Tag: fiction

The light filtering through the window shutters woke me this morning. Mother must have gotten drunk last night. That is the only time I get to be woken by the Sun. I like to take advantage of these mornings, catching up on sleep before my work begins. Today is Thursday, so I get to scrub the grout between the kitchen tiles before cutting the grass. It isn’t my most favorite day, but it could be Friday. I can hear the keys coming up the stairs now, dancing on the bracelet around mother’s wrist. 

“Wake up, Eli! Time to get to work!” The door unlocks, and Mother barges in to find me dressed waiting for her. She seems calmer today than normal — maybe Father was away for work again last night. They don’t like each other much, so her mood changes when he is here.  Maybe today she will let me eat before I cut the grass. 

“I’m ready for the day mother. How did you sleep?” 

Her messy hair, still tangled from last night’s sleep, partly covered her face as she looked at me. I can smell the alcohol on her breath. 

“Shut up, get to work.” 

“Yes, Mother. Starting with the kitchen today?” I know the answer, I just like to let her tell me what needs to be done. 

“It’s Thursday, isn’t it? Go!” She gives me a playful shove toward the stairs. It reminds me of the time she accidently pushed me too hard, and I fell down the stairs. My arm is still tender from that day. Father had a meeting and couldn’t take me to the hospital but said I would be fine. He was right. 

Around lunch time, I finished up cleaning the kitchen. Mother slept on the couch, and she gets upset when I bother her during her naps. She really likes to wake up to the smell of candles, so I lit one before I went to cut the grass. 

“Hey, Eli! How are you today?” Our neighbor, Mrs. Eberhart, is a sweet-natured old lady who always asks me how I am doing. It seems like she really cares, so I like to indulge her and tell her exactly how I am. 

“I am great, Mrs. Eberhart, almost done with all my work! How is your day?” 

“It is dandy. How are your parents?” 

“Great, thanks for asking! Have a good day!” I cannot converse for too long. I don’t want Mother to wake and catch me slacking off. 

Halfway through cutting the grass, Father pulled into the driveway. 

“Eli, how many times have I told you to cut in a straight fucking line. Is that too hard to comprehend?” He has told me a couple of times.

“Sorry, Father. It won’t happen again.” 

“It better not. Where is your mom?” She often greets him in the driveway, filling him in on what he has missed while away. She hates when it is just her and I in the house. 

“Sleeping. She had a late night.”

“Finish the yard up. Your dinner is in the fridge when you are finished. Go to your room and eat there.” I always eat there, but I like to let him remind me. 

“Yes, Father. I will let you know when I am finished.” 

“Don’t. Just eat and go to bed.” He is exhausted from his work trip, I can see it in his furrow lines from bouts of concentration. I will make sure not to disturb him. The new lock automatically latches when I close my door, so they no longer need to be disturbed to lock it at night. 

Halfway through cutting grass, I see smoke coming from the living room window. I rushed to the door, but before I could open it a loud bang shook the house shattering the windows. Smoke billowed out, and I rushed to Mrs. Eberhart’s house to get help. Beating on her door, she came rushing out. 

“What is wrong, Eli?” I did not have time to respond before she gasped and quickly turned away from me reaching for her corded telephone. 

“Hello, 9-1-1, we need the fire department at 54 Rough Street. Hurry, the house beside me is on fire.” She seemed very worried, which made me anxious. The fire department showed up minutes later, rushing into the house. 

A little time passed before the police showed up and gave me the news. 

“Hi, Eli? My name is Detective Barnes. Was there anyone in the house besides your parents?” 

“No, sir. Are my books okay?” My anxiety began to rush in. He looked sadden, but also a bit frustrated. 

“Eli, your parents passed away. They were in the living room where the fire started. Did your parents take sleeping pills?” His saddened look was quickly overtaken with concern for me. 

“Mother had some pills she said helped her dream better. So, my parents are dead?” 

“I am afraid so. Who slept in the attic?” It seemed like an odd question to me, as there is only one bedroom besides my parent’s bedroom. Obviously, it is mine. 

“It is mine, sir. Why? Did my books burn?” He looked at me, puzzled. I am not sure why it is a weird question. I love my books. Those are my payments for all the work I do for Mother and Father. 

“They are fine, Eli. Why is there a lock on the outside of your door?” It was another odd question. It is obvious, Mother and Father wanted to protect me. I have always had a lock on my door. 

“Mother and Father wanted to protect me. They said I would hurt myself if I were allowed to roam around the house freely. How did the fire start?” Without giving me an answer, he waved his hand signaling me to walk with him to his car. I can’t help but think about the candle I lit. Did I do this? 

“Eli, did your parents abuse you? Where they keeping you locked in the house?” Why would he ask me this?

“No, sir?” He must have noticed me rubbing the tender spot on my arm, which was a habit Mother told me to stop doing or it wouldn’t heal up.

“Can I see your arm? How did you hurt that?” 

“Mother accidentally bumped into me, and I fell down the stairs. It was not on purpose.” He looked at me with discontent. 

“Mrs. Eberhart told us you rarely leave the house. Why is that?” 

“That is an odd question. I live here and take care of the house. I am supposed to be here. This is my calling.” Officer Barnes ripped off his glasses, staring at me with a bewilderment behind his eyes. 

“So, you are telling me you are happy here?” I never said happy, but I can see why he would think that. Happiness doesn’t matter, work does. 

“I guess so. I never really think about that. I have work to do. Monday is for dusting the shelves and window seals and cleaning the living room. Tuesday is for washing the cars, and sometimes pressure washing the house. Wednesday is for cleaning out the oven, even though Mother doesn’t cook much, and cleaning the other appliances in the kitchen. Today I scrub the grouts in the kitchen and bathrooms and cut the grass. On Friday I do the laundry and clean out any of the cobwebs under the house. I spend the weekend in my room cleaning my space and reading my books. What does happiness matter?” 

“Son, how old are you?” I get this question — I don’t look my age. 

“24 years old, yesterday was my birthday. When can I go back to my room?” I need to get inside and make sure my books are okay. 

“Well, you are old enough to stay there tonight if you wish. We will be back tomorrow. Will you be here for us to talk to you about what happens next?” 

“Of course, this is my home.” Where else would I go?

“Okay, son. I will see you tomorrow.” 

The firemen were finishing up, and the ambulances had just left. I was finally allowed back in the house. There is a lot of work I had ahead of me to fix the issues left by the fire. The fire was in the living room mostly, so I can fix that up on Monday. I guess I will have less laundry to do tomorrow, so Fridays won’t be so bad now. 

As I make my way up the stairs, I remember no one will be here to unlock my door in the mornings now. Luckily, I have some tools in my room to fix that. I remove the lock and place it on the inside of my bedroom door. Now, I can unlock my own door. That is freedom.