10 Years Old
Tommy could lose himself for hours in the arcade, and often did. It was so dark, the air filling with the sounds of pip, pop and bling. The lights flashing mesmerized him. Hot, sweaty bodies and greasy hands mingled with stale and fresh cigarette smoke. Everything but the game would become hazy.
He had been so caught up in pumping quarters into Donkey Kong, he was surprised turning around to notice the window to outside mimicked inside. He had gotten pretty good at the game. He had only come with four dollars.
"Oh, shit," he whispered, moving quickly towards the doors.
"Jesus, Tommy," Freddy spoke up from behind the counter. "What are you still doing here? Your Momma is going to be worried sick. It's almost 10 o'clock."
Tommy ran his hands through his hair and bit on his lip.
"I am going," he replied, listening to the bell as he swung open the door.
Tommy ran quickly through the streets, passing the dimly lit-homes with curtains drawn, trying to stay merged in the shadows.
He was not scared of the dark. Plenty of times, he could remember when his house did not have lights. Plenty of times, he could remember climbing out his window and walking the streets for hours. Anything to escape. He had never been caught.
The lights burned brightly at his house tonight. He approached carefully although he did not have to. Judas Priest shook the windows and it made him happy.
Momma was probably not even aware of anything at this point. It would make sneaking in easier.
He scampered low to the ground, the smell of nighttime grass thick in his nose, along the edge of the house to the back door.
He reached up and turned the handle. The door did not open. He tried again. Locked.
He slammed his hand into the door. He had never tried to sneak back in through the front door before and the thought made him panic slightly.
He climbed the front porch steps slowly, trying to keep himself hidden from the big living room window. The green curtains were not pulled all the way across and the breeze in the air was making them billow.
The front door was locked, too.
He crouched low on the porch, bringing himself to the window.
He was sure he would find Momma passed out.
He heard low moaning sounds as he approached the window, barely audible under the sound of the loud music. Momma must be getting sick again, was his first thought. He cursed under his breath.
He was not prepared to see Momma with her pale legs stretched, resting on the coffee table as she laid back on the tan couch, a man between her legs. His hairy body pushed himself up and away from Momma, one meaty hand wrapped deep in her blonde hair. His nose was large and his body gleamed with sweat, making him look dirty. Momma's arms laid at her sides, her nipples erect, her eyes rolled back in her head. The room was littered with beer bottles, the ashtray over-filled. Smoke hung in the room like a heavy fog. The TV with no sound played the news. Sports.
Tommy reached and leaned over the side of the porch.
He vomited.
Tommy could lose himself for hours in the arcade, and often did. It was so dark, the air filling with the sounds of pip, pop and bling. The lights flashing mesmerized him. Hot, sweaty bodies and greasy hands mingled with stale and fresh cigarette smoke. Everything but the game would become hazy.
He had been so caught up in pumping quarters into Donkey Kong, he was surprised turning around to notice the window to outside mimicked inside. He had gotten pretty good at the game. He had only come with four dollars.
"Oh, shit," he whispered, moving quickly towards the doors.
"Jesus, Tommy," Freddy spoke up from behind the counter. "What are you still doing here? Your Momma is going to be worried sick. It's almost 10 o'clock."
Tommy ran his hands through his hair and bit on his lip.
"I am going," he replied, listening to the bell as he swung open the door.
Tommy ran quickly through the streets, passing the dimly lit-homes with curtains drawn, trying to stay merged in the shadows.
He was not scared of the dark. Plenty of times, he could remember when his house did not have lights. Plenty of times, he could remember climbing out his window and walking the streets for hours. Anything to escape. He had never been caught.
The lights burned brightly at his house tonight. He approached carefully although he did not have to. Judas Priest shook the windows and it made him happy.
Momma was probably not even aware of anything at this point. It would make sneaking in easier.
He scampered low to the ground, the smell of nighttime grass thick in his nose, along the edge of the house to the back door.
He reached up and turned the handle. The door did not open. He tried again. Locked.
He slammed his hand into the door. He had never tried to sneak back in through the front door before and the thought made him panic slightly.
He climbed the front porch steps slowly, trying to keep himself hidden from the big living room window. The green curtains were not pulled all the way across and the breeze in the air was making them billow.
The front door was locked, too.
He crouched low on the porch, bringing himself to the window.
He was sure he would find Momma passed out.
He heard low moaning sounds as he approached the window, barely audible under the sound of the loud music. Momma must be getting sick again, was his first thought. He cursed under his breath.
He was not prepared to see Momma with her pale legs stretched, resting on the coffee table as she laid back on the tan couch, a man between her legs. His hairy body pushed himself up and away from Momma, one meaty hand wrapped deep in her blonde hair. His nose was large and his body gleamed with sweat, making him look dirty. Momma's arms laid at her sides, her nipples erect, her eyes rolled back in her head. The room was littered with beer bottles, the ashtray over-filled. Smoke hung in the room like a heavy fog. The TV with no sound played the news. Sports.
Tommy reached and leaned over the side of the porch.
He vomited.
Comments
Jake-Why Jake, they come out of my head! Silly!
Inanna-I know you do. And I thank you for that.
Q