And The Rain Keeps Time (471 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Domochevsky (View user info) at 2004-10-06 02:30:42 EDT
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Tuesday, 6:28 am:
The rain fell languidly, the misty drops seemingly suspended in the cold morning air. Caleb was up before his alarm had gone off, sitting in the dim morning light, staring quietly at the murky fog as it drifted past his bedroom window on the second floor. He sat for a few moments, trying to convince himself that it had just been another bad dream. Just another nightmare. The bruise on his arm throbbed, in synchrony with the drip from the gutter outside his window. Drip-ouch drip-ouch drip-... The discoloration was worse than when he had fallen asleep; deep purple, almost black. He rubbed it, wincing at the tinge of pain as it shot through his barely awake nervous system. He wanted to go back to sleep, to let the darkness of his small room envelope him in its velvety comfort.
*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*
"Shit." He muttered to himself as he rushed to hit the off button on his alarm clock. He slapped it hard, knocking the clock from his night stand. It clattered noisily on the hard wood floor. He froze, holding his breath, hoping he hadn't woken his father.
Silence.
He heard nothing but the creaking of the old house in the wind, and the thumping of his heart heavy in his ears.
He breathed a deep sign of relief. Caleb changed his boxers, and found the least-dirty pair of clothes from the pile by the hamper. "These don't smell that bad", he thought to himself, putting on the wrinkled shirt he wore at least twice last week. The outfit was mismatched, and had holes in several places. It didn't help any that he was a lanky, rather strange looking kid to begin with.
He crept from his room, stepping over the floorboards he knew creaked. The house was dark, the air hung heavy. Getting to the bathroom he relieved himself, pausing to contemplate which would get him beaten worse; waking his father with the flush, or just leaving it.
*Flush*
The house shook with its ancient plumbing rasping against the dry-rotted frame.
He quickly went down the old staircase, creeping past his father's form, passed out on the recliner, bottle still in hand. He noticed his father's acoustic guitar smashed in pieces on the living room floor, most likely another casualty of a drunken brawl with his mother. He used to show Caleb how to play it every once in a while, now just another memory of better times.
Caleb gathered his schoolwork off of the dining room table. His algebra assignment was covered in cheap vodka and some other unidentified mixer. He had asked his father for help with a problem; 31) x^2 - 6x + 9 = 0, factor completely. Apparently the answer was a half-full can of 211 thrown at you. Might as well have been, Caleb had never been very good at math.
The rain had begun to pick up; he could hear it hitting the roof, being blown by the strong gusts of wind. He wished it would blow the whole house down; that it would crush him in the rubble and he wouldn't have to worry anymore.
He gathered up what was salvageable from the alcohol-covered chaos; shoving a handful of papers into his bag, and hungrily wandered to the kitchen. He grabbed a package of saltine crackers off of the counter. Turning to leave, he knocked over one of the empty vodka bottles. It fell, shattering along with the silence.
-----
Caleb fought back tears on the way to the bus stop. The rain quickly soaked his worn clothing; he had no jacket to wear. A few tears fell from his squinting eyes. He had gotten off easy this time; only one smack and the chore of cleaning up the bottle.
"It's my fault." He told himself. "If I just weren't so much trouble they wouldn't drink like they do... I'm just too much stress."
He decided to leave school early, sneak out by saying he was feeling sick, and get home before his parents. He would cook dinner, he thought, and have the house mostly cleaned up for them by the time they got back. It was a good plan; then they would be less stressed, and maybe they would start to love him again.
Some of the girls at his bus stop whispered to each other when he walked up. They pointed and giggled, he was able to make out a comment on how bad his clothes were. Caleb hated them. He hated them for knowing, he hated himself for not hiding it better.
He watched the rain as it fell harshly through the bus window. He pressed his head against the cool glass. Grimacing his young face, he closed is eyes, listening to the drops of water as they plinked against the thin steel roof of the bus.
-----
Tyrome and James, a couple 8th graders had cornered Caleb during lunch.
"Give us your shoes, you little 6th grade faggot! You're too much of a loser to have shoes."
They laughed while taking his shoes. No one even turned to see what was happening; it was not uncommon for Caleb to be the victim of the two older boys, who took great pleasure in torturing him. Last week they had held him down and made him sniff their jockstraps, before that they had taken his backpack and put it on a high shelf in the library. He had to ask a teacher to get it down for him. They were assholes in every sense of the word.
