I do not own Race. Or Jack.
I tried to stop them before they began arguing. "Get out of here, Anthony!" they yelled back. Am I some little kid that doesn't know what it means to have two parents that sleep in two different rooms? What it means to have my mother cry to sleep every night? I mean, everyone and their brother know that they're getting a divorce. But, this night, it was different. I went to the living room, where I could usually hear their shouts even over the TV, and the fight lasted only about five minutes with nothing thrown. That's a first. First thing my mother threw was the little clay dove that I had made for their anniversary in the third grade. I saw the pieces and it was all I could do to not shout at both of them for being so childish. I remembered how the beak wouldn't sit just right and I had to do it over and over again, until I was satisfied. Then, fast forward, and here it as, shattered on the ground because it was the first thing that my mother found when she was searching for things to throw.
My mom and dad came in and turned the TV off. They sat down together on the couch next to me. The way that my mother looked down at her hands, I knew what was coming.
"Tony, your mother and I--" he began. Then, he stopped.
"You're getting a divorce, aren't you?" I said, not surprised. I acted nonchalantly and turned my head to watch MTV again, acting but inside secretly hoping, that they would say that it was a lie, a trick to see if I was ready for something. When he turned the TV and I looked in his eyes, I knew, it wasn't a lie.
At that moment, I was aware of everything at once and nothing at all.
I knew that it was coming but inside I had pushed it back, pretending that it never was going to happen. Pretending that I wouldn't care. Now, that my fears were coming true, everything that I said to myself that I wasn't going to do, I did.
"We have the divorce papers, Anthony. We only need… who… who you choose to stay with. Your father, or me. Only one."
Now I ask myself how can anyone stand to ask their child a question like that. That's one question that should never be asked. I looked up at them with disbelief in my eyes.
"How are you going to make me decide that?! What kind of inhumane fucks are you to make me decided who I love better?!" I stood up and kicked the coffee table.
Both of them jumped up, my father a bit faster than my mother did.
"We are still your parents and you will still obey us, no matter if we are getting a divorce or not." This was his rebuke, and it stung because he had tacked on that "or not" part reluctantly. My mother, loving the chance to embarrass my father started crying loudly, "Don't be so hard on him! He wouldn't act the way that you do if you didn't baby him! That's the reason he is the way he is."
And that was game enough for them to start arguing again. I sighed and screamed out as loud as I could, "I don't want to live with just either of you! I want to live with both of you!"
They quieted and looked down at me. Then, again, my father led my mother to the kitchen. I knew in a few minutes they would be in another of their arguments. When they argued in the kitchen, it always would worry me. That being the room with the sharp knives, forks, and meat cleavers.
Soon and sure enough, they were arguing. I couldn't take it. I couldn't take the screaming, the sounds of objects being broken and slaps. I ran out of the house. They were arguing about me, I knew it. I heard one of the shouts and it was about me. Why was I blessed with wonderful parents like this? Why me?
I ran as fast as I could. I don't know how I managed it, but I came to the house of Jack Kelly. An estimated five miles from my house.
I rang the doorbell. He answered. "What's wrong Race? Parentals?" he questioned, sipping his soda.
I nodded. I felt hot angry tears coursing down my face. One half of me was embarrassed and the other didn't give a damn. "Why do they have to argue so much, Jack? Can't it be enough that they love me?" I sat down on the front steps and sobbed.
He sighed and sat down next to me. "They do love you, dude. They just don't like each other very much. I mean, my parents were the same way, but they got it straightened out. Your parents just might want something different then what you want." He put his arm on my back and began comforting me.
His arm was warm. He soothingly rubbed my back in circles, trying to get me to calm down.
"I don't get it man. I don't have anyone to talk to about it. When I talk to them about it, about the yelling, they just blame each other and start yelling again. Sometimes I even blame myself for making them argue so much." I wiped my eyes.
He put his thumb and index fingers on my chin and straightened my face to his.
His eyes were a chocolate brown. So inviting, so warm, so soft. I remembered Jack was this way once too. He ran away to my house, we sat on my porch, and I comforted him.
We drew closer until our lips touched. Soft pink lips, slightly apart. I could feel his teeth, and soon enough, his tongue. It was a soft quiet kiss. And it made me feel better. We drew apart and slowly watched as the sun went down, my head on his shoulder and his arm around me. Deja vu.
Hope you liked.