Lindsey: Childhood
Chapter One
They had moved three times in this year. Seven in his life. He couldn't remember the house where they had lived for a while and where he had been born. They had moved the first time two years later. The size of each new home seemed to vary inversely from the size of the family. With each new child, the homes would get smaller and smaller...and they would leave sooner. The last 'home' had lasted two months. Each time they moved, it seemed as though things were getting better. His parents would fight less, there would be more food, and the new homes had been comfortable enough. When you're six it's comforting to sleep with your siblings.
There was nothing comfortable about this one. Granted, he was now eleven and wanted space, but...
Lindsey glanced at his mother as she stepped slowly down from the truck. She looked determinedly cheerful, but her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks were pale. One hand fluttered by her face and she pulled it down, grasping both shaking hands at her waist. She had been drinking. They all knew it: it was hard to miss anything when you had spent the past three nights in the truck. Prior to this newest move, the fighting had gotten worse. Momma drank and Pa did too. Separately. Angrily, until they cried and passed out.
He was sitting in the back of the truck, which was painted in three colors: primer grey, blue, and red, with one dented white door. Leesa and Brenda, twin sisters, who, at nine, were two years younger than Lindsey, had already jumped out of the truck even as it pulled up the dirt road and were now running around the new 'home'. Bradley, the eldest, sat hanging his legs over the back where the tailgate should have been. He was twelve, and he and Lindsey hated each other with mutual fervor.
Their father walked around to the back of the truck, glaring in his normal morning-after way. Lindsey stood up hurriedly and waited. Pa was wire-thin, with stubble growing like a pale fungus on his cheeks; the chest hair poking out of his V-neck T-shirt was already turning grey. Bradley looked much like him, minus the stubble and chest hair. Both tall and pale, with a thin, whipped look despite their swaggering pride. What either of them had to be proud of, Lindsey had no idea.
Bradley slid off the truck and lifted one of the defeated-looking boxes from the back of the truck. Pa ruffled Bradley's hair.
Lindsey pulled the strap of his bag over his shoulder and jumped down as well, grabbing another box. Pa and Bradley were walking toward the...
They couldn't possibly get any worse, Lindsey decided. How much further downhill could one family go? Momma was lifting a heavy box from the truck and Lindsey ran over and took it. She gave him a tired smile, resting one hand on her swollen belly. Lindsey looked more like her than anyone else. Shorter, with dark curls that she had refused to cut until he was eight.
How could they all ever fit inside this shoebox of a trailer? There were no wires leading to it, and he noticed an uncovered cistern beside the parked truck. Elly, the tenth and current youngest of the McDonald children, was crawling in the dust near the truck, her diaper hanging half off. Momma scooped her up and it fell off entirely.
"Come on, Lindsey," Momma said. "It's not like there's anything to look at. Help your brother bring the boxes in." She left the diaper where it had fallen. Lindsey winced and scooped it up as he followed her into the trailer through the squeaking door that hung half on the hinges and scraped the top cinderblock step.
Over the top of the box Lindsey scanned the interior of the trailer. A single dirty window by the door let in a fraction of the morning light. There was an empty, useless light socket in the stationary ceiling fan, which had two blades broken off. The iodine-yellow carpet was torn, exposing the rusty metal floor beneath. Lindsey walked carefully, following Momma into the next room.
"Well, get the boxes, Lindsey. You can't just follow me around forever, for crying out loud." Momma disappeared into the room, tried to shut the door, and found there wasn't one.
An hour later he sat outside at the foot of the lightning-struck tree by the door. Through the cracks between the crooked door and the walls and the scummy window, he could hear his parents arguing. He always listened, though he had no idea why.
A family – or three – of stray cats lived under the trailer. Leesa was playing with one of the dozens of kittens – a white and grey patchy creature with one eye – under the truck. Bradley sat on top of the trailer, looking nervous except when he thought Lindsey was looking. The other seven were around somewhere, as he could hear muffled shouts and laughter from the shoulder-high grass. One orange tom kitten inspected Lindsey and he reached out to pet it, but seeing Bradley looking, he pushed it away.
He stood and went inside. Argument or no, they had to sleep in here tonight. His practical side argued fiercely – how would ten people sleep in a three-room trailer? – But he began to clean anyway.
Bradley came in a minute later, while Lindsey cleaned the window. Their parents had drifted into the kitchen. The bottles would come out soon, and it would be quieter.
"First kittens, and now playing house. No wonder Pa gave you a girl's name!" Bradley leaned arrogantly on the window and smeared dirt onto the cleaner half with his palm. Lindsey swallowed and wiped it away, trying to ignore him. Crying came from the kitchen now, and Bradley smeared the window again. One of Lindsey's feet snapped out, hitting Bradley between the legs. He went down with Lindsey on top, punching for all he was worth. Once Bradley got up, it would be over for Lindsey. Bradley stood more than six inches taller and weighed 115 to Lindsey's 90 lbs.
Lindsey landed a good punch on Bradley's nose as Pa came in. Bradley, who had been about to get up, went limp. Pa stood over them and Lindsey scrambled to his feet, panting. Bradley sat up slowly, nursing his eye and nose.
"What happened?" Pa asked Bradley quietly.
"He came inside and attacked me for no reason. I was cleaning the window – see?" Bradley held up Lindsey's rag, which he was now using to stop his nosebleed.
Momma looked in and turned away. Pa pulled his belt from his pants.
"Bradley?"
"Yes, Pa?" Bradley answered gingerly, muffled through the rag.
Pa gave Bradley the belt. "Teach him."
To Lindsey, he barked, "In the other room, now!"
Lindsey walked slowly into the makeshift bedroom. Bradley followed, still holding the rag to his nose with one hand. He had a look of fierce, cunning joy on his squirrelly face.
"You didn't win," Lindsey told him.
Bradley smirked. "Then how come you're the one gettin' beaten."
The sound of Momma and Pa arguing filled the trailer again. Lindsey was sure he'd never made that much noise in his life.
"Take off your shirt."
Lindsey turned away from Bradley, took off his shirt, and put his hands on the wall. He knew the drill. It happened every time they fought. At least the last time's welts had healed or scarred...
Holding the belt by the end, so the buckle would strike, Bradley grinned and reared back. He was only supposed to use the leather, not the buckle, but who was there to stop him?