Travesty

Chapter One

"Now what? You want more, or you gonna get my shit?" Her white T-shirt had stains on it, and she wasn't wearing a bra. Her round belly protruded from the top of her stretchy pants, giving her a muffin top and several rolls.

"I don't have any money."

"What do you mean? You just got paid. I know you keep something for yourself."

"I paid our phone bill with it," I lied. Hopefully, I'd be gone by the time it was due. She wasn't getting a damn dime from me. I'd die before I got into my stash to support her habits.

She lifted her foot, dragging a sweaty twenty dollar bill from her shoe and threw it at my chest. I cringed when it hit me, but never took my eyes from hers. I knew better than to bend over in front of her—she would kick me.

"I expect change."

As she walked out, I sighed and grabbed gloves out of my jacket pocket so I could pick the dirty money up. She was so gross.

Taking the twenty minute bus ride to the liquor store meant more time with my thoughts. I didn't even try to cover the blood-red hand print on my face. I almost wished someone would've asked me about it. I smiled, wondering what their reaction would be if for just once, I told the truth.

Feeling sorry for myself wasn't a foreign feeling. In fact, I'd spent the better part of the first year with Jim and Pat, wishing I was dead. But I'd had a moment of realization one night as I laid on my back, staring at the water-stained ceiling. I wouldn't be fourteen forever. One day, I'd be a grown man. One who could live where he wanted; work where he wanted. Once I had my mind set right, I stayed focused. Every now and then, I'd slip, but mind over matter had become my mantra.

As I sat in the rear of the bus, I noticed a bag lady picking through a dirty sock like it was her purse. It was at one time, I suppose, white. Now it was brown. I didn't even want to know what she had inside of it, so I looked away. Dirtiness made me uneasy.

I closed my eyes and rested my head on the seat. Sticking my ear buds in, I decided not to take in my surroundings. As the bus came to a stop, I hopped off, passing a drug deal, a homeless man with a sign that read, Let's cut the shit, I need to buy a joint, and a black cat that for some reason had me feeling more uneasy about crossing its path than the others. Needless to say, the poverty level in this town was almost one hundred percent.

"Abram! How goes it, young man?" Cypress, the older gentleman who ran the corner store, greeted me. He was nice enough, but uneducated. Sometimes, I thought he was in worse shape than I was.

"I'm good. And you?"

"Can't complain. The usual?"

How sad was that? The usual. Only seventeen and I was quite certain he thought I was an addict.

I waited to answer him until a suspicious guy walked outside after he'd used the restroom. "Sure. Thanks." I threw the money down on the counter, wanting to get rid of it as soon as possible.

Once he had me bagged up, I made my way back to the bus stop. I couldn't wait until tomorrow. I was leaving for a new jobsite and it was honestly what kept me going. I traveled around, climbing towers for a living. It wasn't the best job in the world, but it kept me on the away from home.

I hated remembering the past, but sometimes when I was alone, it was inevitable. Looking back on it now, I think the initial beating shocked me. At thirteen, I believed there had to be some way out of it. Like I would be able to get away, or fight back, but I just hadn't been strong enough. During that first pounding, one of my molars had cracked in half, and to this day, hadn't been fixed. Of course, I'd never been to the dentist, so fixing it wasn't exactly an option. I planned on changing that once I was on my own.