I wasn't going to post this so soon, but I just figured why not since I'm not sure if this is worth pursuing yet, so let me know if this any good or not!

Phantom

For as long as I can remember, the rodeo was the only passion that I shared with my entire family, back when things weren't so dark. It had been the one thing that dad introduced to us from his life in the far west corner of Oklahoma without feeling some sort of shame. Every year, the rodeo was an event we all looked forward to, especially my brothers who were always in competition with one another over who could ride the saddle bronc the longest. Mom would cheer us on from the stands, and dad would have that easy grin on his face whenever we placed, the one grin we all aimed to see. But now, as I trudged through the mud that clung to my boots, and over to the stables, I was alone.

Not for a lack of trying though. I asked my brothers if they'd go, begged them even. I was hoping that maybe after everything we could bring back something that had been so normal for us before it all. I knew I was stupid for even thinking that they'd play along, that they'd try as hard as I was to pretend.

So, really, I don't know why it hurt so much to be rejected. It didn't help that the smell of popcorn and manure, an awful combination, but a nostalgic one, began to waft through the air. Tears started to form in my eyes before I even knew what was happening, but before they could actually make an escape from where they settled at my lash line, a commotion in the stables slammed it down my throat.

He couldn't have been any older than I was, but he was dressed in a red plaid shirt and jeans. His hair was long and greasy, his bangs though weren't held in place with pomade and instead fell long across his forehead. He rubbed the dirt from his knees and though his face didn't convey any anger, it wasn't exactly pleased either. The horse in the stable, indifferent, only peered over the wooden gate at the boy.

I started walking towards them. The boy turned to look at me warily when the horse began to neigh, then frowned at me.

"This is your horse?" He questioned me, whilst stooping to pick up the bucket of grain that I figured the palomino stallion had knocked over.

I felt my lips curl into a relaxed grin as the stallion stretched his neck to reach my outstretched hand. "Sure is, this is Tox. Did he..." I turned around to face the brown-haired boy, laughing when the stallion nudged the back of my head in an attempt to regain my attention. I glanced at the pile of grain that had been kicked out of the bucket and sighed. "Sorry 'bout him, he's kind of testy around anyone that isn't me."

The boy grimaced and shook his head. "I ain't ever met a horse that irritable since..."

"Since?"

"Oh, there was this horse at this stable I used to work at when I was twelve. Mean as hell, and crazy as hell, too," he explained, and paused, as if he was surprised that I was actually listening to him. I raised my eyebrows expectantly at him. "And, uh, well I mean, I was the only one he'd let ride him. Everyone else he wouldn't let get within twenty feet of him if they didn't have food on em'."

"Huh," I folded my arms across my chest, a smile on my face. "Where is he? I ain't ever seen him in the stables before." Thinking about it now, I'd never seen the boy around the stables either. Usually, it was that south side kid, David Hicks, tending to the stables but last I heard, he'd gotten fired.

"He was never mine." He chuckled, almost as if in spite of himself. "The owner sold him off to some fella who owns a farm on the West side. I'm sure he's better off there anyhow."

I didn't answer. I turned back to the stallion and swung the stable door open before starting to tack him up. I tried to think of things to say, but I figured that sympathy would only look as bad as silence.

"What's your name?" I thought redirecting the conversation might help to ease the tension that ran thick in the air, however, as I turned to face him again the boy had already walked back to his work of filling the buckets with grain for the other stables. I wondered if I had ended up offending him in the end, or if he just didn't care to get friendly at all.

"Cami, what in the world are you doing?" Ruthie was standing at the mouth of the stadium entranceway, breathing so heavily that it seemed like she had run a marathon to get here. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

I snickered to myself before leading Tox out of the stall. "I was just saddlin' up."

"I thought you were going to meet me at the stands before you went out..." She suddenly caught sight of the boy at the end of the stables and her mouth fell open. She raised an eyebrow before lowering her voice so that only the two of us could hear. "Holy moly, Cami, is that the new stable boy?"

"I think so." I said, trying not to laugh at the look on her face.

Ruthie nodded at him. "Would ya just look at him...I mean for a Greaser, he sure is dreamy."

I shook my head before pulling myself up into the saddle. It was my turn now, I could hear the announcer's voice and my name echoing throughout the stadium. "He is a dream," I said. "Now, I gotta focus on winning."

"Relax, you're always so serious." Ruthie rolled her eyes at me. "All right, you beat Beverley Mitchell's lousy score, you hear?"

"Loud and clear." I lead Tox to the mouth of the stadium entranceway. My eyes lingered on the brown-haired boy's back as the roaring of the crowd began to rise, for some reason I couldn't help but wonder what his name was.

Daniel was sitting on the couch in the living room when I got home, but there was nothing particularly extraordinary about that. It was when I slipped off my shoes and placed my keys on top of the living room table that I noticed the other presence with him. She was a very pretty girl, and there was a silk scarf tied over her light blond hair. I was sure I recognized her, but really, I was just exceedingly aware of the blanket draped over the two of them.

He looked up, raising his head from where it had been lowered, and I assumed he had been kissing her. An expression of startlement crossed his face. "Camille!" He shouted at me before pulling the blankets above the girl's chin, who looked just mortified.

I stood in the kitchen where I had fled into, my back pressed against the kitchen counter as I stared out the window just ahead at the summer night sky. It was the kind of summer night that I loved, that was rare for mid-June. Often, I would be sitting beside my mother on the bench swing we had on the front porch, my head resting against her shoulder as we counted the stars. When I was half asleep, my father would carry me to bed and tuck me in, and kiss my forehead before saying, love you lots, Milly-bug. I tried my best not to think of it anymore. I finally looked up when the blond-haired girl reached the front door, just adjacent to the kitchen and kissed Daniel goodbye.

