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oh my god, i'm reposting this story! there are very few of you (who leave regular reviews for me) who i think may have read the first, so you don't quite understand the momentous occasion this is. (laughs) this fic was originally posted in '05, and was removed in '05 on the promise that i was rewriting it to repost.
i sort of put it off, and put it off, and put it off. for two fucking years. until someone pm'd me and kicked me in the ass, saying that they were still waiting for it. called me to the carpet, so to speak. so, this project is what i have been obsessed with for the past week or so. so far, i have taken an amount of nineteen 10-font original pages and turned it into twenty-one 9-font hellishly bloody slave pages. (weepage)
anyways. this chapter is long (seven pages in word), and i apologize, they won't all be this way. chapters are scenes that have written themselves, and this day is the scene for our drew-boy. (mya, i so laughed just then)
this chapter has not been beta'd, but the others should be in the future.
wednesday, april 18, 2007 3:10pm.
“He’s what?!”
I ignored her usual method of theatrics, pleased that Gram motioned me over for a kiss to her cheek, the customary greeting between most in our family.
“He’s coming home for a visit, that’s what.” Gram continued the conversation even as she playfully swatted at the seat of my jeans when I tried to snag a hold of one of her oatmeal cookies sitting on a plate in the middle of the table; despite the swat, she allowed me to stuff half a cookie into my mouth, my cheek bulged on one side.
“Who’s coming?”
Frowning at my spray of crumbs and apologetic shrug, Mary nonetheless gushed, “Andrew! He’s coming back! Can you imagine?”
Licking a crumb from the corner of my mouth, I muttered, “Oh.”
Andrew. I’ve been hearing about my Uncle Drew for years, ever since he left when I was still just a kid; I’m named after him, even though he’d only been twelve the year I was born. Even back then, Drew had been the family favorite, and it wasn’t even that he was the baby until I was born. I don’t really remember him, just the stories that were told since time immemorial; I was only five when he left home at the age of seventeen. Nobody knows why, as he didn’t say anything to anyone but Gram the very morning he left.
I remember that she cried for days, both of us crying together as she held me close to her warm strength, bundled up in her favorite armchair that always smells just like her signature rose perfume. I turned twelve before we heard from my uncle once more; he’d been in Chicago at the time, having just graduated college and apparently having job offers all across the country. I guess he was due to check back in any time now, being that I just turned seventeen two months ago; he’s twenty-nine in April.
Having demolished another oatmeal-raisin cookie, I brushed crumbs from my shirt with an absent hand; “I came over to fix that leak you’ve been griping about, Gram.”
Her lips quirked as she favored me with a reprimanding glare, but she permitted the smile to surface as I held out a hand for her to use as leverage in standing from the chair. I allowed her to lead me into her bedroom—nobody enters her room without explicit permission, all the kids and grandkids know this—where her bathroom was located; peeking inside the tiny space, I noted that she’d already placed ‘my toolbox’ upon the toilet, the cupboard beneath the sink cleared out for the metal bowl set beneath the pipe to catch the drip.
“I’ll need to turn off the water-”
“I’ll do that, boy. You just get your tools ready for your work, you hear?”
Her tone was stern, but I flashed a teasing smile her way; “Oh, yes ma’am, I hear you just fine.”
My remark earned me a stinging slap to the back, but she laughed as she left the bathroom, heading to the backyard where the water switch is located. Giving her time to get out there and disconnect the water, I opened the tool box that everyone has come to associate as being mine; it used to belong to Granddad before he died a couple of years before I was born, but now that I’m the one who uses it most often, the rest of the family knows enough not to mess with the things inside without putting it back just the way I have it.
Not only do I perform handiwork jobs for Gram, but I do it for most everyone else in our large family, having always had a knack at looking at something mechanical and taking it apart in my mind to see what was wrong with it. I fix cars, toilets, dishwashers, light switches, ceiling fans; you name it, and I can probably muddle my way through it. Dad doesn’t like me doing anything at home though, because of the one time I accidentally set the toaster on fire while tinkering with it; I’d been ten at the time, but Dad knows how to hold a grudge.
Well, Dad’s just ornery, is more like it.
“Water’s off!” Mary’s voice floated down the hallway, and I called out thanks before moving that bowl of water out of the way so that I could crawl underneath the sink to diagnose the problem. I’d watched the drip before the water was shut off, and after fiddling around with some of the connections, I ascertained that a few things had gotten loose through time; it was easy to tighten them back up. Pouring a bit of the water from the bowl down the drain, I watched for any more leaks, and was satisfied that everything looked to be in tip-top shape.
