Page 86 of The Golden Boys
Cool air sweeps over my legs when I make it outside and lean against the brick.
“Hello? Someone there?”
This time I hear something. And it sounds like crying. Right away, I’m on high alert, thinking the worst.
“Scar? Are you okay?”
My heart’s racing a mile a minute, especially with what Hunter shared this morning, but she should be fine. I texted an hour ago and she was safe at Uncle Dusty’s.
“It’s not Scar,” a familiar voice says. “It’s me.”
A rush of air leaves my lungs, and with it, my ability to process words.
“It’s Mom, Blue-Jay.”
Music from the gym is faint but serves as a soundtrack to this surreal moment. It’s been months—months—since she’s called. So, why now?
“How are you, sweetheart?” she asks, speaking through her sobs.
I envision the state she’s probably in right now—disheveled, pathetic.
“How do youthinkI am?” I snap, feeling my throat tighten with emotion. “Where the hell are you?”
Her voice shudders on the other end and I’m guessing my tone has upset her, but who the hell cares?‘Upset’has been my default setting for quite some time now.
“I’ve been around,” is the lame answer I’m given. “But, Blue-Jay, I can’t talk long. I need … a little favor.”
And there it is. This call has nothing to do with wanting to know how the childrenshebrought into this world are faring without her. She’s calling because she needs something.
“What?” I ask flatly, sounding every bit as frustrated and disgusted as I feel.
She holds back for a few seconds, but then gets to her point. “I could use some cash.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say mostly to myself. Her request has me pacing.
“I’m not asking for much,” she insists. “Just a couple hundred bucks. I swear I’ll get it back to you by next week.”
A laugh slips out. “I’m sorry, but do you have any idea what I could do with a couple hundred dollars right now? For starters, I can make sure I feedyourdaughter something other than bologna and ramen five days a week. Oh! And I could’ve paid to keep the electricity on myself last month. And I wouldn’t have to work so many hours that I’m failing at being the parentyouwere supposed to be to Scar. Do you need me to go on, Mom?”
There’s silence on the other end, like I knew there would be. She sniffles in the background and I’m panting like I’ve just run a mile.
“It’ll just be for a little while,” she repeats, as if she heard nothing I said.
Despite wanting nothing more than to have some small piece of my mother to cling to, I end the call.
My breath puffs in the chilled air, but I hardly notice I’m cold. At the moment, the only thing I feel is empty, void ofeverything.
Because I’ve made a habit of giving away everything I have to give, but no one ever thinks enough of me to repay the favor.
* * *
West
A set of stiff, fake tits bob in my face as Sandy … or Sara … whatever the hell her name is, rides me hard and fast. The headboard slams the wall like she’s trying to ram us into the other room and, while Ishouldbe enjoying this Stacey girl, I can’t get another out of my head.
Outside the window, screams from the pool distract me. As far as after parties go, it’s a lively one, but I’m not enjoying any of it.
Anyof it.