Part One: Chapter Two
May 31, 1980
Sara knocked slowly upon the faded doorway leading to the bed and breakfast section of the home.
"Hello?" she called quietly in a nervous whisper.
The door opened and a little boy peeked out cautiously. He had dark brown hair, freckles dotting his nose, and wide blue eyes.
"Oh, Sara. It's just you," he said.
Sara smiled and held up a kickball.
"Do you want to play outside with me?" she asked.
"I can't we're packing."
Sara's eyes widened.
"You're leaving?"
"Yeah."
"But I thought you were staying for a couple more nights!"
The boy shrugged.
"Mom said she doesn't want to stay here anymore because of your parents. They were fighting again last night."
Sara blinked and let the kickball drop to the ground.
"Can I come in?" she whispered, giving the ball a small kick towards her room.
"Sure," The boy opened the door a little wider and Sara stepped in, looking up the staircase towards the three upstairs rooms. The little boy opened the first room's door, the bedroom door, and Sara walked in to find two adults packing up small piles of clothes and toys.
"Hi Mom, Dad." The boy said once he entered the room. "Sara wanted to come in."
"Hello," Sara whispered, shifting shyly into a corner.
"Don't be shy Sara. Would you like to help pack?" the boy questioned.
"Now, Michael don't say that. She doesn't have to help!" Michael's mother scolded.
"No, I'll help." She moved forward slowly and began folding some of the clothes lying out on the bed.
"What a sweet girl," the woman, declared, patting Sara on the head.
"It's too bad you have to live with your parents. They're not very nice," the little boy muttered, gathering some toys from the ground.
"Michael!" his mother snapped.
"Sorry."
"It's all right. Besides, they still love me, and I'm used to it." Sara mumbled, placing the newly folded clothes in the family's suitcase.
"Such a sweet girl, it's a shame." Michael's mother whispered to her husband.
Sara shrugged and looked around the room.
"Is that it?" she asked.
The woman nodded.
"I'll help you take your stuff down." Sara lifted the suitcase off the bed and began rolling it gently down the stairs.
Michael looked up at his parents for a pleading second.
His mother sighed, and then said, reluctantly, "All right. You and Sara can play outside for a little bit, but just a little while. We need to leave soon."
The boy beamed and dashed down the stairs after Sara.
"Sara!" he shouted.
She turned around and watched Michael as he leapt down the flight of stairs.
"What?" she asked, as Michael skidded to a halt beside her.
"Mom said I could play with you for a little bit. Where'd the kickball go?"
Sara beamed, set the suitcase against the wall, dashed into her room, and came out bouncing a kickball between her hands.
"Let's go!" she cried.
They walked side by side through the kitchen where Sara's mother was puffing on a cigarette and flipping through a magazine with a bottle of beer on the table next to her.
"Mom," Sara stated, "Michael, and I are going to go play for a little bit outside. His family is checking out today and his mom said he could play a little before they go."
"Okay," Laura muttered, not looking up from her magazine and taking another drag from her cigarette. Sara wrinkled her nose against the smoke and left, bouncing the kickball against the floor as Michael opened the door.
"Have your parents always been arguing like that?" Michael asked, kicking the ball across the yard. Sara stopped it with her foot and kicked it back to Michael.
The sun was shining brightly and a nice refreshing breeze whipped through the yard, waving the trees, grass, and the children's hair.
"No, they only started arguing when my dad got his new job. It takes him awhile to get home some nights and Mom gets mad when he's late."
Michael caught the ball between his hands and punted it back.
"What do you do when they argue?"
Sara caught the ball but stood still afterwards, thinking silently.
"I just…wait it out, pretend it's not happening."
"Oh." Michael looked down at his toes, "I think I'd do that too."
They stood silently for a few minutes, ball underneath Sara's arm. Another wave of wind passed by and blew the trees so the leaves rustled. Suddenly, a yell from inside, almost like an angry cat, rang out into the yard. Sara and Michael's gazes turned from the ground to the house.
"We're not staying!" cried Michael's mom from inside.
"Please!" shrieked Laura.
"No!" came the booming voice of Michael's dad.
"Just one…one night?"
"No!"
A sound of crashing glass and a cry of pain reached the children's ears. More words of hate were shared and then "She's cut! She needs stitches!"
Michael and Sara, eyes wide, shared a look with each other then ran to the house, looking in through a dusty window. Sara wiped away the dust with her sleeve and squinted into the house.
The scene wasn't pretty. Laura was standing by the counter, eyes wide in shock. Sara looked over to the opposite wall where Michael's parents were standing. Michael's father was standing next to his wife, apparently wrapping something around her arm.
"What happened?" Michael asked, squinting to get a better look.
"I don't know. I think something happened to your mom."
"What?" Michael insisted, sticking his face right up to the glass.
Sara looked harder and saw blood soaking a dishtowel. She looked down to the kitchen floor and saw shattered brown glass, like the beer bottle next to her mother a few minutes ago.
"We're leaving!" shouted Michael's father again.
Michael ran over to the door and thrust it opened. Sara followed, looking in to the scene.
"Grab the suitcase Michael!" his father commanded. "We're leaving and filing charges!"
Michael's father swept past Sara out the door, holding his wife's arm, still seeping blood. Sara watched silently, kickball still under her arm. Michael walked past next, glaring at Sara on his way out, lugging the suitcase.
"Michael!" she called, jogging after him, "Is your mom all right?"
He turned to face Sara, eyebrows furrowed in anger.
"I don't know!" he yelled.
Sara jogged up to his side.
"Are you…mad at me for something?"
Michael's parents entered their car and Michael stomped a foot down.
"YES! I'm mad at you! I'm mad at you for everything! It's all your fault! My mom's hurt because of you!"
Sara gulped under the volley of anger and felt tears well up. She rolled the kickball towards Michael.
"You can have my kickball if it makes you feel better," she whimpered, a single tear rolling down her face.
Michael picked up the ball, turned around, and stomped away towards the car. Sara stepped up to the road and watched as the car sped away. Once she sat down, and the car rounded a corner, she saw her red ball, rolling down along the road back towards her. She watched it roll to a stop before her feet then, sitting on the curb, head in her hands, she cried.
