Felix called at 10:45 at night, a tad bit late.
“Hello?”
“Hey Thomas. Sorry about the stuff that went down in my house- hey, what's that banging and shouting I'm hearing?”
“Nothing, it's just my aunt slamming her fist at my door. I locked it. I'm sure it will pass.”
“Wow... you two get into an argument?”
“Kind of. I know I should feel guilty, but I don't. I told her all the money in this house is from me, and when I leave they'll have nothing left.”
“That's true though. Don't worry about that.”
“...I don't love my mother.” Thomas said out of the blue, and felt his heart marching in his chest. “Is that bad?”
Felix was silent for a moment.
“I love my mother dearly, but I say mean things to her sometimes because I've given up on saying nice things. She doesn't listen to nice things. She likes it when men trash talk at her. It's disgusting.”
“My aunt calls me scum on a regular basis, and my mother cries when she sees my face on the rare instances that she comes out of her room. I want to feel guilty, but I don't.”
“Then don't think about it. It's not worth it.”
“Maybe... maybe she'll start talking again after I turn eighteen and leave them, when the money's all gone. Who knows.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. Now I'm just being whiny. Let's not talk about this anymore. Want to hang out tomorrow?”
“Sunday afternoon?”
“Yeah. I was thinking earlier though, in the morning, by the bus station. I have this weird hobby where I look at all the commuters and imagine what kind of life they have.”
“I thought you didn't have hobbies, you told me. That's kind of interesting though. If I were anyone else I would have told you that you were weird, but that's actually really cool. Kind of like what I do with reading people's blogs, but in real life.”
“Yeah, I know it's weird. This isn't really a hobby. It's just something I like to do.”
“Do you write about the people too? In a notebook. The stories you make about them.”
“Not really.”
“You should try it, you might come up with really cool stuff.”
“I might.”
“Your aunt's still slamming at the door... are you sure you're alright there?”
“Yeah. Don't worry about it.”
“Alright. I gotta hang up, Thomas. I'll see you tomorrow. How's 9:30 sound?”
“Sounds good. See ya.”
“Bye.”
Thomas put down his cell phone.
“THOMAS OPEN YOUR DOOR RIGHT NOW! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME? THOMAS OPEN YOUR FUCKING DOOR! I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU A PIECE OF MY FUCKING MIND YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT.”
He did nothing as she shouted obscenities at him. And then:
“STOP IT. YOU'LL DISTURB MOM AUNT ROSE!”
She shut up then. He could hear her crying and sobbing, but no longer cared about what he had done, climbing into his bed to go to sleep.
I hate her. I hate my mom. I hate this.
He looked at the ceiling, a dull off white, and counted his blessings. He had a roof over his head. He had very good grades. He also had a friend now, one that didn't use the fact that he looked like a college student to help buy them cigarettes and booze. He had only two years left of living with his mother and his aunt, and colleges were already offering him scholarships.
Thomas closed his eyes. He dreamed of Pelago and the alien boy, as though watching a movie with the sound muted. They were both standing knee deep in a small pond while holding hands, the sky raining tears.
“Let's drown here,” she said.
“I am afraid of death,” he said.
They sang lovely words- it sounded like words, but he could not understand them.
When he woke up, it was five in the morning. It was probably better to leave early, he thought, showering and getting dressed. After eating cereal, he left the house, with a pen, and a little black notebook a friend bought him for Christmas but never bothered to use. Why not, maybe writing down the people stories like Felix had suggested would be fun.
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