ᴡᴀʏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ʜᴏᴍᴇ
ʙʏ ᴘᴀᴜʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴜʀᴛʟᴇ
ᴅᴀʏ ᴏɴᴇ
My name is Percy Jackson, and I'm 15 years old.
All my life I've been told New Year's is a fresh start. I don't see why- you still have the same stepfather who treats you like nothing and the same bullies in your life that don't care what you say or do. It wasn't until then I realized New Year's wasn't the day for a fresh start.
It was today.
Summer was the dawn of xBox One, Futurama, and pizza deliveries. Too bad I didn't take apart of it.
I left my two friends, Carter and Sadie, to move to Missouri. My mom insisted it was for the best, but honestly, who knows. After leaving my stinky step-father, Gabe, she promised nothing bad from then on. I couldn't believe her- after all, he was the one who gambled our life savings away. When she came home to find her "secret" jar empty, Mom convinced me she'd get revenge. That revenge, of course, that meant taking his Camaro and driving 1,058 miles to a state I've never even seen or heard of on T.V. The way there, we survived on chips and gas station coffee, but stopping occasionally for the cheapest motel in the area for a span of three days. The lack of conversation prolonged between us surfaced when we hit our future, small, and believe me when I say- country hometown. The population was only about 200 people, not including the persons living on the Cherokee Indian reserve. That seemed to spark my attention, and I turned off the radio.
"Where exactly are we going to live, mom?" I asked, looking out the bug splattered windshield. I heard her sigh faintly, causing the trident necklace around her throat to jingle a bit.
"It's country, I'll tell you that, but it seems you already know," not even bothering to gesture the outstretch of farmland in front of us. "I got a deal on a farmhouse about thirty minutes from where we are, but it doesn't have much yard space, due to our unfortunate funding crisis." Her nice way of putting we're broke didn't seem to comfort me a bit. "There are some kids your age around here, I'm sure, just… you know… try to be friendly."
As if it was hard enough for me to make friends. "What are you going to do about money?" I tried to change the subject. She replied with the simplistic answer of it's not your concern. "Mom?" I questioned in a small voice, after waiting a span of five minutes.
"Yes?"
"Are we going to be okay here?"
"I hope so. I really, really hope so."
And with that, we remained silent for the remainder of the trip, only about ten minutes, until we rolled to a stop in front of an old, spidery, broken-down building I barely could call a house. A dirt splattered yard had irregular tufts of long, wiry weeds trying to reach the sun. It led to a set of four stairs (one of which was broken in a splintery half) to a poorly constructed wooden foundation upon a stone basement. Five of the six visible windows in my sight were broken by which I figured was either a rock or possibly tornado debris. A piece of glass fell from one of the five shattered piles, falling roughly upon the yellowing dirt. The impact sputtered a cloud of pebbles and dead weeds into my trachea. I coughed roughly and my mom looked at me sadly. She deemed it home sweet home and grabbed one of the two suitcases from the trunk, and started to approach the house. I followed in pursuit, but only to step in front of her.
"Maybe I should go first," I turned around to eye the rickety pile of wood. "You know, just in case…" Mom glared at me.
"If you think I'm letting my first born going in there first, you're sadly mistaken mister!" She said with extraordinary utterance. And with that, she stormed past me and into the house. I sighed in defeat and jogged after her. It'd be an understatement to say I got my stubbornness from my mom. I scuffed my shoe on a nail as I walked in, talking everything in. The main room, probably the future living room, had an old mothball-covered green couch facing a wall. The T.V. was most likely there. Horizontally from that particular piece of furniture was a kitchen with white-tiled floors. The cupboards were painted a bright cyan color- which aged horribly to look more of a brownish color –with doors astray, revealing piles of mold infested china. The sink was the focus of the kitchen, and above it was a window with faded flower drapes. An old fashioned fridge sat to the left of all this, covered in magnets from a couple of decades ago exclaiming Buy Chester's Aged Whiskey! And World's fair, Tennessee! My mom stole my attention by walking up a set of creaky stairs that apparently led to two bedrooms and a shared bathroom.