Pushing up from the floor, I returned to the kitchen, where Gram asked, “Done already?”
I nodded, and she went back to turn the water on again; I returned to the bathroom, waiting for the water to flow from the open faucet. Once the steady stream came back, I again watched for any leakage in the pipe, but everything seemed fine. I turned off the water and dumped the excess from the bowl down the drain, gathering up my tools and putting them back into the toolbox before carrying it all back to the kitchen.
“No sweat.” Gram rolled her eyes at my self-satisfied proclamation, but her smile was all the thanks I ever need.
“Was there anything else you needed me to look at while I’m here?”
She paused in thought before musing, “Well, the car is starting to make a clunky noise when I try to shift gears.”
I raised an eyebrow, dryly asking, “Clunky?”
“Oh hush up! Stop teasing this old woman!”
I laughed, saying, “Sixty isn’t old, Gram.”
She looked affronted, shaking her finger at me; “I’m only fifty-six, I’ll have you know! And seventeen is not quite old enough to treat your grandmother this way.”
I again laughed, putting my hands up in surrender; “Fine, fine, just let me look at the Cadillac before I put my foot any further up my mouth, no?”
She waved me off, and I took myself and my toolbox out to the garage, where her Cadillac sat upon the cold cement. I opened the driver-side door and slid in, dropping down the keys from where she keeps them in the visor; the car sounded all right when I first turned it on, but after a moment I noticed a difference, my ear turned towards the dashboard as I experimented shifting a gear. Mouth pulling down at the immediate knocking and grinding, I quickly killed the engine, frowning deep in thought.
When things sound that bad, it is never anything simple.
Popping the hood didn’t provide any clues, so I had to drop to the gritty cement floor and worm my way beneath the car, my trained eyes looking for anything abnormal. After perhaps twenty-five minutes worth of minute tinkering around in the underbelly of the car, I came to the conclusion on the three parts I’ll need to replace; two of them are fairly common and cheap, but the third…ouch.
I slithered back out, absently brushing away the dust and grit that had found its merry way all over my clothes and hair; returning to the kitchen, I found both women just as they had been when I first arrived, deep in discussion about my uncle. Gram allowed me to wash my hands before looking at me expectantly, her expression becoming worried when I winced.
“Oh dear, it’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Well, it’s not great, Gram. I’ll need to replace three separate parts, two of which are a breeze and nothing major. But the other…it’s going to take me some time to get a hold of one, and they’re not exactly cheap, if you know what I mean. I’m afraid that this job isn‘t going to be free like all the others.”
Spluttering, Aunt Mary demanded, “Andrew Michael Keller, how dare you even think of charging your grandmother a single red penny?!”
But Gram acted as if she hadn’t heard her, only narrowing her eyes as she asked, “How much, Drew?”
Taking a few moments to show myself counting out on my fingers, I finally managed to state with a straight face, “Two apple pies and a blackberry cobbler. With ice cream, four scoops piled this high; vanilla, of course.”
Her eyes twinkled as she asked, “You want that to go, dear?”
“Oh no, I can take a rain check, madam. But don’t forget…four scoops. Four.” I held up fingers to illustrate, and she let loose of her laughter, that earthy chuckle that has never failed to make warmth spread down into my belly. Gram and I, we understand each other.
“All right, you gluttonous boy, you’ll get your ‘two pies’ and ‘four scoops.’ You best be getting on home now, your mother will be cooking supper right about now, wouldn’t she?”
Actually, Mum doesn’t start dinner until about an hour from now, but I figure that it’s never good to argue when you’re already ahead. Thus, I excused myself from their company and left the house, driving the station wagon home.
I whistled tunelessly to myself as I flicked the car keys into the air as I walked to the front door, but the tune died upon my lips as I heard raised voices before even reaching the front porch; sighing, I bit the bullet and let myself inside, where the yelling hit me like a razorblade to my eyeball.
“It’s not fair; all you care about is yourself, not me!!”
Mom’s fingers went to her temple at this continuation of the same argument that’s been going on for days now; my oldest sister is bound and determined to find some way to gain her own bedroom, even though there’s none to be had. I sleep in the attic, my three sisters share a bedroom, and then there’s Mom’s office and our computer room combined. Mom needs the space to do her work as a private accountant, and I can understand Susan’s frustration and drive for privacy, but there’s just none to be had. That didn’t make it any easier on my ears when my sister burst into loud sobs and thundered up the carpeted stairs, the two of us left behind waiting for the customary slam of the door to signal the end of this round.
Ah, there’s the door.
Susan: zero; Mom: headache.
