A House Called Puddle

The students noted the change,

The room becoming darker with each passing day

Dustier

Sadder

  The topic was banned,

But it didn't stop the looks-

Pity-

Nor the whispers

  Faculty smiled to him daily,

"How's the home?"

"How's the husband?"

"Coffee?"

  Pity-

He knew it to be

He use to care,

But now he was numb

  Arrive at 7

Coffee at 8

Lunch at 12

Home by 3

  Kiss his husband

Grade the papers

Make the dinner

Glue his eyes to the news-

  -They stopped reporting on him months ago

His son nothing but a blur of the past,

A face lost in the sea of missing children's cases-

Dismissed as a runaway.

  But he wasn't that kind of kid

He loved his life

He was happy, finally-

Why would he run?

  Mark would talk him down most nights,

Petting his hand with pain in his eyes,

Making promises he couldn't keep-

That he couldn't even try-

  They helped one another to bed,

Passing the turned frames,

The empty room-

Then curl into a restless sleep

  Alarms blare in the mornings

5 a.m. one showers,

5:30 the other-

There's no longer breakfast.

  Mark grabs his cane,

Roy grabs his bag,

They kiss-

Then they part

  First through second period rolls by,

Directly as routine.

Come third,

The principal answers a call

  St. Patrick's Hospital-

A patient come in late in the night.

A boy, 17-

He fits the description

  There have been false alarms before-

A devastating toll on Roy's health

If this was wrong-

She feared the reproductions

  "Is he awake?"

'Yes'

"Can't you ask?"

'No'

  'He doesn't move

He doesn't speak

He holds the sheets

He stares at the wall'

  "Thank you"

The call ends,

A mist forms in her eyes

This could be-

  Her shoes clack on the floor,

Her knuckles rapping on the door,

A students pops it open

"Can we speak?"

  A silence hangs,

They all know what she'll say-

It's about him-

Their eyes settle on Roy

  Roy steps away from his projector

"Yeah,

Sure.

Play with your phones."

  They don't adhere

As soon as the door closes,

They press to the oak-

Scraping for the smallest sound

  "St. Patrick's"

'What do they want?'

"You"

'Is it-?'

  Her hands took his

Her eyes misted over-

This was the end of it,

One way or another

"Call Mark"

Her hand squeezed tight

"Tell him.

Go."

  'My-'

Her head shook,

Her lips quivered a smile

"I got it"

  She felt his hands shake

Watched his head bow as his eyes mist

She heard his breath catch-

Watched him give way

  He knew.

Something about this one was different

Something that he could feel-

That he could sense

  And she saw it

  "Go"

She smiled

"Call Mark"

Her hand released

  A hesitation,

But just the slightest,

Roy's heels turned-

Heart and feet thumping down the hall

  The ignition screeched

The gear shifted

His phone dialed

'Mark!'

  He doesn't move

He doesn't speak

He holds the sheets

He stares at the wall

  Her footing weakened,

Recalling the voice-

Hollow,

Hopeless.

  If it was-

If it is-

And he's-

Oh God-

  She turns slowly

Facing the oaken door

Breathe in-

Compose.

  The door creeks

The children scatter

"It's over now.

           Lock's Christmas schedule began the moment winter break did. He was required to get his hair trimmed, attend mass, lead the youth choir practice, and shop publicly with his mother for all to see. Come Christmas Day Lock was to wish his mother a Happy Christmas, attend breakfast, lead the choir in Christmas Mass, and co-host his mother's annual Christmas party; all to be rewarded at the end of the day with a new pair of shoes and a finely tailored suit for next year's party. It was a time of strain for Lock and he had very little time to breathe between his chores, let alone time to see and talk to Shamus. To make up for his lack of time, Lock took to the coffee pot and late hours of research online.

           It was due to these late nights that Lock was up at six in the morning Christmas Day. He had finished his second pot of the night, eyes glancing to the corner of his screen. He briefly reflected on past Christmases, determining if six was too early to wake his mother or not--settling on the latter. He set his mug to his desk and, with a sigh, got to his feet.

           The house was quiet and still; the wood cold on Lock's bare feet as he made his way down the hall to his mother's room. His knuckles rapped lightly on the door. "Mum?" There was no answer.

           Sleeping..

           He knocked again. "Mum..? It's morning.." Lock placed his hand on the doorknob, pushing the door open lightly and poking his head inside. "Mum?"  

           Anger boiled in Lock's throat as his eyes settled on the lump of blankets beside his sleeping mother--Derick--curled close and lovingly around his mother-a married woman. Lock moved quickly--angrily--picking up a decorative pillow from the foot of the bed and smacking it to the sleeping bodies-ripping them from their slumber. "Really?!"

           Catherine woke with a start, her blue eyes frantic to find the intruder; then panicking when her eyes settled on her enraged son. She attempted to cover her mistake with the blankets, but the damage had been done. She took another blow of the pillow.

           "The fucking bailiff?!"

           "Lock-"

           "You brought him here?!"