I think someone died in this house… I thought dreadfully to myself, setting my suitcase down in my future room. A bead of sweat dripped down my face as realization creeped in. All the while exploring, I hadn't spotted a single A/C or even a ceiling fan.
I sighed quietly, rubbing the small of my back. It was sore and it hurt with each step, sending a jolt of pain up my spine. I winced when I touched a tender spot, immediately taking my hand off of it. I scanned the room silently, taking in the metal bedframe supporting a yellowing mattress next to a faux mahogany night stand. A small but sturdy dresser of the same material stood next to the doorway with a dusty mirror perched unevenly atop it. That was all. But nonetheless, it was bigger than my old room (if you can believe it) and beat sharing it with Smelly Gabe. At that moment, my mom peeked in and told me to start unpacking, and I followed orders. One by one, I unloaded each shirt, placing them neatly in the drawers. I did the same for the pants, shorts, and underwear. I was glad to have done this myself, not because I had responsibility but because if my mom did it, I'd have no idea where it was. I knew from experience (thanks mom). When I finally finished unpacking my small amount of clothes, I grabbed the alarm clock I'd snagged from Gabe and plugged it in. The time read 7:30, so I slid the suitcase underneath the bed and walked out of the room. I quickly told my mom where I was going, and was on my way. I saved time by not taking my shoes off (I'm proud of myself!).
As we drove by earlier, I got a visual of a tiny diner not too far from our future- I might as well say current –residence. It had an aged yellow sign that read DINER, which made it pretty self-explanatory. It had front windows revealing blurs of people as we sped by, having a conversation about god knows what, but I envied them for what they were. Friends. The composure of the building gave you a vintage vibe (probably because it was made in like the 50s) and had old tacky signs on the exterior. I didn't necessarily know what I was hoping to find or achieve when I walked in after a five to eight minute trip, but I got up my courage. And of course it immediately deflated when I saw a hot girl. I don't mean a bimbo or anything, I mean she was really, really, hot and looked (mildly) intelligent. Her hair was curled to perfection like a princess in the shade of honey blonde, greatly contrasting with her deep grey eyes. She looked like a Californian girl trapped in a hellhole named Missouri, as am I, but from New York. The girl was seated in front of a girl with ink black hair in a pixie cut, debating about something. I don't think she noticed me while I conspicuously checked her out. Well, I'd had gotten away with it until a guy at the counter yelled,
"Hey! You gonna buy anything or are you going to keep staring at my sister, city boy?" His mouth went up in a half-smirk, revealing a set of pearly whites. His voice echoed around the small diner, leaving me silent. The girl stopped arguing with her friend to look at me. She almost had the same hair as her sibling, and I tilted my head slightly so I didn't have to look at her. The boy's blue eyes pierced through me as I stuttered out randomly, "I'll have a Pepsi." I vaguely heard the Goth girl snort as the cashier opened a glass bottle of the soda and placed it on the counter. I sat down on one of the stools, my back thankfully to the girls.
"So, city boy, do you have a name?" He leaned on the counter as I pulled two dollars out of my wallet.
"Depends." I replied shortly, sliding the cash to him. He guffawed.
"Well, Depends," He smiled at his lame joke, "nice to meet you. I'm Luke." He held out a tan calloused hand.
I shook it, replying, "Percy."
"Those girls behind you," Luke nodded to them as I turned around to see them obliviously arguing yet again. "The blonde is Annabeth, my sister, and the Goth one is Thalia, also my sister." I decided not to question either one of those statements and took a sip of Pepsi. "What brings you here, Percy?" A sandy eyebrow raised to start a questionnaire that I was not comfortable with.
"You know. The usual."
"What exactly is "the usual"?" He asked.
"Fresh start." I half-lied. I didn't feel like going into detail, nor did I feel like conversing with a stranger.
And of course, Luke asked, "From what?"
