Keeping the Tarnished (4 page)

Chapter Seven

Clean

Graye

As she removed the clothing from the book bag, she noticed not one, but two live roaches crawling about in the bag. The clothes were truly pathetic. There were so many stains, and the shirts were worn and faded. The bag, and its contents, smelled like a stale ashtray. The shirts had several burn holes in them as well. Even if the boy smoked, there was no way he accidently burned himself that many times.

The laundry room, like the rest of the house, was white, bright, and beautiful, and the bag of disgusting clothing was in total contrast. The room was off the kitchen, and boasted a beautiful granite countertop just above both of the front load appliances. The granite matched that of the kitchen and three bathrooms, a dark brown. It contrasted well next to the bright white walls. The entire house, both stories and the basement, had dark hardwood flooring. Graye was assured everything appeared crisp and clean with a rigorous cleaning schedule.

As she looked at the boy’s clothing, she felt an overwhelming urge to cry. What was this kid’s story? Although her gut was telling her the boy was harmless, she had to be practical about the situation. She had to make sure her family was safe; however, she was already thinking along the same lines as her husband. The boy seemed to have been through so much. He needed a rest, some reassurance, and the love only a happy family could provide. He needed to mend.

There was something that drew her to him. He had only been in her house for about forty-five minutes, and already she was envisioning how they would decorate the guest room to better suit another teenage boy.

“Sad, isn’t it?” Jackson asked, standing in the doorway of the laundry room.

“Sad isn’t the word. This seriously makes me want to cry and just, just hug the kid,” Graye replied with a disgusted look on her face. “Jackson, there are roaches in his clothes.” Graye heard the desperation in her own voice as she turned toward her husband, their son Jared appearing with a mouth full of hot rolls.

“Roaches?” the boy mumbled as he chewed his food loudly.

“Jared!” his mother scolded him sharply. “What have I told you about listening in on your father and me? And you are going to ruin your appetite before we all get sat down for supper,” she continued as she looked once more in the tattered book bag.

“I doubt that,” Jackson said, chuckling as he looked at his son.

“Mom, how’d he get roaches in his clothes?” the boy asked with concern in his voice.

“We can’t keep them in the house. We can’t let him wear them, they’re disgusting,” Graye said as she held up a pair of worn-out jeans, ignoring her son’s question. “I’ll pick him up some new things when I take Bryce to piano tomorrow,” the woman continued assuredly.

“We’re buying him clothes? Okay. But if this boy eats as much as Jared, I may have to see about getting another job,” Jackson said playfully.

“Mom, he can have my jeans from last year. They’re too small thanks to you, and I still have them in my closet. I bet there’s at least seven pairs. I’ll go look and see.” Jared had already offered the newcomer an unopened package of boxer shorts, some socks, some old sweats, and a t-shirt to sleep in, before Graye showed him to the guest bathroom upstairs. “I’m sure I have some shirts I never wear too,” Jared said as he turned to head for the staircase in the living room.

Graye watched her son exit, thankful for the undeniably strong and loving relationship she had with the boy. He truly was a good kid. She and his father had every reason to hold him in such high regards.

“Momma, I’m hungry,” said an impatient little Bryce as she came walking through the kitchen toward the laundry room.

“Honey, as soon as Johnny gets downstairs we will sit down and eat ’til it comes out of our ears.” Graye was eager to get Johnny fed, as she was unsure when the last time he ate was.

“Momma,” the small girl continued, “can we keep him? Can we keep Johnny?”

“He’s not a dog,” Jackson chimed in, placing his hand on Bryce’s head and looking down at her.

“There will be no more talk about keeping anyone. Understand?” Graye followed up in a scolding tone and disapproving look.

“Yes, I understand.” The little girl rolled her eyes as she inhaled deeply and completed a goofy circular ballerina twirl. She then ran back through the kitchen.

***

Johnny

Johnny was enjoying a much needed shower. He thought the steam and refreshing water was liberating. He had never been in a bathroom as nice as the Everetts’ before. Everything was fresh, clean, and smelled of fabric softener and soap. The water pressure was almost too much, as the hot water washed away the filth of the bus. He felt as if the day was literally washing off him. Completely covered in lathery suds, the boy washed his hair, yet again. He then heard his stomach growl, reminding him there was supper downstairs.