Tyrome threw Caleb down and they ran off. He went after them, darting through the halls. His socks made him slide on the smooth tile floor, crashing into a garbage can and a vending machine before he caught up to them in the main school yard, just as they threw his shoes on the roof. They sailed through the air, their off-white form contrasted against the dark gray sky.
The howled in laughter as he crouched against the wall in the corner of the courtyard, head tucked into his knees. Caleb sat there a few moments, maybe longer, the rain once again soaking through his clothes.
He walked home without looking back, tears mixing with the rain drops as they streamed down his face. He hated that he was so weak as to cry, and consequentially cried more. The fog and rain enclosed him as he went.
-----
He got home an hour or so later. Soaked to the bone, feet bleeding; he was a mess. He dutifully dressed his wounds, and took a shower to warm up. Letting the warm water run over his shivering body he felt a bit better. He toweled off, and put on some dry clothes.
He found the house even worse than when he left it, they must have been fighting after he left. Better then than when he was around, he thought.
He put a pot of water on to boil, spaghetti was an easy meal, and his parents would like it. While it was cooking he began to clean the place up. Bottles in one bag, cans in the other. He counted each one, to see how much they were worth. He figured he had about $5.50 worth of beer bottles. Holding the bags in hand he decided to go exchange them at the convenience store down the road, and try to get a small dessert for after dinner with the money.
He borrowed a pair of his father's boots from his closet, moving aside the porn magazines and rifle. They were about 3 sizes too big, flopping on his feet as he walked. As he walked down the road, he realized he was surprisingly happy despite how his day had gone so far.
He got his five bucks, and bought 3 packages of Hostess Snoballs, throwing them in the empty bags from the bottles he rushed back home, anxious to surprise his parents, to see them smile and feel the warmth of a hug from his father.
It hadn't always been like this, and he wanted desperately to have his old life back. Back before the drinking and the fighting, when he and his parents would go to the park on Sundays and play for hours in the warm sun. The sun had been gone in Caleb's life for a long time now. He longed for that warmth again.
He was still lost in his perfect world when he returned home. He walked in, humming to himself, not seeing his father in the darkened living room. He went right past him, into the kitchen. Checking on the pasta he noticed the water on the floor and that the burner was off.
"What the FUCK are you doing home?" His father called out.
Caleb froze. His father stormed into the kitchen, bottle cocked in his hand. He took a short swig from it, glaring at Caleb.
"I... I forgot my homework and came back to get-"
"Don't you lie to me now, Caleb! Why the hell was the stove on and where were you!? It boiled the fuck over. How can you be so stupid, son!? Leaving a stove runnin' in the house and not be there to watch it!?"
"I wanted to make dinner for you and mom! I just went to take the cans back to the mini-mart, to buy some dessert, dad." He said frantically.
"You got no right to spend that money on candy anyway! Get over here." He paused, "Are those my shoes!?" He yelled, grabbing Caleb by the arm, smacking him up side the head.
"Dad, don't! I was just-"
"Shut up!" He screamed at Caleb. He hit him a few more times, before pausing to take another drink.
"Get you ass up to your room, and don't let me see you again today." He told him, striking him once more.
Caleb didn't dare reply. He skulked up to his room as quietly as possible.
Wrapped in his comforter he sat, staring out his window once again, listening to the wind howl.
Later he heard his mother come home. Not long after the yelling began. He tried not to listen, to just concentrate on the wind and the rain as it pounded the roof.
He cried himself to sleep, as the storm outside intensified.
As he lay, clutching the blanket tightly, he dreamt of a day at the park, his father laughing, showing him how to play a C chord on the guitar.
"I love you Dad."
"I love you too, Caleb." He said smiling, strumming the strings softly.
The sun shone down on them both, his mother calling them to eat from the picnic blanket. Caleb basked in the warmth of it all.
As his father played the old, well-worn guitar, Caleb smiled in his sleep. The rain outside his window kept time with the gentle chords, played in a memory long-since drowned in sorrow and cheap liquor.
-----
Wednesday, 6:24 am:
Caleb woke to a harsh clap of thunder. It was still raining, the house still silent and cold.
He sat up, carefully considering getting out of bed. He looked out the window at the black sky and pouring rain, he felt the bitter air outside his covers. He sat like this for a few moments before he turning off his alarm, and going back to sleep.
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Submitted by youarsoghey (user info) at 2005-01-16 12:09:01 EST (#)
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