Page 20 of Back in the Saddle

Mam stoodat the front door with a suitcase beside her. A man stood behind her, holding open the door. I didn’t know who he was. She bent down. Her face was so close to me it was all I could see. Her lips, covered in dark pink lipstick, stretched into a smile.

“I’m going to go away for a little while with Jim. There is plenty of food in the cupboard for you.”

I ducked to the side to look at the big man in the doorway, who must have been Jim, and then back at my mother. “I want to come with you.”

“You can’t. It’s for adults. You need to go to school like a good boy.”

I glanced at the man again. He stared right back.

“I can come with you. I’ll be good, I promise.”

Mam shook her head, her smile disappearing. “No Ciaron, I need a rest.”

“Mary,” Jim said. His voice was loud and echoed around the entryway.

I shuffled to the side so he couldn’t see me and reached out my hand to Mam. Maybe if I could pull her back inside, she would change her mind and stay home with me.

Mam stood up, ignoring my hand. She patted my head. “We’ll be home in a few days.”

Jim stepped forward and took her suitcase. They turned and went to his car parked a few feet away. Mam never looked back. As they drove away, I ran onto the street and watched as the car disappeared. Then I turned around and walked back inside.

I made myself a sandwich for dinner and watched a movie on TV. Loud voices came from the street. Men were fighting. They were so close it sounded like they were at the front door. My heart raced faster than I could run, and I could run fast. I tiptoed to the door—every metre seemed like a mile—and madesure it was locked. Then I ran back to my chair and turned the volume up.

I fell asleep while the TV drowned out the night noises.

The next morning, I took myself to school. I came home and did my homework. I started sleeping in my own bed on the second night. But every night before I went upstairs, I would check all the windows were closed and the doors were locked. I left the curtains open in my room so that the streetlights would chase the darkness away.

I ate whatever I could, that didn’t require a can opener. I couldn’t squeeze it tight enough with my small hands to puncture the can. On day five, I’d run out of food. I took a can of soup to my neighbour and asked them if they could open it for me.

“Where’s your mam?” the lady next door asked.

I shrugged.

“Working late, I suppose,” she said.

I nodded.

Lying was bad, but not saying words wasn’t really lying, was it?

She opened the can for me, and I went back inside and heated the soup in the microwave. I fed myself, washed my clothes, did my homework, cleaned as best as I could for two whole weeks. My best friend at school shared his lunch with me. He told me we couldn’t tell anyone because I might be taken away from my mam.

When I got home from school one day, Mamo was in the kitchen sitting at the table. She was looking at me; her gaze going from head to toe and back. Was I in trouble? I didn’t want to be in trouble. I didn’t want to go to some scary boys' home in the country where they didn’t feed you and hit you all the time.

I dropped my bag, and it thumped on the floor. I got ready to run.

Mamo smiled and held her arms out to me. Tears welled in my eyes. I ran into her arms and she smoothed my hair down.

“Where’s Mam?” she asked.

I shrugged and nestled into her softness.

“How long has she been gone?”

I shrugged.

“One day?”

I shook my head.

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