           "Lock-He came over and-"

           "Oh, shut up!" Lock threw the pillow to the far side of the room, ignoring the crash of frames that followed suit. "I can't believe this!"            "Now, son-"

           Derick...

           Lock's ice blue eyes fell onto the man who now sat upright with sleep still in his eyes. This man--this monster--had been the bane of Lock's existence the moment he returned home for winter break. He was with his mother when Lock stepped off the train home-there for the few dinners that Lock managed to have with his mother: smiling, holding her hand, laughing--kissing! Catherine knew there was no point in hiding her affair from Lock-he would have found out on his own in seconds-but to flaunt it in front of him!

           "Don't. Call me that." Lock snarled as he crossed the foot of the bed again, coming around to the male. "She's fucking married, you twat!" Derick began to speak, but Lock kicked the bed to silence him. "Don't you have your own family to fuck over for Christmas?!"

           Catherine looked on in horror. "Lock!"

           Lock scoffed to the look on his mother's face. "Don't start! I can't-I can't believe you!" Lock's arms slapped against his sides in a mixture of exasperation and frustration; a huffed laugh of disbelief passing his lips.

           "What do you want me to say..?" Catherine rose from her spot in the bed; Derick looking between the mother and son.

           "You need to tell Dad."

           "We can't-"

           "Then divorce him."

           "Lock-"

           "Or stop--" Lock gestured wildly across the length of the bed. "-this!"

           A silence fell between the three of them; Lock looking on at his mother in expectation. Her silence was answer enough. "Oh, piss off.." Lock turned on his heels, storming out the bedroom door. Catherine was quick to follow in her own heat of rage. They bickered the length of the hallway and continued as Lock stormed to his bedroom desk to claim the coffee pot-the almost month of tension finally having reached the boiling point.

           "Ungrateful!" That's what he was.

           Ungrateful for all she's done. For the years of undying devotion. For the years of love. The bullshit attitude, the hospital visits, the shitty choice in friends-it had to stop! "Be grateful for what you have!"

           Naturally, it was Lock's fault. Everything was Lock's fault! From being born sick; all the way to Catherine's choice to cheat on her deployed husband! To show off her boy toy in front of her son, in front of her court, in front of the church--the whole bleeded city! It was always about Mother! If Mother isn't in the spotlight then Lock was just being selfish.

           "He makes me happy!"

           "Then divorce Dad!"

           "It's not that simple!"

           Lock huffed a laugh. "That's the reason! Sure!"

           "The Hell do you mean?"

           Lock's smile was lined with pain as he pictured the newsletter before his eyes. "Scandal In The Court: Judge Hulmstead Asks For Privacy During Troubling Divorce!" Ice blue eyes observed as Catherine's face twisted in anger. "Then-oh then-you'll spin it in your favor. Talking about how you were so lonely and how Dad was never there to comfort you-how troubling it was to have a sick son. The woes of a mother who 'did all the work on her own.' All of it to have the public take pity on you-to favor you! The more dramatic the better!" Lock began to close the gap between the two of them. "Anything to make Mummy the damsel-to win her the votes-to make her Justice-"

           Lock was silenced instantaneously as Catherine's hand smacked across his face-his eyes wide; cheek stinging and red.

           In all of Lock's life, his mother had never raised a hand to him-never; and so the shock took over quickly. He stared on with wide eyes, his pale hand resting against the sting of his cheek-tears of pain and betrayal threatening to slip past his eyes.

           Lock's gazed fixed on his mother, searching and begging for an answer-but she was sure of what she had done.

           "Leave..."

           Leave...?

           "Get... Out..."

           Get out...?

           "You don't like it here then go! Get out!" She shoved his shoulders, pushing him toward his bedroom door. "Go live with Shamus!"

           Shamus....?

           "Go live with Sage! With Nan! Just get out!" She shoved him harder with each word until he was pushed out of his room and against the ledge of the stairs. "Get out!"

           Out...?

           "OUT!"

*****

           Packing the essentials took no more than fifteen minutes; some clothes, his laptop, some--he couldn't recall.. His mother loomed over his shoulder with every step he had made, everything he had grabbed-snapping at him to move faster-to leave-to get out...

           Lock spent hours numbly wondering the city-listening to the cheerful voices of the locals on their way to visit family and friends on such a joyous day--watching children hold hands with their parents while cradling their new toys. He envied each and every one of them.. Wishing there was a way to go back-a way to change everything-to be a good son..

           Night fell without Lock realizing, and with the cold setting in he would need to find somewhere to stay the night. He would try at Shamus' house first-but found that he and his family were out still for the Kirk Family Christmas Gathering. Discouraged, Lock turned away from the darkened home and walked the next block over to Peter's.

           Peter was Shamus' cousin from his true father's side-adopted into the family by Alice Kirk, a former Foster Mother. The house was large, housing eight children total-Peter being the forth eldest of them all and a newly found close friend of Lock's. Since Alice lived so close to her siblings, Lock wasn't surprised to find the former Foster Home to be locked up- the family away for the gathering.

           Out of options, Lock opted to pick the lock and warm up inside.