I remembered to keep my voice low as I greeted her with a ‘hullo’ and warm kiss to the cheek, my hand coming up to gently squeeze her upper shoulder for support, pleased that she managed a tired smile.
“You finish whatever your grandmother needed?”
I nodded; “Yeah, except that there’s something wrong with the Cadillac that I’m going to have to fix, it sounds absolutely horrible.”
“Ah. Oh, by the way, one of your friends called for you while you were out.”
I brightened; “Which one?”
She frowned slightly before her face cleared, “Steve, I think it was.”
Beaming, I was cheerful as I thanked her, heading towards the kitchen to call him back; I saw my youngest sister sitting at the table, working on what appeared to be math homework when I peered over her shoulder.
“Hey, Mel, you need any help with that? Fractions were a bugger for me when I was in the fourth grade.”
She shook her head, allowing me to run fingers through her hair for a few moments while I watched her work through a problem; she appeared to have a decent enough grasp of the concepts, so I let her to it as I walked over to where the phone was mounted to the wall.
Easily entering in the memorized number, I held the phone to my ear as my fingers drummed against the counter; a click announced that someone had picked up, a male voice saying, “Hello?”
“Ah, Frank, is your brother around?”
“Naw, Drew, he left some time ago, said something about meeting with friends. Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask one of you if you’ve been having a beef lately.”
“Huh? Not that I know of, I haven’t really seen him the past few days. Why, did he say something?”
He picked up on the minute thread of worry in my voice, quick to placate me; “Oh, no, nothing like that. He’s just been acting a bit off lately, so I thought maybe you two were having it out again, or something. Meh, maybe I’m just imagin’ things, ya know?”
“Maybe,” my voice was dubious, but I stated, “I guess just tell him I called, then.”
“Will do, man, will do. Chow mien, if ya know what I mean.”
Sad things is, I do know; Steve’s brother has all sorts of ‘Frankisms’, and I sadly know every one of them. The dude is nineteen and still living at home, one of those seemingly half-baked fellows who are content to work minimum wage for the rest of their lives; at least he likes working at the Taco Hut, and that’s the most one can hope for, right? Right.
After a click announced that he’d hung up the phone, I did the same, standing there with my cheek pulled between my teeth. Sounds of shouting roused me from my thoughts, and I sighed and walked towards the stairs, taking them two at a time before stepping into the first room on the right; I got there just in time to haul my eleven-year old sister off of Susan.
“You lemme go! I’m gonna kill her!” Nikkie was raging, her face red as she yanked at the hold I held around her mid-section; for a young girl, she pulled hard enough that I feared harming her by yanking backwards.
“You stupid, piggy tomboy!” Susan pulled up from the cringe she’d fallen into when Nikkei had attacked her; wiping her eyes, she glared fire at the both of us.
Even though Nikkei realized that I wasn’t letting her go anywhere, she snarled, “Girly puff baby! Waaa, waa, waa!”
Giving another yank on the girl still held in my arms, I snapped, “Hey, cool it you two! You don’t want Mum to come up here, do you? Don’t you think she’s had enough shit to deal with today?”
This managed to lighten their tempers some, but Nikkei was still sullen as she growled, “She called me a no-good, trashy freak.”
My eyes narrowed slightly at my oldest sister, who flushed and looked away, a frown marring her face.
“C’mon, let’s come talk about it in my room.”
Nikkei let me take her hand into my own, glaring at Susan as we exited their bedroom and headed for the stairs at the end of the hall; I flicked the switch just inside the stairwell, lighting our way up into the stuffy attic room I’ve had since we had to convert my old bedroom into the computer room, when Mel was still about two or three years old.
Sitting down on my unmade bed, Nikkei immediately asked to be folded into my arms, her face buried against my shoulder blade, and her hands folded inbetween her body and my chest.
I ran a hand up and down her spine, kissing her hair before asking, “What happened, huh?”
She sniffled a bit, moving her mouth so that she could state, “I wasn’t doin’ nothing’, but she ran up and started crying on her bed. I just wanted to make it better, but when I touched her, she called me a freak,” I felt her face screw up with renewed tears, “Just ‘cause I don’t wear those stupid girly-things with all the glitter like her, that doesn’t make me a freak!”
I tightened my hold, my voice soft as I soothed, “Of course it doesn’t; she didn’t really mean it like that, you know she didn’t. Susan’s just having a hard time right now, trying to be grown up and not having any space she feels like is her own. It’s like how you have to keep your roller blades in the garage instead of in your room, right?”
She nodded, but mumbled, “S’not fair.”
“I know, it’s not fair for anyone, but we have to try hard to make things better, ok? And if she gets ugly again, just leave her alone or come talk to me, all right?”
