Page 25 of Babalon

I hate this place.

The next morning, I opt to keep my head down and find something to clean in the house. It was dirty enough I could always find some sort of filth that needed to be scrubbed out. Just as I had predicted, dad threw the girl out on her ass this morning, which I couldn’t help but grin over. Serves her right, stupid cunt… looking down her nose at me last night, as if I am beneath her.

Nice try, enjoy your walk of shame.

On my hands and knees in the kitchen, I use a Brillo pad to scrub the grime from the linoleum floor. Hoping to get most of the dirt up, enough where dear-o-dad won’t have something new to complain about. I scrub the floors, and he’d bitch about the dust on the fans. I clean the fan blades, and he’d comment on the filthy windows. Wash the windows, and the bathroom would be dirty. Focus on deep cleaning the bathroom, and all of a sudden, the yard was torn up. A never-ending cycle of chores and labor.

What’d the little mice in that cartoon say?

‘Cinderelly, Cinderelly, night and day it’s Cinderelly.’

With a smirk, I whistled the tune.

After a few days, I feel as if I have cleaned the house from top to bottom and was restarting the cycle. The garage needs to be tidied up today, which is where my dad has his model train collection—though he hasn’t touched it in years. The plan is to dust, and ensure things were straight and exactly where he likes them placed, in the event he does decide to randomly dabble with the junk.

Plugging my ear buds in, I grab a Swiffer and get to work. My music playing through the headphones loud enough to block out the rest of the world. That was until life came screaming through in the form of a text message. Making my way over to my phone, I pick it up and scroll through the notifications. My heart sinking as the words lit up the screen.

Kaleb: Hey Nadia, this is Kaleb’s mother, I want you to be the first one to know. Last night, Kaleb was in a car accident and unfortunately lost his life. I know you two were close, we would love to have you at the funeral in a couple days.

I may have lived a shitty life thus far, but nothing had prepared me for the heartbreak I feel reading these words.

My God, Kaleb… he’s gone.

Following a much-needed shower, I pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt; hopefully they match. I don’t have the wardrobe it takes to get a good job, but I am going to try either way—whatever keeps my dad off my back and helps me find a way out of here.

Sliding into a pair of clean white sneakers, I tuck the front of my gray shirt behind the fly of my jeans, finishing off my look by tying back my long dark hair and shrugging on a dark blue blazer. I look as put together as I can be. My face is still puffy from all the crying yesterday, but at least the redness had gone away. The funeral was rough, to say the least. Seeing someone you went to school with, someone you had come to care about tremendously, laying cold in a box, isn’t something I expected to experience this early in life, but here we were.

Fucking Kaleb.

What in the hell was he thinking? The roads around here are never clear enough for him to do the crazy shit he liked to do. He didn’t drive a god damn rally car, for fuck’s sake.

My chest ached at the thought of him being in a furnace today. His body reduced to ash and bone fragments, only to be placed in a baggy and then a plastic box. His life is over. He is but memories, memories that are so painful to recount. The warmth of his eyes now gone, the timber of his voice, along with the humor and liveliness he brought to our outings. The way he challenged me and made me feel content with the little lives we had—all gone. Leaving a chunk of my young heart utterly empty.

A knot formed in my throat the longer I think about him, I can’t dwell too hard or I will end up crying more. So, it’s time to go, time to get out of this room and move on. Dad made it abundantly clear that my ‘free ride’ here is over and it is time for me to ‘get off my ass’ and contribute to the household. He hasn’t made anything easy lately; on my back daily about doing what needs to be done. For the most part I ignore him, but when I received the text about Kaleb about a week ago, I lost what little starch I had left.

I’d do anything if it means that dad leaves me alone and doesn’t make me feel worse than I already do. Now I need to focus and find something to occupy my time instead of feeling sorry for myself, instead of hurting.

As quietly as I can, slip out of my room and head to the door. I’m not going to take the truck today, not after the bonfire incident, I rather walk into town if dad was going to freak out on me anytime I take the truck. After about thirty minutes, I saunter into Rigg’s Diner on the edge of town. It is the only place that I know of who would hire on the spot and hire young. The younger you are, the better, meaning you came with no skills and would settle for minimum wage.

Yeah, the owner has a few more issues regarding inappropriate conduct between customers and the staff, but he will ensure the cops remain silent with ongoing free meals. Oneday that won’t fly anymore, and I hope it happens sooner rather than later.

The bell hanging just above the door jingles as I step inside where the scent of pancakes and bacon assaulted my nose; no complaints, honestly. I can’t remember the last time I actually ate breakfast, let alone breakfast food. Sometimes I will eat a frozen TV dinner for breakfast or a slice of cheese on a toasted piece of bread.

Despite a sticky film on the floor, I walk over to the cash register where a middle-aged woman stands, going over what appeared to be a ticket, likely for one of the tables along the glass walls now behind me. I remain there for what felt like too long until I’m forced to clear my throat. She finally snapped her head up, looking in my direction, giving me her attention.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

Now ignoring the yellow paper of her ticket book, she scowls at me. Her gray streaked hair pulled back into a bun, a few crow’s feet wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, smile lines circling her mouth from either sucking on straws or smoking because it was obvious this woman did not smile.

“What do you want?”

“Uhm, I was wanting to know if you were hiring by chance?”

She looks me over from head to toe, with what appears an awful like judgment; rubbing me the wrong way. Her glare stops on my white shoes that won’t survive the day if I end up taking a job here.

“You have any skills?” she asked, her upper lip curling into a look of disapproval.

“No, I just graduated. Other than knowing how to hold my own, I learn quickly.”

---