Chapter Text
All I could hear was the aggravating sound of my alarm clock, a high-pitched beeping that distracted me from the urge to pull the covers over my head. The faint smell of a burnt breakfast lifted me from my bed and moved my hand toward the alarm clock to silence it, like a puppet being controlled by its master.
I sat on the edge of my bed for three deep breaths before standing.
My mother yelled for me from the kitchen, located down the hall. I didn’t bother responding. She wouldn't have heard me anyways, she was always lost in her own
world. I dragged my feet as I walked to the bathroom across from my room.
The bathroom didn’t have a door, it had a curtain however so there was at least some privacy. I grabbed the edge of the fabric and closed it behind me.
My cracked mirror made my reflection a broken, unrecognizable horror-movie face. I always get lost in thought while staring into the mirror.
“Is the mirror broken or is that just my reflection?” I would ask myself. Kinda depressing.
The sound of my mother's radio played on the counter snapped me out of my mind and only then did I realize the toothpaste was spilling out and down my chin. I grumbled a complaint as I wiped my mouth and put away my toothbrush.
I better hurry and get to breakfast, I thought, before my mother gave her second warning which was sending her little minions after me.
The house was small, so small that it only took a few steps to get around. It wasn’t a mansion, but it was a home. I was grateful we weren’t on the streets, struggling, but I still could hope for a little more.
I watched my mother dance in her apron to “9 to 5” by Dolly Parton, her favorite song. I wasn’t sure if she liked it because it made her happy or if it was because she related to it.
My mother was a beautiful woman, she was when she was younger too, but having five kids drains you. At least that's what my mother says. Her red hair is graying in some spots, her green eyes are darker, almost duller than they used to be, as if her life was slowly draining.
I ruffled the heads of my three younger siblings as I walked into the kitchen. Kira, Oben, and Otis. Kira was after me.
Oben and Otis were only ten months apart, we thought of them as twins and despite them not coming from the same father they looked a lot alike.
Vance, the fifth that moved out about four years ago, was the oldest of us all. He lived in a small apartment with his girlfriend. He looked a lot like our dad; he would hate me if he knew I compared him to our father. Although, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
Kira stood on the stool she sat on and leaped onto my back, latching on like a baby possum to their mother. Oben and Otis took that as an invitation to go for my legs. My feet dragged and ended with a thump with every step.
“Mornin’ Mom.” My words came out as a grunt, weighed down by my three younger siblings using me as a jungle gym. This should be someone else's job.
Mom didn’t respond right away so instead of repeating myself I walked toward the pantry to grab whatever leftover cereal we had. Getting moms attention was tricky, you either got it or you didn’t. It all depended on which version of her I'd get that day.
Which is why I almost snapped my neck as I turned to face her when she responded, sure it was late, but she responded.
“Good morning.” She flipped a burnt pancake as she hummed to the Dolly Parton song, which I just now realized, had been turned down. I forgot all about the cereal and just decided to grab one of the pancakes that was already on a plate.
She turned around only to see me lean over, struggling to keep Kira from falling off my back while also keeping balance with Oben and Otis on my legs. All while trying to eat without hands.
My mother’s brow furrowed as she waved a spatula at the little ones.
“Kira, Oben, and Otis Marebellow, get off of her this instant.” Her voice was stern, but the gentle wave of the spatula told me she wasn't serious.
I roll my eyes and sigh, I know she’s trying–well, I’m not very confident about that either– but what I do know for sure is that I'm tired of reminding her. She must have seen my reaction because she corrects herself with an awkward stutter and avoidance of eye contact.
I looked at my hand-me-down watch and saw the bus would be turning the corner and into my street in about five minutes. I snap my fingers and twist my wrist in a lets-go gesture.
Kira is the first to jump up and grab her backpack from the couch. Her feet make quick padding sounds as she runs with her socks on. Sometimes I thought walking with me on my way to school was her favorite time of day.
Oben and Otis followed after, except they drove with mom to the elementary school. The poor things had to listen to her wake up playlist on the radio every morning. I wouldn’t even call it a playlist considering it was only the same three songs being replayed over and over again by the radio station.
I waited by the door as Kira tried to help Otis with his shoelaces. This happened a lot, Kira would try to help, Oben would bicker at her that she's doing it wrong, and Otis would get tired of them both and in the end and just do it himself. It was an entertaining sight and woke me up in the morning to a good chuckle.