Again nodding, she moved her arms so that they enveloped me into a hug, squeezing me tight as she hummed; “I love you, Drew.”
“Love you too, squirt.” She grinned in response, but finally pulled away, hands coming up to wipe at her face.
“There, how’s that?”
She nodded at my question, before saying, “I’ll go see if Mum wants help with dinner.”
“Good idea.”
Her tears already nearly forgotten, she bounced down the stairs, and I sighed before heading down to talk to the other sister.
Susan was still sulking, sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed; her head shot up when I lightly knocked on the open door to announce my entrance, her face hardening as I went over and sat on the bunk bed opposite of her.
“You can go ahead and call me a bitch, but I don’t care!”
Her voice was angry and defensive, and I kept my face neutral as I replied, “When have I ever called you a bitch?”
She ducked her face out of view, her dark hair falling over her shoulders as she ran her hand over an eye; “Just about never. Not even when I’ve deserved it.”
“Bullshit. You’re not a bitch, Sus, just frustrated,” I paused for a moment, and then continued, “She was just trying to make you feel better, you know.”
“Well, she can just keep her nose out of it!” Her tone was hard, but when she flicked her eyes up at me, I could see her guilt; she wavered beneath my steady gaze, again turning her face away with a blush.
Knowing that I’d done enough, I stood and went as to walk out the door, pausing when I heard her quiet voice, “I’m sorry.”
I turned my head over my shoulder, just as quiet, “I know.”
Finally deciding that my work as mediator was finished, I climbed back up to my room and lay on my bed, pulling my walkman from beneath the pillow and checking to see that it still contained Def Leppard’s Hysteria album. Putting headphones over my ears, I turned on the power and drowned out the world with my music.
Andrew’s coming back, the one man who could do nothing wrong; the perfect one.
I grew up having to listen to all the stories about how great he was, how wonderful and brilliant and kind.
A star athlete, he graduated top in his class a whole year early; he had scholarships lined up for any college he wanted, all he would have had to do was point a finger in any city and he would be set to go. But me…the way my grades are right now—average people don’t get scholarships, and I don’t bother with sports anymore, not since Dad declared that I had to play “football or nothing.” Andrew was a football star; I just like soccer, I live and breathe soccer when it’s in season.
Closing my eyes with a sigh, I rolled onto my side and attempted to recall any memories I might have of my uncle—but I only encountered a sense of deep sadness. I can remember being sad for so long when he left, but I can’t remember him at all…. A light push against my shoulder caused my eyes to open, staring up and seeing Susan standing by the bed.
She waited until I removed my headphones before announcing, “Dinner’s ready. You better watch it, Dad’s being pissy again.”
Nodding, I turned off my walkman and watched her leave my room before rising from the bed and pulling my dirty shirt from over my head, tossing it on top of my half-empty clothes hamper. I don’t know why I bother changing my clothes, because he’s just going to find something to gripe at me about anyways. I might be named after his baby brother, but as his son, I have never managed to live up to his standards, never can make him see that the things I do are just as good. So maybe I’m not a genius, maybe I’m not built like a line backer or a running back; maybe I’m not fucking perfect, but I’m a hell of a lot better than he’s always trying to make me feel.
Walking downstairs and into the kitchen, I greeted my dad with a hello, but received a slight nod as acknowledgement; I turned and went over to Mum, conscious of the fact that eyes were scrutinizing everything about me.
“God damn it, Drew…don’t you ever wear anything decent?”
I remained silent even though my shoulders became tense; Mum glanced at me and put a hand on my arm, her fingers gentle on my skin.
But he continued on, saying, “It’s no wonder that you lost that job; you’re always looking like a bum; bad haircut, baggy clothes. You look like a homeless gangster, or some no-good crack dealer.”
Inwardly, I was seething, but I kept my voice even as I remarked, “I had to quit that job.”
“After two months? Kids these days; just too god damned lazy.”
“It was difficult to keep up my grades when I was working.” You bastard, you don’t know fuck all about why I quit that job!
“I never had any trouble, I had a steady job at the age of sixteen; Andrew was working nearly through his entire high school career, and playing sports.”
Rubbing my forehead, I wearily replied, “I know, Dad, I know.”
I got a hard glance, but Mum suddenly cut in with a no-nonsense “Lay off the boy, Mark. He works hard for this family, for everybody, and you know it. Just today, he was at your mother’s again when you could have fixed her sink just as easily.”