My younger brother sighed the moment he shut the door behind her and casually strolled into the kitchen to grab a beer from the refrigerator. I watched him in disbelief as he popped open the bottle cap with ease and took a large sip, but it was when he went for the second sip that I said something.

"For Gods sake, I'm right here, Danny."

He slammed the refrigerator door shut and lazily looked over at me, "I'm just tryin' to get a drink, I don't need you to play the Chambers Guardian right now."

"You're not serious, are you?" I balked at him when he only turned in the opposite direction. "You brought that girl in here, did whatever it is you did on...of all places, Danny—"

He snapped back around, eyebrows furrowed. "Jesus, Camille, I didn't know you were comin' home, I thought you were spendin' the night at Ruthie's."

"I decided not to cause I was worried. And from the looks of it I was right to be worried. Where's Marty?"

"I don't fuckin' know. I don't keep tabs on Marty."

"That's a surprise."

He went silent, and I could see the visible anger on his face as he seemed to be mulling over how he wanted to strangle me. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothin'." I said, shrugging my shoulders. "Forget about it."

"No, go ahead, explain."

I felt my own anger growing, not at Daniel, honestly. More for myself, I was angry at myself because I let this get so bad. "You were never like this, Danny. You never skipped school, you didn't swear or fight, and you most definitely never drank. I mean for Christ sakes, you're only fourteen!"

"Screw you, Camille." He tossed the beer bottle into the trash, the sound of it hitting the bottom of the plastic can made me jump. "Did it ever occur to you that I got my own damn life? I make my own decisions, and neither you or Marty are my boss. I don't need you guys. Sides' you ain't ever been there for me anyways so save the fuckin' act."

All I could do was stare at him, unsure what to say.

"You know, Kirk's probably passed out in the backyard, or in his room, layin' in his own vomit or some shit." He continued, his words an explosion of whatever it was he kept bottled up for the last three months. "He's been like this for a couple months now, and you keep sayin' how he's gonna get better soon. He ain't, Camille. Wake up and let him drink himself to death. We'd be better off not wondering what the hell he's up to all the time."

"That's our dad, Daniel." I reminded him, I hated the way that my voice shook and wavered. It made me feel so weak and I wanted to believe I wasn't. "He's all we have left—"

"No, mom was all we had left, and she's dead, because of him."

"Sure," I said, resigned. "Dad killed her with his own bare hands, he tied the noose around her neck and kicked the stool from underneath her feet, right?" I should've stopped there. I should've gone into my room and let my anger fester there. I guess Daniel wasn't the only one who had changed. "I'll just let you do whatever the hell you want." I sounded unruffled, but underneath I felt like I could burst into tears right then and there. "One day, Danny, if you keep going like this you're going to end up dead, or worse like dad and Marty."

Daniel's lips upturned slightly, it wasn't a grin exactly but it was enough to convey that he found what I said facetious. "Maybe you're right, Camille, and if I'm being honest, I don't think I care." He retreated to his bedroom, and that was the end of the conversation.

It truly was a guessing game when it came to finding wherever my father would wound up after a day of binging. I searched the house up and down for him, the backyard, the front yard, and the bathrooms, and was having no luck. I still could check the neighbors yards, but for whatever reason, I decided to try his room—well, their room, my mother and father's room. He didn't sleep in it much, and I didn't blame him considering what had happened there.

He was in there though, I'm not sure why, and I would never ask.

My father's eyes blinked open to meet mine, the ones I had inherited from him, leaving him no room to suspect infidelity on my mother's part. It felt strange to stare into them. My mother was as far away from me appearance wise as seemed humanly-possible, with her dirty-blond hair and dainty blue eyes, like the dolls she bought me from the toy store. I had never derived a sense of belonging from her face because there was nothing of her I could see in my own. Looking at my father when I was little had felt familiar, comfortable, like I was talking to a piece of myself. But now, that was no longer the case, I had never seen him look so haggard and weathered, his face was seamed into a net of wrinkles. The bags under his hazel eyes were dark and pronounced, and his brown hair, which was usually done like Burt Lancaster's, was dull and peppered with gray from stress.

"Cami?" My father whispered, lifting his head from the mahogany desk at last, blinking his eyes wearily in the somber light that his lamplight provided as he was slowly coming to from his drunken haze.

I placed my hands carefully on his shoulders and gave them a prudent rub before reaching out to the flask still clasped in his right hand. He clenched onto it tighter, like I used to do with my hand-stitched blanket when thunder rattled the house, clinging to the safety and comfort that it gave me. "There's nothing left, dad." This time I was successful in acquiring the shiny, tin-colored rounded can from him, sealed the top closed and set it up nicely at the corner of the writing desk so he could find it in the morning.

I helped him, though not without great effort, to his feet and to the bed meant to hold a family of five at the opposite side of the room.

"Cami...I'm sorry, I just..." He could barely even speak without his words slurring together. His breath was stale and reeked of whiskey. "I don't know why I..."

"It's okay," I told him. "Just rest."

He sank unsteadily into the bed on his side and pulled the covers to his chin. I knew he was out by the sound of his heavy breathing and returned to the writing desk, my fingers hovering over the switch.

"Goodnight, daddy."

I couldn't sleep. Faces lurked in the shadows, swirling up at me like faces obscured by snow. Memories tried to crowd in on me, suffocate me. I closed my eyes and wished that they would go away, my hands were trembling slightly.

One luminary clock against the sky,

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.

I have been one acquainted with the night.