Page 31 of Our Moon
Mrs. Monroe looks to me and Trevor for the truth. “It’s got arcade games and stuff,” Trevor supplies.
“You can get pizza at Lombardi’s,” Ally tells Alex.
Alex rolls his eyes. “How about Joe’s?” Joe’s is a seafood restaurant and a pretty good one, too.
“I can agree to that,” Ally says, surprising Alex with her quick consent.
“Sweet, I want some fried shrimp!” Alex pumps his fist in the air.
“Ok, so we’ll go Saturday at six o’clock. Tell Joey,” Mrs. Monroe says. Then she turns to me, “You’re invited, too, Chase.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Monroe. I’ll be there.” I haven’t missed a Monroe birthday since I met Trevor in the fifth grade. I had just moved to Charlotte from a small town outside of Raleigh and he was my first friend, pretty much my only friend.
The twins were so much younger back then, first grade. At the time, you would never have guessed that more than ten years later we’d all hang out together and have anything in common. But Trevor always loved his little brother and sister, and as the twins grew up, Trevor kept them close. The four year age gap was irrelevant, and because they always hung out with Trevor, they were a lot more mature than other kids their age, even Alex.
We help Mrs. Monroe clean the kitchen and then I head home for the night. It’s a school night for Ally and Alex, so there would be no hanging out in the garage until late. Mr. and Mrs. Monroe are pretty easy going most nights of the week, but they’re firm that on Wednesdays and Sundays, the twins spend time studying or getting extra sleep.
I pull up in the parking lot of the small apartment my mom rents. I hate that I still live at home, especially at twenty-one, especially with her, but I’m saving my cash from the gigs we play to get a decent place. I don’t want to move from one shit apartment to another.
When I get inside, I can see by the low light under my mother’s bedroom door that she’s in there, probably passed out with the TV on. Good, better to not have to deal with her drunk ass. Sadly, I’m not sure that I’ve ever really loved my mother. Not the way the Monroe kids love their mom, not the wayIlove their mom. But my mom was never that kind of mom, ever, at least that I remember. Maybe she was different before my dad left us when I was three. But I doubt it.
I sleep on a futon in the living room of the one bedroom apartment. The living room is basically my bedroom, containing all my stuff. I go to my dresser, which doubles as a TV stand, grab a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and then head to the bathroom to change. When I return to my bed, aka futon, aka couch, I see a text notification from Ally.
Ally:Thanks for helping beat Alex tonight!
Me:no prob
Ally:You already home?
Me:yeah, just getting ready 4 bed.
Ally:Already?
Me:yeah, my mom is asleep so i figured i would take advantage of the quiet.
Ally:Ok, well I won’t keep you. Good night, Chase.
Me:nite Al.
Ally knows about how my mom is from what I’ve told her and from what I’m sure Trevor has mentioned. So she knows peace and quiet around my house don’t happen too often. I stretch and lay back on the futon, tugging the sheet over my body.
Like clockwork, the flashbacks begin almost immediately.
There’s a rhythmic banging coming from my mother’s bedroom. I’m lying on my futon bed in the living room, with my pillows and blanket tight held against my head.
When I got home from Trevor’s house, there was a party in full swing. I don’t know why I didn’t just accept Trevor’s offer to sleep over, but we’re twelve, almost teenagers, and teenage boys don’t have sleepovers.
My mom has her “friends” over. And by friends I mean men–strange men. It’s always the same. When I arrived, she moved the party to her bedroom, she has at least three of them in there now.
Now I hear her moaning and one of the men grunting. It’s disgusting.
I’m not so young that I don’t understand what’s going on in there. My mother is awhore. I’ve known this for a few years now. She exchanges her body for drugs and alcohol.
I’m twelve years old–a kid and yet not. She took that from me, forcing me to live in this den of sin with her. It caused me to grow up faster than I should have. One too many times having to nurse her wounds when one of her men got out of hand or cleaning up her vomit will do that to a kid.
I pull the pillow tighter against my head, trying to drown out the sounds. The batteries in my CD player are dead, so I can’t use my default escape–music. It’ll be a while before I’m able to save up enough lunch money and spare change to buy new batteries, so the pillow and blanket will have to do.
Eventually the noises stop and I loosen my grip on the pillow. Hopefully it won’t be long before the men are gone and I can rest easy. Having to be on alert sucks. At least it’s the weekend. It’s the worst when I have to stay alert on a school night. Sometimes they’re still at it when I have to leave for school and I get no sleep.
