Day of Reckoning

Chapter 1

Those warm, balmy days that people around here kill for.

The wind caresses your face, and the warmth heightens your senses. Brutal summer storms sound as if they could break the ground beneath us in all their glory. Yes, those are the days that people around here pray for as soon as the ice, sleet, snow, and cold showers of early spring are gone.

Personally, I could care less about the weather. The bonus about these days? They signal the end of school. Not that I go anyway. Summer just means that I'm absolutely free of those teachers who love to make my absence their business.

"They locked the door again…" I muttered to myself as I pulled my Swiss out of my pocket. I inserted my custom attachment into the lock and began picking it carefully. My parents had never trusted me with a key; not that I could blame them.

It was hard to see as the familiar metallic click resounded within the door, allowing me access to my own home. Swelling had intensified on my eye, and I could feel my nose bleeding again onto my mother's 'special' Persian rug. I'd definitely hear about that one later.

I swaggered up the stairs, off balance from my lack of sight. It was then that I attempted to place my foot and slipped, cascading down the stairs with a racket that awoke the rest of my house and left me on the brink of being unconsciousness.

The sunlight filtering through the window burned my eyes, and I slowly sat up, my head feeling like a lead weight. My head throbbed from the effort, but as I made sense of my surroundings, I realized I was lying down on the bottom of the staircase, my legs still on the stairs, the rest of my body on the floor. What a great way to begin the day.

"Your English teacher called again. She wants you back in class." My father told me shortly as I rummaged through our over-crowded freezer in search of some ice. I had barely even gotten off the floor and he was already on my case.

"Look, old man. If I gave even half a damn about skipping class, would I be here right now?" I continued my search, cursing when the only thing that even closely resembled an ice cube was a mysterious piece of freezer-burned meat that had slipped from its protective packaging.

"If you're thinking about using those peas, forget it." He said in reference to the bag of peas I was holding in my hand. "We're having those for dinner tonight. Assuming you decide to show up." He added, opening the French doors leading to the patio and lighting a cigarette, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I hadn't planned on doing anything with the peas except putting them back in the freezer. Now, I thought differently. Who cared about peas anyway?

-

I shut the rec room door behind me as I crept down the stairs, making sure to be quiet. The old man didn't usually bother me, but he would have a fit if he knew I was in the rec room. Holding the defrosting peas to my black eye, I took a quick look around the place. I hadn't seen it in a long time, even though it had been meant for both my brother and I. I had never really been 'allowed' in the rec room, but when they found me sharpening a pencil with my Swiss down there, they flipped. It hadn't mattered that I had actually been sharpening the pencil so that I could do my homework for once. They said I was 'dangerous' and didn't want me down there by myself because I could be 'plotting against them.'

I had almost reached the bottom of the stairs, when I heard a familiar click. I bolted up the stairs, jiggling the doorknob, and sure enough, I was locked inside.

"Pal, you're already missing something. I didn't know that a finger was the next thing on your list." I growled, knowing my father was on the other side. He was the only one home. Patting my pocket, I frowned. "You wrinkled sack of skin, what'd you do with my Swiss?!"

I could almost see the twisted grin on his face, and I kicked the door. He had taken it out of my pocket while I had been sleeping on the stairs. He had locked me down in the basement rec room knowing that I couldn't get out without my Swiss. I heard his receding footsteps and sighed angrily, heading back down the stairs to play Halo while I endured my sentence.

I have no idea what time it was when the door finally opened, but it must have been late, because the person who stomped down the stairs was none other than my mother herself. "Suzanna Camille Woods." Her voice was cold and hard. Nothing new there. "Your father and I have become increasingly concerned about your behaviour. Coming home at all hours, breaking and entering…" she let her voice trail off as she finally noticed my black eye. Her nose crinkled in disgust. "As I was saying," she bristled, "we don't think you're suited to stay here at the moment. We're sending you to your Uncle's for the summer, and you had better get your act together by the time you return here. We have arranged transportation to the airport for you, and if you do not return to this home in time for your flight, we will press charges for all the felonies you have committed and you will be sent to a juvenile detention centre. Are we clear?"

"When does the plane leave?" I asked sarcastically.

"Your plane leaves two days from now. I've arranged for you to take two exams tomorrow, and two the day after. When your last exam is over, you are to return here promptly."

"Yeah, whatever." I stood up and pushed past her, nearly getting side-swiped by her French manicure. I stormed out of the house and into the street, where the houses stood so stoically side-by-side. In a neighbourhood where people tuned out the bad and were left to nothing more than their fantasies and their money, always ignoring what was around them and the flaws that always seemed to be overlooked. Yes, that was the neighbourhood I lived in. I laugh at the people who say that they would kill to live in the rich end of town… because they have no idea.

*

My family was never rich. We were never poor, either. Middle-upper class, my brother referred to it as. Not that I saw any of the money that came into our home. Not that any of it ever went to me. Like my neighbours, my mom was the same: always choosing to ignore what she didn't want to see. And when she did see it? I had to steer clear. Nobody likes being reminded of a mistake. But the mistake shouldn't have to pay for the one who made it.

*

Time seemed to fly those next two days.

It didn't hit me until I saw a uniformed man hauling my suitcases into the back of his van. Emblazoned on both sides was what appeared to be the company name, JiffTransport, as well as their slogan: We'll get U there… in a Jiff! Well, those marketers were original. I hadn't heard similar things a million times before. How lame.

That day I'd taken my last two exams and headed straight home, as planned. It felt so odd. I hadn't bothered saying goodbye to anyone, either. The Gang would just give me a good pounding for abandoning them, as custom, and everyone else… well, who knew about them.

My parents didn't bother to come and say goodbye to me as I strapped myself into the van with my plane ticket, passport and luggage. I swear I saw the old man sneaking a peek from an upstairs window, but I'll never know for sure.

And even after the monotonous van ride with my driver singing along to the radio off-key, and even as I looked out onto the vast tarmac, I felt an ounce of regret.

I'd never liked Ontario, but New Brunswick was a far cry from being the depressing hole Ontario had become to me, which is saying a lot. And I was going to be stuck there. All freaking summer.