He hadn’t necessarily been plucked from poverty; rather, he coincidentally fell into the lap of a family that was about as goodhearted as they come. In his mind, at this point, he knew his future was uncertain. However, he also knew he was rinsing off in a hot shower, he had a meal waiting for him downstairs, and he had a bed to sleep in for the night. That was more than he could have expected his first night after making his escape.

Stepping out of the shower onto the plush, white rug, Johnny grabbed the towel Graye had given him off the granite counter. His head remained tilted toward the ceiling until the towel was securely snug around his waist. Of all the things on this earth that horrified him, none scared him as much as the sight of a naked adult man. His own body was no exception. He had not looked at himself in the mirror unclothed intentionally in over three years.

Moving toward the toilet, free of his reflection, he removed the towel and dried off. The towel had a refreshing scent to it, and reminded Johnny of the honeysuckle when it bloomed near the pond by his father’s house.

Graye had also given him a brand new toothbrush. He found it fascinating that the family had a reserve of toothbrushes, deodorant, and other personal items in the towel closet of the upstairs hallway.

Johnny’s toothbrush at his father’s house was the same one he had gotten from a class trip to the dentist office when he was in elementary school. Johnny took pride in his smile. His personal hygiene was one of the few factors he had moderate control over. He would often scrub his clothing for hours in his father’s old bath water. More than once at his father’s house he had brushed his teeth with hand soap, as the household was frequently out of toothpaste and other toiletries. He wanted to brush his teeth now. He knew he would be eating soon, but he didn’t care, he wanted to brush his teeth with a brand new brush.

The boy opened the new package of underwear. His underwear had holes, as they were several years old. His mother bought his underwear long before she left. Now he had new pairs, and he would be wearing the fresh, clean clothes Jared had given him. The socks felt so good on his tired feet, and Jared’s clothes were so comfortable and fit him just right.

He looked at his pile of dirty clothes by the door and almost felt ashamed to have to wear such things in front of such nice people. He then reminded himself that it was out of his control. His entire existence was out of his control, and feeling ashamed and humiliated would solve nothing. He collected his brand new toothbrush, the opened underwear package, and the pile of dirty clothes, and opened the bathroom door. The boy nervously made his way down the hall and down the stairs. Graye placed a large pitcher of tea on the table just as Johnny entered the kitchen. Everything smelled delicious.

Jared and Graye were placing items on the gorgeous oak wood table and carrying on casual conversation. They had to add the leaf to the table to ensure they had enough room to sit all five people comfortably. There was a large serving platter with the biggest pile of fried chicken Johnny had ever seen; a big, square, wooden dish full of fresh green salad; and another bowl full of rolls.

“You about ready to throw down, man?” Jared asked as he pulled out his chair from under the table.

“Throw down?” Johnny asked Jared curiously as he stood near the table with his pile of filthy clothes.

“You’ll have to forgive my son. He frequently butchers the English language,” Graye said, smiling at Johnny. He could feel water running from his wet hair down the back of his neck. “Let me take these clothes and throw them in the wash with the others.” Graye grabbed the clothes from Johnny and turned to walk to the laundry room.

“Thank you,” Johnny said appreciatively as she walked away.

“Why, you sure are welcome, sweetheart. Grab a plate and start loading up!” Graye hollered back from the laundry room.

“Feel better, bud?” asked Jackson, who came walking in from the living room with a fresh faced Bryce. He had changed his clothes and freshened up too. Maybe he really was dirty from working with horses. Johnny believed the man had only told him that so he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable for being so horrendously filthy.

“I feel great. The water here works really good,” Johnny replied as he anticipated eating.

“Well, that’s good to hear. Here’s a plate. I hope you’re ready to throw down,” Jackson said as he handed a white porcelain plate to the boy.

“Pops, don’t butcher the English language,” Jared said sarcastically as he loaded a large amount of mashed potatoes onto his plate. Jackson looked at his son, a bit confused, and shrugged. Johnny had only witnessed the interaction between Jared and his father for half an hour, yet he could recognize several similarities in their mannerisms.

The entire family was now circling the table, loading their plates in a most unconventional manner. The families on TV sat down around the table, and the words, “Will you please pass,” were redundantly muttered. Not here, not this family. Johnny didn’t mind. The unconventional table manners were nothing to take note of as his father’s kitchen was usually cluttered with gas cans, various tools, and the occasional car part.

“Momma, it smells so good!” said little Bryce as she anxiously watched her older brother load her plate.

