Darry we're going through, but they were some of the only parents I had ever known that actually cared about me and suddenly they weren't there. Was it wrong I cared more about the death of the Curtis' than my own mother?
I snuck into the dimly lit house, sighing with relief when I realized my father was probably asleep. I stole a glance at the couch where Jesse was curled into a ball, a tattered stuffed dog wrapped securely in his arms. I produced a small smirk before draping the light blanket from the chair over his shoulders, feeling momentarily guilty for leaving the kid alone while I tried to ignore his existence. Maybe it was time I started acting more like Soda and took care of the kid a little. Yeah, I think that would be good for me.
I just hoped that Mr. and Mrs. Curtis would be proud of me.
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A/N: How was that? Constructive criticism appreciated! Let me know if you want another chapter!