Chapter One | Hunger
Dragging my worn-out sneakers against the cracked sidewalk, the sun's rays pierce through my skin and begin to boil my blood. My heavy arms hang low and sway back and forth at my sides. It's been a week now. Mom wasn't kidding when she told me she had enough of my shit.
Wiping away the sweat lounging in my eyebrows, I push out a dry laugh. Mom's eyes were draped with tears and runny makeup when she screamed at me to never come back. It's funny how things work out. 16 and wide-eyed, was a good kid. Knew too much for my own good though. Everything my mother taught me flew out the window. Thinking I had the tricks and tools to life, I went out to do my own thing. Little did I know, the lessons I tossed out could have saved my ass.
Licking my chapped lips, I taste the dry blood between the pieces of skin sticking up. All the plans were made, my friends and I were ready. Of course, things didn't work out. When drugs, girls and a little bit of money entered the picture I was erased from the plans. It's not their fault though, the stars make it look so glamorous on Tv and in movies. My boys weren't smart like me so they fell headfirst down the rabbit hole. When it all went up in flames I came crawling back to my mom with sad puppy eyes. She knew I'd be back. Mother would just stare at me and not say a word. But I could hear the 'I told you so' crying out from her closed mouth. She was right and I hated it. She assumed I did what my naive friends did, drugs, booze, paying for sex. It's like she didn't know me, it's like she didn't believe that her own son would never do that. To be fair, when she didn't agree with my plan, I left spewing insults at her. I'm sure her perspective of me changed that day. She doesn't know what to believe. Looking back at it all, there are so many things I wish I could change. Ungrateful, stubborn, arrogant, and jackass are the words that describe me inside and out now. Anyone who sees me will see it written all over my worthless face. None of it was worth the few months of feeling like a man.
My legs shake with each step as I count the black pieces of gum stuck to the sidewalk. My stomach growls and rumbles. Salvia leaks from my mouth, my eyes close remembering hot cheese and pieces of pepperoni oozing out of a golden pastry pocket. Mom makes the best calzones, even while I was out pretending to be a man, I couldn't stop thinking about her cooking. My stomach squeezes and twists again asking for food. Please God, let the gas station trash bin have some pieces of food that are still edible.