My mother walked over to me, watching them fight, but then her gaze traveled up to me.
“Kris.” My name. Not really, but you know.
I should be happy that she’s using the name I had chosen, but the way she said it made it sound like it was just a nickname.
“Are you working late tonight?” She continued.
Great, she’s going out for another date.
My mother never took much interest in what I did unless she needed to know if my schedule would affect hers. Now she was wanting me to baby sit my younger siblings while she went out and tried to score another guy.
“Yeah, I am.” My tone came off more stern than I intended. Her eyes dropped to the ground and she clicked her tongue against her teeth.
“Bummer,” was all she said but I could tell she wanted to say more, or perhaps she wanted me to overthink it and cave in. Sadly, it always works.
“Why not let Kira babysit?” I suggest. “She’s old enough now.”
Mom shook her head and crossed her arms tightly over her stomach as if hugging herself.
Was she comforting herself? I thought. Did she still not trust Kira alone?
“No, she's only thirteen. Otis and Oben are too much of a handful for her.” Both the “twins” looked up from the ground and yelled, “Hey!”, with an offended glare. The ghost of a smirk played on my lips as I saw their upset, pouting lips.
I turned my attention back to her. “You let me stay home alone when I was eleven.” I reminded her, although she looked a little lost. She most likely didn’t remember.
“Vance was watching you.” She seemed to recall something. Surprisingly.
“He would leave to go smoke somewhere once you left.” I said dryly.
There was an awkward silence that went on longer than I wished.
Mom broke the silence first by clearing her throat. “Okay. She babysits them for tonight.”
Kira shot to her feet with a grin on her pink childish face. But mom put a finger up to cut her celebration.
“Only,” she stopped and looked at me with a serious, serious look this time, “if you call them every hour you're at work.” Ah yes, a deal, the only way you could get mom to say yes to anything.
I thought about moms terms before nodding, “Alright, I can do that.” She smiled and grabbed her black leather purse from off the hook that was drilled into the wall beside the door. Her keys hung on it as well.
She led us out the house.
“Otis, Oben, in the car.” Mom demanded as she gestured to the open car door, like a butler opening a carriage door for a princess. Otis and Oben seemed to understand as they both did a small curtsey before climbing in.
I waved to the bus that passed by. I used to ride that bus back in freshman year. I’m glad I don't have to anymore.
“Hold your sister's hand while you walk, Kris!” Mom called after Kira and I.
I rolled my eyes and nodded, grabbing my little sister's hand a bit more aggressively than I meant to. Kira waved mom out of the driveway with her free hand.
Kira and I stopped holding hands once mom left–we both weren’t much fans of physical touch–and she immediately went back to adjusting the sleeve of her worn denim jacket while I jammed my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
It was quiet as we walked down the cracked sidewalk. I looked up and quickly got lost in my own mind. A lot of trees were around, a neighborhood joke would go around, calling the town a “City of Trees.”
The air would coat you with a rusty, oil-like smell from the old mill that was found in the center of the town. I stopped caring about my smell about four years ago. I felt like crying, felt overwhelmed, and tired.
My little sister's voice snapped me out of my depressing thoughts and a wave of embarrassment hit me.
“Are you going to leave us?”
My eyes snapped open and I stopped walking. I turned my body to face Kira, looking down at her, only to see the top of her head as she looked down at the concrete below her feet.
Before I could ask her what she meant, or what made her think that, she continued.
“Vance left at around your age, and I can tell you're not happy at ho-” I cut her off by getting on one knee and pulling her into a tight hug, one that squeezed the air out of her tiny lungs. I didn’t say anything, counting the rhythm of our heartbeats.
“I’m not going to leave you guys.” I finally said. “Just because I'm complaining about the house, doesn’t mean I'm complaining about you guys.”
I wasn’t sure if my reassurance worked at first, but when Kira hugged me back, my shoulders relaxed. I sighed and kissed the top of Kira’s head, it felt nice to give each other affection without our mother forcing us.
I caught a glance at my watch and cleared my throat to get Kira’s attention. “Alright, enough mushy, we're gonna be late.” I stood up and fixed my backpack straps. I took Kira’s hand again and led us to the railroad tracks.
Walking over them felt like stepping through a portal into an unknown dimension each time I did it.