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rachem

Drop Bounce Catch

He bounced the rock off his shoe into his hand, with the ease that comes from over practicing. He was getting better at it now, much better than when he started over an hour ago. But he had lost track of time after the first 20 minutes, and all that remained was his wild imagination's several stories filling up the moments. This was not the first time he had been left alone, waiting for his mom climb back down the rusted fire escape to get him, out through a door he saw often but had never been inside. But she promised him that he was safe in the alley. If anyone happened to come down the abandoned street, he was to hide behind the dumpster. He did not mind the dirt, the smell, or the threat of others - it made it seem like a comic book, a T.V. show - and he was the hero-in-training, spying on evil in the face of a threatening environment, ready to pounce at a later moment when he was stronger or more able.

Left alone for such a long time, with only an eight year old imagination and a two foot area to walk around, you'd think an ordinary child would go crazy. But this was an extraordinary child. With extraordinary patience, and extraordinary love of his mother. He could do anything.

Drop, bounce, catch. 10 times in a row.

He was competing now, against all the kids in his grade. All the kids from the group his mom took him. No one was as good as him at bouncing a rock off the sole of the shoe. This was His Thing. He was going to make a sport of it, and everyone would train and compete, but only he would win. And he would give all his winnings, his Nike contract, his sports illustrated cover, all to his mom. Then she wouldn't have to leave him in the alley like this. She wouldn't come back, makeup running, holding her arms out to give a big hug and a big promise that this would never happen again, with a big apology over how long it had taken. But this was longer than usual.

Drop, bounce, catch.

There was no reason to imagine bad things. You don't voluntarily imagine nightmares.

He could bounce the stone higher now. He wondered if he could bounce it over his had and catch it while holding his hand behind his back. He started to try.

Now his mom was happy and not living in the same apartment. They lived in the big house they used to live with grandma. But grandpa wasn't there; grandpa had left because he had scared him away. He would kick him harder than he kicked this stone.

Drop, bounce, catch. Right behind his back. Things were going to be just fine.

"Tommy?" cried a voice out the window, strained and crying. But he didn't hear it. It wasn't the voice of his mother. He couldn't be scared if he ignored it.

Now his mother was drawing again, like she used to before she used needles and drank all the liquor right from the bottle. She was using those things to keep away grandpa, she'd say, slurred and sad. Grandpa was in her head, and he wouldn't leave. He wanted to keep him away from her head, but his mother said he couldn't do that, he was stuck like a scar. He wished he could.

An ambulance siren was heard faintly in the background.

"Tommy, please. I know you're out there. Your mom's real sick. She's real sick baby. Please Tommy, ya gotta come here."

Drop, bounce, catch.

His mother was healthy. His mother was fine. She was going to go out and fly the dragon kite in the park like they did the day they left grandma's. They were going to go tomorrow. Then they were going to toss the baseball back and forth and feed the ducks by the lake. He would hold her hand when the sun went down and she started to get upset, and he would protect her from everything she cried over. He would make it all go away.

"TOMMY PLEASE!" cried the girl. "I can't find you...you're too good at hiding...She taught you so well, she tried so hard to keep you safe....Tommy? please!"

Drop bounce...drop.

As the pebble scattered onto the pavement, the stringy, scantly clad girl with makeup running from her tear stained cheeks found the small boy behind the dumpster. Her frail shaking body picked him up like he weighed nothing, and sobbed into his strong, stiff shoulder. Tommy searched his imagination for a new way to escape this unfortunate situation.

InKY · 09-13-06

I think you described the boy's thoughts very naturalistically. I might tweak the last line just a little to make it more like Tommy would have thought it: you've been in Tommy's head the whole time, and then at the last line you step back and describe Tommy as unfortunate. Even changing "this" to "his", to show that it's Tommy realizing his situation is unfortunate would add a little more punch in my opinion.

rachem · 09-14-06

yeah, no one seems to like the last line. for some reason, I love it. someone said it sounded too cold and detached, but that was kind of what i was going for - that he's detaching himself from the situation and refusing to allow himself to realize the magnitude of what is going on. I think your suggestion is a good one.