Scorched

Chapter Four - Home Life

RAYMOND

I let myself into the house, and for once I was grateful that it was empty. If my mom was home, I knew she would sense something was off about me and give me a full interrogation. Normally, I wouldn’t mind. I talk to my mom about everything, but I’m just not ready to talk about Jackson.

I don’t even know what “this” is.

I felt weird, I felt almost giddy. I dropped my backpack on the recliner in the living room and went into the kitchen to start making something for dinner. I kept breaking out in a broad grin when I thought of my afternoon with Jackson. And when I thought about how he reached out and touched my lip… well, I kept touching my own mouth to try and recreate that feeling. Of course, it wasn’t the same.

I pulled a package of hamburger meat from the fridge and grabbed a frying pan from under the counter. I had decided to make Mexican cauliflower rice for dinner, one of our family favorites. I went through the motions of chopping up onions and peppers, but my mind was still on Jackson.

I have never been into guys. But the truth is, I’ve never been into girls either. I have always secretly wondered if there was something wrong with me because I did not feel any attraction at all. I’ve seen Molly in just her bra and underwear a dozen times, but it never turned me on. Intellectually, I know she’s very pretty, but it's like looking at a famous painting hanging in a gallery. You appreciate the art, but that doesn’t mean you want to buy it. I never thought that my little obsession with Jackson Lockhart was a crush. I just thought that I found the guy really interesting. But suddenly, I was seeing him in a whole new light. No longer was Jackson merely a specimen to be studied from afar. He had actually talked to me. He had shown some interest. Maybe he was just being nice, maybe the ice cream was just an apology for knocking me over, but it didn’t matter to my poor little heart.

I don’t know if I like ALL boys, but I’m definitely attracted to Jackson. I’m a little startled that I have no control over my feelings. Am I gay?

I scraped the chopped-up vegetables into the frying pan with the meat, and then started fishing the spices out of the cabinet. Jackson had seemed impressed with the fact that I knew how to cook. I wonder if I’d ever get the opportunity to cook for him. I don’t measure the spices; I just eyeball them. I’ve got a knack for cooking like that. As I shook in some chili powder, I wondered if Jackson liked spicy food. I sigh when I realize that every other thought in my head has Jackson all over it.

Just as I was finishing up the Mexican rice dish I was making, my mom came in the door. As usual, she looks really tired. Her job is not only physically demanding, but it wears on her emotionally too. I can’t imagine how hard it is to go to work every day and deal with people who are dying. Sometimes she comes in and tells me which patient passed away that day. Today she just drops her purse next to my backpack and pulls off her shoes to rub her sore feet.

“Hey baby,” she says, giving me a tired smile. “How was your day?” She still called me “baby” or sometimes “baby boy”, but I didn’t mind it.

I plated up her dinner and took it to her on the couch, with a fork. “It was good,” I chewed my lip, wondering how much I should tell her. “I went out for ice cream after school with a friend.”

“Oh?” she raised her eyebrows. “Molly?”

I shook my head and turned my back to go back and pour her a glass of lemonade, so that she wouldn’t see my cheeks turn pink. “No. Uh, Jackson.”

“Jackson?” I could hear the surprise in her voice. “I didn’t know you two were friends?”

I shrugged as I handed her the glass. “I didn’t either. But we uh, kind of bumped into each other today.”

“Well, that’s good,” she said, digging into her plate. “I’m glad you are making some new friends.” She sighed and balanced her plate on her lap as she put her feet up on the footstool. “Thanks for making dinner, Ray.”

“Sure, no problem,” I smiled, and put my own plate down on the coffee table. We were pretty informal about meals at our house. We rarely sat at the dining room table unless we had company, or it was a special occasion. However, mom did not allow the TV or any electronics while we were eating. We chatted quietly about our day. Mom always had some funny stories to tell about her day, the exploits of the residents, or the foibles of the new LNAs.

When we had both finished eating, she grabbed my plate and headed for the kitchen. “I got the dishes, you go,” she said, shooing me out of the room with her free hand. I smiled and headed upstairs. I’d already washed most of the dishes while I was cooking, so all she had left were our plates and utensils. I headed upstairs to my room and dumped my backpack out on the bed.

We had only a couple of weeks left in the school year, so there wasn’t a lot of homework. A lot of teachers were already prepping for final exams. I plowed my way through a math assignment and then picked up the binder that contained my manuscript. I grabbed my laptop and powered it up as I flipped through the pages, glancing over Molly’s notes in the margins. It would have been a lot easier if Molly could have done my editing electronically, but she didn’t have the internet at her house, and she claimed that she liked reading on paper anyway.

