Stay, Forever

26

It's been hours, and George is still not awake. Dream hasn't left his side, and he sighs quietly as he lays his head down against the bed. He's exhausted, but he'll stay awake just in case George wakes up and needs him. But he still closes his eyes, and he lets himself think about the very first time he ever laid eyes on George.

Clay rushes up the front walkway that leads to his house. His sneakers thud against the pavement, and he's breathing hard but he doesn't slow down. He feels giddy and excited, and the sole reason is because it's one of the rare days when his mother will be around for at least a little bit.

He's had a terrible day at school, which is nothing new for him. The only thing that got him through it was the thought that his mom would be waiting for him, and he'd be able to give her a hug and be surrounded by warm familiarity.

He shoves the front door open, and he hears noise coming from the kitchen. He runs down the hallway, smiling before he even catches sight of her rummaging haphazardly through kitchen drawers.

"Mom!" He yells out, arms outstretched as she turns to face him.

She smiles, but Clay can already tell that something is wrong. She pulls him close, wrapping him in a secure hug and kissing the top of his head.

And Clay pretends not to notice the dark bruise that's just beginning to form under one of her eyes. He's learned not to ask, because it only makes her upset and then he ends up feeling guilty. He knows she does the best that she can to provide for him, but an uncomfortable warmth still prickles across his skin.

"Hi, sweetie," she murmurs quietly, and Clay angles his face up towards her. His smile fades slowly, and he feels sad but he's not sure why, "how was school?"

He takes a step back, eyes dropping down to the tiled floor as his face warms under her knowing gaze. He can already feel the tears collecting in his eyes, and his mother's hand slides under his chin to gently tilt his face upwards.

"Clay, what's wrong?"

He sniffles, and then rubs away the first of the tears as he mumbles, "I tried to make friends again today, but they made fun of me."

It was nothing new for him, but it hurt every single time that it happened. He would muster up all the courage he could, remembering how his teachers told him he needed to put himself out there if he wanted to make friends.

On this particular day, there had been a group of kids kicking around a soccer ball. Clay loved soccer, but he had no one to play it with, and so he had cautiously approached them. His stomach was twisted into nervous knots, but he still managed to ask them if he could join their game, only to be laughed at and shooed away. He had spent the rest of recess sitting alone on a bench, watching them play from a distance while trying his hardest not to cry.

"They made fun of my shirt because it has a tear in it," Clay murmurs quietly, stomach flooding with guilt because he knew it was all his mother could afford, "I just wanted to play soccer with them."

Tears cloud his vision, and his mother kneels down to pull him into another warm embrace. He knows it's her way of apologizing for the things she can't provide him, and he whispers into the crook of her neck, "I'm sorry, mom."

He doesn't want her to think he's complaining, and when she pulls back and holds him at arms length, he can tell she looks equally as sad. She sighs, and then pushes the hair away from his eyes as she answers, "you don't need to apologize, Clay. I'm sorry that happened. But those aren't the kind of people you want to be friends with, anyway. Some day, you're going to meet someone who will be kind and accepting, and they won't make fun of you for those sort of things. And those are the types of people you want to do your best to keep around, okay?"