Chapter 4:
Arguments, Feelings, and Chicken

Mary finished cleaning and went off to school herself, being in the fifth grade. She loved to care of people and to be in charge; it was something she was rather good at.

At school Mary was mostly a loner, only having a few friends which she only talked to in class. But even if she did have good friends, she would never want to take them over her house; at least not when her mom was there.

Mary was very adroit, though, and she mostly got good grades. So even though Mary never had friends over, she was content with her life; she just, in general, loved living! But Mary sometimes wished she could just simply go away to some magical place, and be a completely different person.

Little did she know, that day would come one day in the future. But for now she had to remain there with Jack

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"Hey Mary. How was your first day of school?" Mary's mom asked as she walked through the living room.

Mary took a deep breath, trying to be calm. "Oh, just another day of school. Why do you ask?" Mary set her bag on the table and flumped down on the couch.

"Can't a mother ask her daughter about her school day?"

"Sure," Mary agreed, still trying to withhold peace, but she couldn't fight the urge to mumble, "If you can call yourself a mother." She plucked a magazine from the side table next to the couch, and commenced to flick through it.

"Don't you talk to me like that young lady!" Her mom yelled, ostensibly taking an umbrage to Mary's words.

"Like what mom? I was just making a point." She retorted, just as tranquilly as ever, like it was merely an ordinary conversation.

"Well, don't be making points with me missy. You need to learn some respect!"

"Respect!" Mary yelled, leaving all hope of equanimity with her magazine that she thrashed down as she sprung to her feet, "Respect, Mom? How am I supposed to show respect when you don't even show me, let alone yourself, any!" She then began to rage out of the living room to her bedroom.

"What are you babbling about?" Mary's mom squalled back, pursuing Mary to her bedroom.

"Nothing, mom. If you don't even know what I'm talking about, then just forget it." Mary declared steamily, trying to settle herself down while taking her duffle bag and filling it with some of her things.

"Where do you think your going young lady?" Her mother demanded with a hint of panic, realizing what she was doing because now, which wasn't the first time.

"I'm going over to Jack's for a couple days to cool off." Mary said, zipping up the bag. "I hope you take in consideration to what I said in the living room."

"You're not going anywhere, missy."

Mary put the bag's strap over her shoulder then said, "Watch me." She went to the living room, snatched up her school bag, and went out the kitchen door, slamming it shut behind her.

"Shit!" Mary's mom whispered angrily, kicking the couch.

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"Jo! What're you – are you okay?" Jack, who was outside already, strode quickly up to Mary Jo as she perambulated down his driveway, 15 minutes later.

The aspect on her face looked dismayed, with perplexed emotions sketched all over her face.

She dropped her bag when Jack attained her and they hugged for what seemed like eternity, Mary puling into Jack's shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Jack asked her tenderly, after he waited for the utopian moment to enquire her.

Mary Jo stared into Jack's eyes and asserted, with ineluctable loathing surging from her words, "My mother."

Jack was cognizant to what it was like, he knew and felt her pain. After a moment, he embraced her once more, then turned around and offered her a piggyback ride.

"Oh Jack," Mary sighed with a hint of a laugh, wiping her eyes. "You're always a goofball." But nevertheless she hopped on Jack's back, Jack picking up her bag and took her inside to the couch.

When they both sat down, they began laughing irrepressibly and irresolutely. But it was a bitter sweet laugh, because both of them were conscience of what was following it.

The room went disturbingly quiet after a minute, then Jack asked cautiously, "So, what's up?"

Mary Jo deceived that she was unaware that he had questioned her about anything, and averted her eyes to lose contact with his. Then instead of responding to his enquiry, she posed her own, "So, where's your mom?"

Jack glowered at her, his eyes narrowing. She was obviating the subject; he remembered, but couldn't commemorate, this routine all too well. She has her dilapidated, frustrating feelings, but she wards them off, even more so by displacing them onto Jack.

Mary Jo gazed hopelessly at Jack, cognizant to where this conversation was proceeding, conscious to the hell she was about to undergo.

"You know what?" suggested Jack, after sometime of playing see who could blink first, "Let's just leave this conversation until we're ready, okay?"

Mary Jo nodded in acquiescence, now keeping eye contact with Jack.

Oh, how much she valued and admired Jack; how she would enamor to scarper with him to another land, where they could start over and live peacefully and happily together.

"Well, I'll go make dinner, got any requests?"

Jack smiled and replied, "Yes, I would just love to have some of your wonderful Rum chicken, it's been ages."

Mary Jo smiled back, and went off into the kitchen, Jack watching her as she left.

He just couldn't believe that Mary Jo, loveable and independent as she was, was only nine years old. The same age as he was when he lost his dad . . . He couldn't comprehend that it had been five years already . . . Five years since he came home from school that day to encounter his mom bawling, lost for words. He had to peruse the note his dad had left to savvy why his mom was crying.

The note was so genuinely casual, that no one knew what it meant exactly, but Jack inferred that he wouldn't be seeing his dad for a long time, if not forever.

"Jack – hey Jack . . . Jack!" Mary Jo came frolicking out to the livingroom where Jack had nodded off. She sat down beside him, "Aw, did little Jackie get tired of waiting for his wum and chicken?" She jested, then laughed; Jack had sprung up and began tickling her.

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