I flipped through the pages and scrolled through my document on the laptop at the same time, stopping here and there to correct a few minor grammatical errors that Molly had circled with her red pen. When I got to chapter three, I noticed her note in the margin.

“This character is so vague; he doesn’t seem real to me.”

I stared off into space. While I was writing the first draft, I couldn’t really see the face of my character’s love interest. But after my encounter today, he came into sharp focus. Black hair, square jaw, that ever-present five-o'clock shadow, and the most amazing green eyes.

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JACKSON

I watched Raymond disappear inside his house. His place was small and kind of run down, but it had a homey feel to it. I could see colorful curtains in the windows, and cheerful flower gardens flanked the front steps. I checked the time on my dash and swore, before I quickly turned around and drove out to my apartment.

Our place made Ray’s house look like a freaking castle. We lived on the second floor of a crummy apartment building in a low-income housing development. The stairwell stank of cigarette smoke and cat pee, even though it was supposed to be a no-pet, non-smoking building. I opened the door and sighed as I looked at the mess that was supposed to be our living room.

My mother, as usual, was lying on the couch. Judging by her rumpled clothes and messed up hair, she hadn't even gotten up to shower today. Dirty dishes, junk mail, fast food wrappers, and her collection of amber-colored prescription pill bottles littered the coffee table. The ratty green afghan that my grandmother had crocheted was pulled up around her chin as she snored softly. Katie was sitting in the middle of the dirty, cluttered floor, still wearing her backpack, rocking slightly as she watched the television with no sound on.

“Hey kiddo,” I greeted her quietly, “Let's take your backpack off, okay?” She glanced up at me and let me pull the backpack off her shoulders. I unzipped it and checked her folder, to see if her teacher had sent home any important papers. There was just a book order form, which I tossed in the garbage. “Are you hungry?”

She bobbed her head and followed me into the kitchen. She climbed up on a stool next to the counter, while I rummaged through the freezer. Mom rarely had enough energy to cook dinner, so mostly Katie and I survived on frozen dinners, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and breakfast cereal. I pulled out two boxes of frozen mac-and-cheese and popped them into the microwave. As I set the timer, I thought of Raymond.

Raymond cooks. I smiled to myself as I took down two cups and poured the milk. I could barely boil water to make ramen noodles. I’d probably burn down the house if I attempted to cook a real meal.

While the microwave was running, I went to the laundry room. Dirty clothes were piled almost as high as the washer itself. It was hard to understand why my mother couldn’t even load the washer, when it only took two minutes to dump in an arm full of dirty clothes, add the soap, and push the button. But if I said anything to her, she would start to cry and say it was too hard, too overwhelming. Rather than upset her, I just did it myself. I didn’t have time to fold it, but we could dig through the baskets for our clean stuff in the morning.

Once the washer was chugging away, I went back to the kitchen. I pulled out the plastic pans of macaroni and set one in front of Katie, and the other in my spot. When I opened the silverware drawer, I swore. There were no clean forks. There were no clean spoons either. I sighed and looked at the sink that was overflowing with dirty dishes. I washed off some utensils and sat down to eat. Katie has a very particular way of eating, spearing just one piece of macaroni at a time, and chewing it very thoroughly before she took another. I’m done way before her and start to work on the pile of dishes while I wait for her to finish. I always do what I can to try and keep the house decent, but between school, and my job, and taking care of Katie, there just isn’t enough time. I stack as many clean dishes in the dish strainer as I can and leave them to air dry.

Katie stopped eating and pushed her dish and cup away. I gave her a tight smile and checked the time on my phone. “Why don’t we go play in my room before Dan gets home.” I didn’t have to tell Katie twice. She pushed off the stool and headed straight for my room.

Daniel Barret was my mother’s second husband, and Katie’s biological father. I will never know what my mother saw in that loser. I think she was just lonely, and Dan was a warm body with a heartbeat after my father died. He was a mean SOB who did absolutely nothing to help this family. He worked at the factory, and then went out to the bar. He would stagger in somewhere between buzzed and fall-down drunk nearly every night, and the best thing we could do was just stay out of his way. I think he just stuck around for the free rent, because he sure didn’t act like a husband or a father.

I handed Katie my old Nintendo DS, and she settled herself on the floor, while I sat cross-legged on the bed. Unlike the rest of the house, I kept my room immaculately cleaned and organized. I looked at my backpack but didn't make a move to open it. With just a couple of weeks left to the school year, it didn’t seem worth it to even bother doing my homework. It was too late to save my grades anyway. I idly wondered what Ray was doing right now. I imagined he was sitting primly at a desk with his head buried in his books. He was so smart and so dedicated. I bet he never missed an assignment in his life.

I wish I’d thought of getting his phone number... I could have sent him a text, just to connect with him.