I drank the rest of the soda, finally saying, "Life." With that, I got up and left the diner, trailing back home on a dusty sidewalk.
I guess my exit was a little dramatic, but I wasn't going put up for this crap. Not to go ranting, but for the couple of hours I've been here, I hated this god-forsaken town and the people in it (maybe excluding Annabeth…) and I didn't want to be here in the first place. I guess I have to morally decide to go back "home" with Smelly Gabe or stay here with my mom, but like a dumb teenager with no purpose in life, I thought, Screw it, I'll leave it to future me. My rant may have lasted two seconds in my head, but the thinking lasted me the whole way home, where I climbed on my little stained mattress and laid down with no further arguments for my consciousness. As I lay there, staring at the coffee-brown wall, I realized it may have been a little lazy not to get sheets to sleep in, but it was too hot for them anyways. Before I knew it I was fast asleep.
I walked through the door, a wave of smoke hitting my nostrils, mingling with already present stale booze. Gabe and his buddies were playing poker with my mom's "hidden" stash, and he then put in the keys to his Camaro. A guy, Eddie I believe, threw in a couple of coupons to Gabe's workplace (the electronic mart) to match his deal. Gabe looked at me with a sly grin, and his friends turned towards me as well. Something was suspicious, but I'd rather keep my life then confront him about it.
"Hey, kid," Gabe gestured towards me. "Cough it up."
"I don't have any."
"You got here somehow right? Probably a cab and paid with a twenty. Seven dollars, and now." He said demandingly.
He was a bloodhound for money! I complied and gave him the $7.36 from my pocket and turned to my "room". His grimy hand stopped me and I got the whiff of moldy garlic pizza wrapped in gym shorts. I gagged when I turned around, forcibly holding my breath. His bald head was shiny with grease and sweat which dripped down his face to reveal a smile filled with cavities and yellow. (Brush your teeth, kids!) By now Gabe stood up to face me and I reluctantly gulped.
"So, I heard you and Sally were going on a little trip." He pushed me at the last word, making me stumble back. "Well, I won't be taking a part of it, will I?" I tried to remain calm as our plan from months ago crumbled before my eyes. "Well, I'm fine with it, as long as you get a little souvenir from the big apple to remember me." Gabe's hairy arm reached into his pocket and pulled out a rusty pocket knife the size of a dead rat. "Hold em' down!" He yelled as his buddies jumped up to comply. I scrambled backwards, only to trip on a case of empty beer bottles.
"He's just a kid!" Eddie resented, not following the rest of the drunkards.
"I said now!" Gabe bellowed again while his puppets held me down, Eddie adding to the bunch.
I struggled against the force, but no luck came to me. As Gabe loomed over me, he told them to flip me over so my mom wouldn't see the scar. As they did, my face was pressed into the dirt-covered hardwood when his fingers pushed up my shirt to reveal my lower back. I felt the cool blade of the knife as it sliced unsteadily through my skin. I began to scream, but someone's hand covered my mouth. I never cried, however tears ran hot down my face- hot like the blood that seeped through the gash Gabe had started cutting. He slowly made a jagged line across the width of my lower back, letting the pain linger. It felt like hours until they let go of me. I was reduced to a sobbing mess as they tore my shirt off to mop the blood messily off the floor. I crawled to our shared room as I heard Gabe bragging to his friends about his nice cutting job. My hand felt all the while for the dresser, searching and searching until the leg bumped gently against my quivering limb. I sat myself upright, careful not to hurt the cut, and grabbed two shirts out of the drawer. I tied one around my abdomen as an attempt to halt the bleeding, and put one over my torso. I gently crawled into the mattress, laying down on my side. I put the smelly blankets over my body, which was shaking like an earthquake. Not before long, my mom stepped into the doorway and I tried to lay still. She was back late from work.
"Are you okay honey? It's early to be sleeping."
"Its fine mom," I said, attempting to stop my voice from breaking. "Just tired." She sighed and turned the lights off.