           Peter's room was decently sized and personalized with the large variety of Peter's photography and graffiti art style. It wasn't a room in which Lock had seen many times in their friendship-but it was familiar enough for him to free himself of his heavy bag and take temporary claim of the bed.

           Lock spread his limbs out across the grey comforter-his eyes staring upward at the painted ceiling-his body and mind numb. He didn't know how long it would be for Peter to return home-or even if Lock would still be in his room when he did-but his motivation to move had perished-his legs shook...

         I should text Shamus.. It was late, but Shamus still may be up.. He felt bad for not having the chance to message him so far, but he was sure Shamus would understand once he explained the day he had--

         "Expensive phone," His arm would suddenly be grabbed, "walk calmly, got it?" He could hear snickering from behind him; his heart rate increasing.

         "Left at the corner here. Good." It wasn't like Lock had a choice.. Based on the sounds of shuffling feet and the snickering, he was outnumbered by at least two.. He followed the one's instruction; wincing as the grip tightened on his arm. He was lead around the corner; a thin alley between apartment complexes. "How much cash you got?"

         "I don't.." Lock winced again, his gripped arm now twisting behind his back; being lead down the alley far enough to be out of earshot and sigh of any passer byes who would care.

         "No cash? What else you got then?" He would be pushed to the wall, his face pressed to the bricks while his bag was forced off of him and passed off to one of the two others. "Spread 'em~" Cooed their leader, putting his knee between Lock's legs to force them apart; the free man's hands quickly moving to pat down the young male. "So small~ He's like a girl~" He heard snickering once more, his shirt being lifted from the back. Lock scowled, fighting against the hands then crying out to the sudden retaliating blow to his head against the brick. "Fussy~" The male laughed, turning the boy around. "I like it~"

"I had a relatively normal childhood, Normal parents; Loving, But a smart brother. Nothing could have changed my outcome," William states, "I was born with this brain; as was he."

But would he have been different? "Of course he would have," A smirk, "He would have worn more ugly jumpers."

The words aside, From a man who knows you just as well as you know yourself, If not better, I still can't help but wonder

If I would have been there to hold your hand, Would you smile more? If I would have been there to pet your head, Would you trust easier? If I would have been there to cradle you, Would you have been less scared?

You came into our home Broken Your eyes begged for help We provided You needed a home We took you in

You've claimed a spot on the couch, You've brought joy into our lives, You've provided us with a grandchild; Furry and tail wagging

I've watched you go from a broken, Needing, Begging child To a man who keeps his head tall

You have your dreams You have your ambitions You have your schooling; And yet

When no one is looking, Or when you think no one is looking, You faultier your smile, Your eyes strain a little, And your hand rubs your throat

I know you remember I know you're scared; But I'm here to hold your hand now, I'm here to chase those memories away.

Trust me.

You sit here in silence, Your head upon my lap, My fingers twisted in your curls;

You sigh, Gently, And move your head, Slowly;

And there, And then, I saw you smile

 "You came home late." 

"What?" 

 "I said you came home late last night."

The tired eyes lifted to the smaller, yet broader male, currently without a shirt. "I was studying."

"Studying?" A chuckle passed the Scottish one's lips as he smell tested a t-shirt. "You smell like liquor, Locky." His eyes were knowing..

"What's his name?" 

"Whose?" 

"Lock.." 

A silence hung in the air between the both of them; Shamus forcing their gazes to meet. 

Stop hurting yourself... 

Please understand... 

Lock leaned forward, collecting his notebook from his desk. "We didn't exchange names. That wasn't what I was after." He clicked his pen and began ink to paper. Blue eyes.. "He bought me a drink," Green eyes.. "I said he was cute," Blue eyes.. "we moved into the bathroom," Blue eyes.. "and you know the rest." Brown eyes.. 

 Once more, the silence hung heavily between the males.

Please...

Don't-

"You're going to destroy yourself.."

"I know what I'm doing."

"Clearly you don't-!"

"Stop! Please!" Please.. "Just--drop it. It's done. It's over. We didn't exchange numbers. He's not going to track me down for more. He's not going to appear at our fucking door! You've nothing to do with it so--drop it!" 

Blue eyes; green eyes; blue eyes; blue eyes; blue; blue; blue; brown; blue... blue.... Fourth.. this was the fourth time..

Shamus stood; staring at his friend of so many years. The boy who had been bullied. The boy who had been neglected. The boy that gave him a chance to make a new start; a chance to pursue his dreams; a chance to learn.. He was still there.. somewhere deep in those bloodshot eyes and pained face.. but how could he get him to return? To be his best friend? To chase his own dreams...?

It took forty minutes for Lock to walk to and from the campus dining hall; fulfilling the promise of crisps and fizzy drinks. Upon entering their dorm, Lock took instant notice of the absence of his roommate-and yet, on his desk-

"Tch.." Lock picked up an eighth piece of his fake ID; freshly cut and scattered across the mahogany. The cans of soda clattered lightly as he set the bag down; his phone being produced from his pants pocket. Within second the line rang in his ear, the familiar voice answering on the other end.