Warmed that she’d stood up for me again—Mum is almost always on my side, and that’s why I will forever adore her—I flashed a grateful smile in her direction and took the load of heavy porcelain plates from her out-held arms. When I got to the table, Nikkei took the top half and started setting the opposite side of the table, where Mel followed behind and set down forks. Susan was busy putting ice in six glasses, remembering that Dad and I don’t like but one ice cube and that Mel always wants three; then she poured the freshly brewed sweet tea and started carrying glasses to the table.
Once everyone sat down to eat, I allowed the sound of talking to shift to the background of my mind, instead thinking back to that short-lived job of three months.
It had been at the supermarket not too far from here, where I was paid to cashier and stock shelves, sometimes unpacking boxes as they came in from the truck; the pay was good for the work I was doing, and I had generally liked it. And the night time floor manager had just happened to be cute; young and sure of his good looks.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but I must have been overly obvious in my appreciative looks, because he became awfully chummy in a short amount of time, always asking how I was doing in school and what kind of friends I liked to hang out with in my free time. And me being the naïve asshole that I am—I was friendly, glowing beneath his interest. Even when he began to drop little sexual innuendos into our interactions, I didn’t think anything negative about him, choosing to ignore what I couldn’t be certain of in the first place.
Then came the night where he asked me to help him with a project in the storage room, leading me farther and farther back (stupid, so fucking stupid!), until I had finally asked what we were doing, not liking the uneasy feeling in my gut. He’d turned on me, not giving any warning before he’d pushed me against a wall of shelves and boxes; his tongue had thrust itself into my mouth as he forcibly ground his pelvis against mine, his hands groping for my wrists and holding them immobile as he basically raped my face. I hadn’t even had time to cry out, because one of our coworkers chose that moment to walk into the store room, breaking us apart. The guy hadn’t even looked at my face before he thrust away and left me alone, where I sank down to the floor and wiped at my lips with trembling fingers.
After pulling myself together somewhat, I had clocked out and briskly left the store, not bothering to pull my register. I went in and put in my quitting notice the very next day, unable to explain the abruptness of it other than that something had come up quite suddenly that made another day of work impossible. My head manager was baffled, but as I had never pulled such a stunt before, she had accepted my leaving with grace, promising that if I ever changed my mind that a position could be found for me.
I’m never going to work at that store in my life, even if Edward has since moved on somewhere else. Even now, I don’t feel quite comfortable with grocery stores. Steve had wanted me to press charges for sexual harassment, but how embarrassing would it be for a guy to be pressing charges against another guy? No, I’d just wanted to put it all behind me.
“So, you fixed that leak at Mom’s?” Dad's pointed question pulled me from my thoughts, and I gave an absent nod.
“Yes. The Cadillac is practically busted, so I have to fix that too.”
His eyebrow rose in thought about that, and for this reason only did I remember to mention, “Uncle Andrew is coming to visit.”
Everyone’s eyes shot towards me, Dad’s face registering surprise and then anxiety, “What?! Why didn’t anyone tell me of this?”
I shrugged one shoulder, poking at my roast potatoes and baby carrots; “Gram only told me when I was over there today.”
“When’s he arriving? How long is he staying? Is he staying at Mom’s?”
I quailed beneath his barrage of questions, managing to admit that she hadn’t said anything about it at all. His irritation was visible, and I could tell that he was blaming me for not knowing; sighing inside, I dropped my gaze and continued poking at my dinner, managing to eat nearly all of it as the conversation shifted away from me.
No matter what I do, I only manage to tick him off.
--
After dinner, I brought out my soccer ball and kicked it about the back yard, practicing my footwork until it became too dark to see; so I tucked the ball beneath my bum and settled my knees on the grass, the ball pressing against my tailbone as I stared up at the sky and waited for the dotting of stars to appear. Nikkei came out to join me at some point, and as the first few stars appeared, we pointed out the beginnings of familiar constellations, our voices hushed in the darkness.
But soon it had grown late, and deciding that it was a good idea to go inside, I ushered us into the house, where Nikkei was prodded into a nightly shower before bed. I chuckled—like the older brother I am—to hear her vehement protests; I ambled upstairs to my room, closing the door and undressing, pulling on the faded yellow shorts I always wear to bed.
I straightened my bed sheets just so that I could pull them back and crawl into bed, rolling onto my belly and reading more from the novel I have to read for English; The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck. It’s really dry reading, but I still jerked in surprise when I finally glanced at the clock and saw that it was past one in the morning.
Rubbing my stinging eyes, I put the book away and turned out my light, rolling onto my side and burying my face into my pillow, as is my custom of going to sleep.
really. in the past four days, i have gotten about...fifteen hours, here and there, of sleep. sleeeep. i'm killing myself.