The Older We Get

Chapter 2

               "I'm home." I stretch, tossing my keys in the dish next to the door while I look around, not seeing anybody on the first floor to greet me, the cozy yet expensive living room style I enjoy everyday vacant of my parents.

               Which is strange. They normally watch a few shows downstairs before heading off to bed or whatever it is they do after 7:30.

               The suns coming down slowly too, so I have pretty much have only an hour to get ready for Reen's bash. After today, it's onwards towards graduation. The deadline. I figure if I can work hard enough to get mom to see how successful I am in working as a coach, maybe she'll let me decide what I want to do after graduating.

               Every year since I was 15, her persistence to get me into a college up in New York has increased more and more to the point I feel like I'm suffocating. I don't let on though.

               All of my problems, I never let on.

               I either speak about it once, exercise it out or express it a different way.

               I'm positive that she'll give me a chance though.

               "Mom? Dad? I'm getting ready ok?" I flip on a switch while going up our sand carpet stairs, tugging my knotted hair here and there before strolling into my room, the soft light still coating the walls reassuring me I don't have to turn on any bulbs before I toss my phone on the bed along with my roses to hear a strange shift on the sheets afterwards.

               My bathroom lights were turned on before I even spun around, mentally off rails at the sight of an extra knitted red blanket that I normally use for Christmas bundling scrunched up on my King Sized bed.

               Ok, I'm sure of, really certain of, the fact that I didn't put that there.

               Did mom?

               Why would she do that?

               "Hey mom?! Did you need the Christmas Blanket for anything?!" Honestly, don't just leave it on my bed. "Mom!?" I put my hand on part of it, figuring out last second why the blanket has taken an odd sort of shape, when a mumble and shift of a body sets me off, pulling me backwards to see a pair of legs stretch out a touch, the head of the intruder hidden while this person sleeps, and by the size and look of the shoes, it's a guy.

               Sh1t.

               Somebody broke in?!

               First thing I do is obviously reach for my phone, only to see it resting on the persons back, influencing my second idea, which is to reach for my metal bat I hide behind the door, the taped handle perfectly adjusted in my palms while I side step closer to the figure snoozing his head off in my room.

               Ok. I've trained for this. My whole life, my whole 18 years, soon to be 19 years, has prepared me for this glorious moment of whacking the sh1t out of some unsuspecting hoodlum.

               One, two-

               "We're back!" My mom's voice rings out, and I see the stranger stir to consciousness so fast that I don't think, and just leap forward, my body wrestling a being just woken from slumber, but they react well enough to toss us both on my carpet, the space holding us while the blanket tangles around the figure even when they keep me from punching.

               "Mom! Dad! Call the cops!" My legs squeeze around the waist that is surprisingly slim, and I hear a grunt escape in what sounds like a deep voice.