Can you feed me?

September 21, 2008

The crayons are wet from the rain. As the paper on the crayons begin to disintegrate, a layer between Jeremy’s fingers and the melted wax fades. Riding the bus home from school, he grips the crayon tightly, drawing the man across from him in a shade of blue.

                The congested bodies, all wet from the indifferent rain, uncomfortably wait to leave the bus that smells of tobacco, sweat and disinfectant wipes. They eagerly crave their home but not Jeremy. He enjoys the bus too much, where awareness pervades him. The bus not only reminds Jeremy of all the people he walks the streets with but connects him to them. Tuning out the concrete scenery he passes, Jeremy instead draws the surrounding passengers with his jumbo crayons, and when he arrives home, he hangs the portraits on his closet wall. The after school activity has not only become a routine but an awaited moment of pleasure. Now, he can remember everyone’s sleeping faces, the bags under their eyes, the awkwardness in their bones.

                Completely unaware, his mother doesn’t know he takes the bus alone; instead, he assures her that he carpools home from school. His mother doesn’t realize the maturity in Jeremy. A single mother figuring out the world, she feels inept at life and naturally does not assume her son knows more than she. And when it comes to Jeremy, he is not rebellious. Rather, his lies are a product of fear that his mom will take away his after school voyages.

                The bus stops at Ashland, two blocks away from his two-bedroom apartment. The walk up to his house faintly washes off his portraits. The people’s faces become full of tears, and he incessantly feels closer to these figures as he watches them cry. Running to his room, he locks the door and enters his closest holding his twin bed. Adding to his collection, he hangs up the portraits and watches his isolated world grow.

                But much is missing, he says. There are no animals. There are tight knit families, divorced couples, jaded children and productive youth but the walls still needs gardens, trees, and elephants.

                Discontent, he walks into the kitchen and watches his mom boil water while on the phone with Mrs. Vreeland. He waits for the spaghetti she is making and a dull moment where he can interrupt.  “Mom,” he stammers, getting her attention. His mom stirs a pot of water with one hand, blindly looking into the pot while focusing all attention to her phone conversation. He can see her shoulder bones through her t-shirt and notices she spent too much time on her hair. She brushes his comment off, telling Jeremy to hold on while she gossips with Mrs. Vreeland.

                “So this was last week?” she questions, “When Mary took the kids on vacation. That bastard saying he needed to stay home because of work.”

                Jeremy doesn’t care about politeness anymore as he watches his mother converse about affairs everyone thinks they don’t already know about. He chimes in, “Mom, can we go to the zoo on Thursday?”’

                His pervasive voice annoys her, and she simply replies, “Jeremy, it’s gonna be raining all day.”

He stares at the empty bowl on the table.

His mother doesn’t notice his discontent, switching attention to her conversation with Mrs. Vreeland: “Do the kids know yet?”

Jeremy interrupts, “Mom, I’m hungry.”

“I’m making dinner, hold on.”

He knows that water cannot boil any faster but asks, “Mom, can you feed me?”

She drops the pot and violently turns the oven off. “If you can’t wait ten minutes then you are going to have to wait until tomorrow morning.” She leaves the room discussing affairs everyone thinks they don’t know about.

He goes back to his closet, wondering if his friends have empty stomachs as well.

               

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