“Well, of course it does, baby girl. Your momma is only the best cook this side of New Orleans,” Graye replied in a confident, sarcastic manner.

Johnny smiled as he placed a chicken leg on his plate. He then grabbed a roll and backed away from the table.

“You’re gonna have to grab more than that if we’re gonna get through this pile tonight,” Jared said as he placed Bryce’s plate down in front of the hungry and excited little girl.

Johnny was very hungry, and there was a lot there, even for this entire family and himself.

“I can do that,” Johnny said as he reached for what he thought looked like a chicken breast.

“Attaboy!” said Jared with a smile.

Johnny couldn’t understand why the family was being so pleasant to him, but at the same time he knew he was in no position to question their friendly generosity. Just as easily as he had ended up in this huge, beautiful kitchen, he could be on the street, or even worse, in a week from now, or even tomorrow. For now, he was going to take the opportunity to quell his hunger, as well as try his hardest to not worry about what tomorrow had in store.

Once he was confident the selections on his plate would appease his rumbling stomach, Johnny turned and walked to the corner of the kitchen, about seven feet away from the table. He then sat down on the floor with his plate of food and his back to the family.

He picked up the chicken leg and bit into it; it was delicious. The Cajun spices were so flavorful, and the texture was so crunchy. Johnny was now wishing he would have taken more. Perhaps there would be some left over. He noticed the entire family had halted their plate preparation and was now watching him.

“Um, Johnny,” Jared said softly, “we got another place here at the table for you; right here next to me, man.”

Johnny, still sitting down, and with a mouth full of chicken, used his feet to swivel around on his rear. “You…you want me to sit at the table?” Johnny asked, somewhat surprised by the invitation.

Graye walked over to the boy and held out her hand to help him up. “Of course, sweetheart. Grab your plate and come sit with the family at the table. We can’t have you sitting on the floor on your birthday.”

Chapter Eight

Morning Mumbling

“I really just don’t want to talk about it. It doesn’t mean anything to talk about it anyways,” Johnny said as he sat in the guidance counselor’s office.

The walls were exposed brick, and one entire wall was a huge bookshelf that was completely full of books, both large and small. The green floor tile wasn’t attractive, but Johnny liked Mr. Benson’s office. It smelled like oranges. He always felt comfortable there, at least until Mr. Benson started asking questions. Johnny would never tell him anything that happened at his father’s house.

“It doesn’t mean anything? What do you mean by that, Johnny?” asked Mr. Benson.

Mr. Benson was a kind man, but Johnny had heard whispers from others that the man had no business counseling anybody. He was thirty years old, tall, slender, often wore suspenders, and was just odd. He had a comb over, and used words that were foreign to Johnny. To top it off, he was constantly pushing his dark-rimmed glasses back up as they slid down his greasy, pointed nose.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Mr. Benson. I can’t leave there, and I’m going to be there my whole life. So, that’s just that. There’s no need to talk about it,” Johnny said as he sat in the office chair across from the counselor, looking out the small window on the left side of the office.

“Your whole life? No, that’s incorrect, Johnny. When you turn eighteen this year you are no longer required to live there if you don’t want to. By law, you are free to leave. There are several available resources and systems in place to assist those that need help getting on their feet. Johnny, your grades are very decent, and—”

“I can just walk out and leave when I turn eighteen? I don’t have to stay there no more?” Johnny asked, feeling his pulse behind his eyes, searching Mr. Benson’s face for truth.

“That’s…that’s right, Johnny. Were you told otherwise?” Mr. Benson remained expressionless.

Johnny felt certain the man knew more than he let on.

Mr. Benson had filed reports with administration, and had even contacted the local police department. Nothing came from it, as the law enforcement had nothing to go on other than rumors and a shaky counselor’s intuition.

Johnny couldn’t understand Mr. Benson’s specific interest in his case. He recognized the area was riddled with situations similar to his own. He was only one of many sad stories.

“Johnny, did someone tell you that you had to stay at your father’s residence your entire life?” the concerned counselor continued.

Johnny stared at his folded hands in his lap.

“How…how long after I turn eighteen can I leave?” the boy asked quietly, still staring at his hands.

“The day, the very second you turn eighteen you are free to leave. Twelve o’clock midnight, on July 18, you are free to leave and there is nothing anyone can say about it.”

