The Sun Sets At 9

Nine Years Old

The backyard was such a waste. Looking at it often made Tommy empty with thought. Nothing could be found for pretending with the uneven ground and the sad patches of grass and stone. The tree; short with pale bark. The fence line weeds.
Tommy wished just once that they could move to somewhere with a nice backyard, so he could have some fun.
...but somethings never change, Tommy thought and felt grown-up, as he sat on the old wooden porch. It was painted red; flaking and all of the little pieces seemed to be pricking and sticking into his skin. He would brush at the blonde hair on the back of his leg often.
The air tasted bitter, dirty.
A fat rain drop landed on his colouring book. And then another. Enough to see through to the traces on the next page.
He looked towards the kitchen window. The square patch of light. He could see the clock. It made Tommy noticed the lightbulb stuck, jutting out of the wall beside the backdoor for the first time; the soft yellow glow. Rain landing on his skin.
He could not go inside.
Because Momma had told him to wait outside.
And Tommy was too tired to know why, so he had waited outside.
But now the rain was making him itchy and he was digging, digging at his leg.
Tommy left his colouring book with blue marker running fat and slow across the pages and he went and opened the backdoor. The gold handle was loose. He was careful and then he was in the yellow kitchen, hand on the other side of the doorknob.
"Tommorow," a deep voice filtering from the living room. "You are fucking sitting here telling me tommorow?" Louder.
"Oh, come on, boys," Momma's voice. "We can work something out."
"Oh, yeah?" another man's voice asked. "Are we going to work something out like last time?"
Tommy walked back out the door when Momma giggled. He did not try to be quiet.
Tommy walked around the block.
Five times.

Tommy walked into the house. Front door into the living room.
He saw the brown glass on the floor and close to the wall, across the room.
He saw Momma, when he closed the door.
Yellow dress.
Blue bruising already.
Her underwear around her ankles and blood drying on her lips.
Tommy was tired of Momma making him feel sick.
He turned away from her and looked out the living room window. The stars against the dark sky were the same white as Momma's legs. He turned back around. He stepped over her.
And Tommy went to bed for the night.