Page 41 of The Guy in the Alley

“Yes! I want fourteen thousand pieces, thank you!”

I grinned, fucking loving seeing him this way. “I’ll holler in a week when they’re all done, then.”

He laughed at that.

I left his room with a smile on my face, and Ma gave me a knowing look over the rims of her glasses. Not that it stopped her from knitting. She could do that blindfolded.

“He lights up when you’re around, dear,” she told me. “Has Rose made any progress lately?”

Unfortunately not enough, which I told her. We’d been trying for nearly a year to get him to mentally prepare for a move to a better apartment, but he just couldn’t cope with the thought. Rose had made him understand the why; the apartment was too small for the amount of money Ma paid, and we didn’t have enough space. Additionally, he could occasionally handle half a sleepover with the only local friend he had who was his age. And by half, I meant half. They got together maybe once a month, and at around three in the morning, Alvin reached his limit. He needed to go home and sleep in his own bed.

That was it.

Ironically, my failure to make a decent living for us wasn’t the main problem when we were discussing Alvin’s dream of seeing the ocean. It was his inability to sleep somewhere other than in his room.

Rose was certain my boy had developed a mental block and a case of PTSD from the circumstances that’d once put him here.

“By the way,” Ma said, “brace yourself for his latest obsession with the number fourteen thousand.”

I brought out the skillet before I glanced over at her. “What?”

She chuckled softly to herself and reached for her coffee. “He’s celebrating. He reached fourteen thousand followers the other day, and now he can’t let go of the number.”

Wait, what?

I pointed to his room as shock tore through me. “Fourteen thousand people follow him on that Instagram thing? Because he picks apart dyed baking soda and citric acid in a tub of water?”

She nodded, a hint of pride in her expression. “It’s a whole thing, sweetie. People love it.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“My son is a celebrity.”

She laughed. “You know, I said the same thing…? He just snickered and said he was a small fish in a big ocean.”

Fuck that, the Sox should invite him to throw the first pitch.

Fourteen fucking thousand?

That was insane.

Safe to say, I was gonna keep buying him food coloring. The whole goddamn rainbow.

* * *

The day went by too quickly for my liking even though we didn’t have any plans. I fixed the leaky faucet in the bathroom, I gave myself one hell of a toothache when I bit down on a piece of semi-burned pan bread, I coaxed Alvin out for a walk—because that was our deal; he needed an hour of fresh air every day—and I dozed on and off in front of the TV while Ma cooked dinner.

“Are you staying here tonight, sweetie?”

I yawned and flicked a glance at the cat-shaped clock above the TV. “I haven’t decided yet. I’m torn between wanting to head over to Garrett’s because it’s closer to work, and gluing my sorry fuckin’ ass to the couch right here.”

“Benjamin!” She shook her fist at me, never failing to crack me up. “I didn’t raise you to use that language. You curse way too much.”

I grinned lazily, only that put pressure on my tooth, and I promptly winced and rubbed my jaw carefully.

Of course she noticed. “What’s wrong? Is it your teeth? You’re taking care of them, right? You have to be mindful. I don’t need to tell you what dental abscesses and tooth decay can lead to if they go untreated.”

I couldn’t even make a grimace without her worrying I was dying. Everything could lead to death.

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