Johnny sat up in bed. He was sweating and shaking as he looked about the dark room. He was breathing heavily through both his mouth and nose. The room, the smells, the sounds, everything was foreign as he frantically looked in every direction for familiarity. For a moment, he had forgotten where he was. In that moment, he was back in hell. As he evaluated the room, it began to come back to him.

The thick, heavy comforter was the most comfortable blanket the boy had ever covered up with, yet Graye had apologized because it had a flower print on it. Johnny often had to wash the mouse urine and droppings from his blankets on his old bed; flower prints were nothing to be apologetic for. The wall next to the door had an oil painting of a woman staring into a mirror. The closet was huge and was full of heartworm medication boxes and other supplies that Jackson needed.

He couldn’t hear the dull humming of the swamp cooler that was in the living room of his father’s house. He knew he was safe for the night. What was confusing him was his conversation with Mr. Benson. Deciphering the past from the present was becoming increasingly difficult for the boy. The dream was so vivid. Was it a dream? Did it actually happen? Sitting in the bed with his legs bent in front of him, resting his elbows on his knees, he began to reassess. He then reassured himself that the conversation did take place. The meeting with the counselor resulted in the boy being a few minutes late getting home after summer school.

Johnny lay back and turned onto his side to face the window on the wall directly behind the bed he was sleeping in. This room was on the second floor, right next to Jared’s room. Jackson and Graye’s room was on the main floor, and Bryce’s room right across the hall from theirs. There was a second guestroom on the second floor, and the basement was basically a man cave, although Graye utilized the area more than Jackson and Jared did.

As the boy looked out the window, feeling the heavy sense of sleep overtaking his eyelids once more, he heard the whimpering of what sounded like a puppy. He quickly pushed himself up and looked toward the lit ground of the yard. A small, black, mixed-breed puppy looked solemnly up at him. Johnny instantly clinched his eyes shut as if he were attempting to keep blowing dirt from them. He opened them slowly. It was gone. He knew it had never been there. “Just stay away,” the boy muttered. Looking once more, assuring himself there was nothing there, he rested his heavy head into the plush pillow, cool and inviting.

Physically, Johnny felt comfortable after he recovered from his elevated heart rate and state of anxiety. The bed was soft; he felt as if he could melt into it. The sheets, the blankets, the clothes, everything about this night was comforting, except his mind’s dastardly setbacks. But he was convinced that he was safe. He closed his eyes as a warm blanket of comforting slumber ushered him off to sleep.

The floor was cold linoleum that was torn in some areas, exposing the plywood subflooring. The baseboards in the kitchen were disgustingly filthy. Every dish and glass was in the sink as flies swarmed above the pile. On the kitchen counter was a half emptied package of generic paper plates. The kitchen table was actually a fold up display table. There were four mismatched chairs surrounding it. Where the wall met the floor was speckled with mouse droppings all around the room. The kitchen window, just above the sink, was cracked from top to bottom and was held together with duct tape. The old gas stove was covered in grease, as was the wall behind it, and even the popcorn ceiling was a dark brown from years of grease build up. The cobwebs in every corner of the ceiling were a dark brown from filth.

He sat with his back to the wall on the floor. The bottom of his feet were nearly black, yet he hadn’t been outside that day. A cockroach scurried across his right foot and quickly made an escape along the wall. On his lap was a paper plate covered in unheated chicken noodle soup. The house had no clean silverware, so he was using his fingers to pick up the noodles and lift them to his face. His lip hurt every time he opened his mouth too wide. It was healing from being busted, yet again; however, it would crack when he tried to eat. There was a constant noise of scurrying within the walls and under the sink. The entire house was infested.

He would clean the kitchen, he would clean the entire house. He would love to walk across a clean floor. His father would not allow Johnny to touch anything in the kitchen while he was gone. When he was there, Johnny would constantly be accused of misplacing a tool or a random part. Johnny would not dare touch anything of his father’s, yet he was constantly reprimanded in a gratuitous manner for misplaced items.

The sound of the swamp cooler often masked the sound of his father’s truck engine as it pulled up onto the front lawn. He was constantly listening and observing his surroundings like a hunted animal. Relaxation was only a word to Johnny. Every single day survival was tested in some fashion or another.

He craved something other than chicken noodle soup. He wanted something of substance, something sweet, like cake. Chicken noodle soup was often the only thing he had to eat in the house. When school was in session, he devoured everything the cooks piled on his tray. He pretended not to notice, as did several of his classmates, as the lunch ladies piled just a little bit more on his plate.

