The Broken Date

√5√

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath,then another. With my eyes closed, I again saw the shadows racing against the hedge, then the crouching figure running to the street.

My mind swirled with a hundred questions. Why did Mark follow me? Why did he chase me and then hide in the shadows? Was he afraid to face me? Was he afraid to tell me his terrible secret, the secret I already knew?

Or worse, much worse: Was trying to frighten me?

“Jack, what's wrong? Why are you home so early?”

I opened my eyes and stepped away from the door. “Hi, ma.”

“Who is it, Shirl?” (My random names are on point.) My dad, the newspaper in his hand, came hurrying into the room.

“It's Jack. He's home already.”

“You scared us,” my dad said. “We were in the den. We heard a noise.”

“Sorry,” I said, still trying to calm down.

He turned and went back to finish reading his newspaper. “You look terrible,” my ma said, pulling on my jacket sleeves. “You're positively green. Are you sick?”

“No, ma. I---”

“Do you have a temperature? I don't like your eyes. Those are sick eyes. Have you got the flu? Where's Mark? I didn't hear him leave.”

My ma was a short, chubby woman with round, lively face topped by frizzy brown curls. One she got started asking questions, it was hard to get her to stop. She was like a bee, always hovering around you just a little too closely, fluttering off for a second or second or to, then flying right back to you, prodding and buzzing away more insistently than before.

“I'd better take your temperature. I've never seen you this pale. You're green. Absolutely green. Stick out your tongue. No. Don't stick out your tongue. Just tell me your symptoms. Are you queasy? You look like you might be queasy.”

Normally, this kind of treatment from my ma drove me over the edge. But I was so relieved to be home and safe, so relieved to be out of the shifting shadows, away from my silent pursuer, that I smiled.

“I'm feeling much better, ma,” I said, my voice still unsure. “The dance was a drag. I wasn't feeling too well, and Mark---uh---he was exhausted from swim practice. So we just decided to call it a night.”

My ma eyed me suspiciously. “You don't look right to me. I know when you're not right. How about some tea? Tea is good for when you're queasy.”

“I'm not queasy, ma. Really. But ok. I'll take a cup of tea.”

“You must be queasy. When do you ever drink tea if you're not queasy?”

I laughed. I stepped forward and hugged my ma. I had to bend down to reach her.

“Now I know you're sick,” my ma said, smiling. Showing affection always embarrassed her. “Go away. Let me fix you some tea. Go upstairs. I'll bring it up to you.”

“Ma, that isn't necessary.”

“You're green. You're absolutely green.”

“Ok, ok. I'm going.”

I climbed up to my room, grateful that Chris had a sleep-over date at his friend Max’s. Otherwise, he'd probably be after me to play Hungry Hippos or something. I really didn't think I could handle Hungry Hippos now.

I changed into my nightshirt and dutifully drank the tea my ma brought me. It felt warm and soothing, although I realized it would take more than a cup of tea to make me feel better.

My ma hovered about, making small talk, asking about the dance, eyeing me suspiciously, commenting on my greenness until the last drop of tea had disappeared.

All the while, a voice kept repeating in my ear, “Tell her. Tell her about Mark, about the holdup,the shooting.”

It would be so easy after this, the worst day of my life, to turn into a little boy telling my ma everything,to share the horror of it all, to share my sadness, my utter despair. But each time the urge nearly brought me to telling my ma, I held myself back with the words. “It isn't fair.”

It wouldn't be fair to my ma to have the whole crazy story dumped on her like a ton of garbage. What could my ma do? Worry for me? Panic for me?

No, it wouldn't be fair. Not yet, anyway.

And it wouldn't be fair to Mark, either.

Fair to Mark? Why should I be fair to Mark?

Hadn't he come after me with a pick? Hadn't he followed me home? Hadn't he tried to scare me to death?

Hadn't he shot a man? Shot a man? Shot a man? Shot a man?

“Jack, what's wrong?”

“Nothing, ma. Sorry. I was just thinking about something.”

“You were staring at me for the longest time. I think you're sicker than you're letting on. Go on. Get into bed. I'll tuck you in.”

“What?”

“I said, I'll tuck you in. What is it, Jack? What's troubling you?”

“Nothing, ma. Really. You're right. I just don't feel right. I'll tuck myself in. Ok? Good night. I'll be fine in the morning. Really.”

My ma circled around a few more times before going downstairs. She pulled back the covers, tossed my dirty clothes into the laundry hamper and dusted off the desk lamp shade with her hand. Then she gave me one last concerned look, tossed me a kiss with her pudgy little hand and fluttered out of the room.

As soon as my ma had gone downstairs,I sank onto the bed. I closed my eyes and thought about sleep. I knew I had to be exhausted from all that had happened during that long, horrifying day. But I didn't feel the least bit tired. Sleep was still a long way away.

I lay in bed, my light still on, staring up at the ceiling. I knew what I had to do. But would I do it?

Yes.

I jumped up, walked over to my phone and called Mark's number.

I let it ring six times before I hung up.

Mark must not have been back yet. But where was his ma? I knew that Marks dad was on a trip upstate. His ma wouldn't go out on a Saturday night without him.

Strange. . .

I decided that maybe I had called the wrong number. I called it again,this time making sure it was his number.

It rang and rang. No. No answer.

I slowly sat down my phone and started back to my bed. I yawned, suddenly feeling very sleepy.

My phone rang.

I grabbed it before the first ring ended. “Is that you, Mark?”

The voice on the other end sounded distant and muffled. “I'm sorry you saw me at the mall,” it said. “I'm really sorry.”

Word count: 1745. Yay! Got chapter five done...chapter 6 should also be one part. Hope you're enjoying the story.