As he raised another cluster of noodles to his open mouth, a glimmer of light shimmered through the kitchen window. He dropped the noodles back on the paper plate as his heart raced. He hadn’t let his guard down, how did this vehicle approach without any notice? Perhaps he still had time to flee the kitchen. Just then, he heard the truck door slam shut. There was no doubting it was the sound of his father’s truck. He didn’t have time. He had been foolish and left the can opener out next to the empty dented can of chicken noodle soup. He sat, horrified of what was going to happen. He stared at his half-eaten plate of soup. The paper plate was saturated in broth and had basically lost most of its integrity.

The door in the kitchen opened up to the front yard. Johnny knew that on the other side, walking to the door that very minute was an inescapable source of pain. He sat silently, attempting to remain collected in an almost trance-like state as the door opened. His father’s foot hit the floor hard, as did the two steps following the first. Johnny continued to look only at the plate. He could tell by his father’s steps that the man was intoxicated.

When his father drank, there was a window of violence. From the time the man began to become intoxicated, to the time he passed out in his room, was the time Johnny dreaded the most. Sometimes, however, the man would drink so much so fast that this window of time shortened dramatically, and the man would simply pass out. Johnny hoped that tonight was one of those nights. Perhaps the man’s peripheral vision was so impaired that he would ignore Johnny altogether and head down the hall to his room.

“What the fuck do we have here?” His drunken father’s voice was horrifying. He wasn’t going to pass out. He was drunk, mad, and Johnny had just handed him a reason for reprimand.

Johnny’s hands were shaking as he watched the boots approach him from the corner of his eye. He knew what was coming, yet continued to avoid eye contact with his father. “I sure did thought I smelt of me a little faggot,” the man said under a drunken breath, “and this little faggot is basically trespassing.” The man’s words penetrated in a cold, deep voice. “What you doin’ in here, boy?” the man asked as he used the back of a kitchen chair for balance and raised his muddy boot. Johnny knew he would soon be kicked in the head or face. There was nothing he could say to prevent it. He also knew if he said nothing, it would only anger his father more.

He swallowed hard and answered. “I-I’m sorry. I was hungry. I’m just really hungry.”

“Dude, for real. I’m about to get us some breakfast,” said Jared as Johnny shot up in bed and used his feet to propel himself to the other side, next to the wall. He looked at Jared in total confusion. He knew he had just been with his father. He remembered Jared vaguely, but the fact that he was not in front of his father was completely confusing to the young man. He continued to stare at Jared as his heartbeat resounded in his throat.

“Johnny, it’s okay. I think you were probably having a bad dream. No need to apologize, man. I’m pretty hungry too.” Jared was wearing old blue jeans and a torn red t-shirt, with steel-toed boots and an old Budweiser ball cap.

Johnny continued watching him. The room was completely lit, the sun was up, and he imagined it to be at least eight in the morning.

Jared took a hesitant step in the direction of the bed with his back arched, and his hand out in front of him.

“Hey, man, you were talking, I came in to ask if you wanted to help me out in the stables today. Do you wanna eat some breakfast?”

Johnny felt the tension ease slightly as he began to recall Jared, Jackson, Graye, and Bryce. Still pressed against the wall, he knew where he was, but he wasn’t completely convinced he wasn’t in any danger. His respirations were uncontrollable, heart rate was still elevated, and he felt his fingertips ache as his hands attempted to grip the wall behind him.

“Is-is he here?” Johnny asked with a cracking voice.

“Who? Is who here, man?” Jared looked at Johnny, waiting for a response. “Mom and B are in town, and Dad got a call around four, he’s been gone all morning. It’s just you and me, Johnny.”

Johnny finally gained control of his breathing and began to relax. He slowly came to the realization that his father was nowhere near the room or the house.

“I…I’m sorry. I guess I just was having a bad dream,” Johnny said as he touched his face, just to be certain it had not been kicked.

“Dude, no worries, you were probably having a night terror because of that ugly-ass bedding,” Jared said, grinning as Johnny let out a forced chuckle and the mood in the room began to lighten.

“So, I have about six hours of shit shoveling in the stables today.” Jared tilted his head and looked at Johnny, giving him a half smile and raising his eyebrow as he asked, “So, you think you might wanna give me a hand?”