I wake, wiping the drool from the corners of my mouth, and bend
over the side of the bed. I am looking for breakfast: cold chicken.
My teeth graze on the bone.
I snatch the stereo remote from the toy digger truck and wave it,
whilst pressing the red power button. I try to look up to see if it has
worked, but I slip, tumbling.
As my ears tune I hear shouting, as Kurt Cobain wails from the
speakers. I ssh him. Sounds like Jonathan and dad again. It makes a
change from the dad vs mum arguments.
That last argument was my fault. I hadn’t wiped the history on the computer, and mum saw I had been looking at tits. I was just trying to feel something for them.
I crawl into bed and close my eyes.
I sit head in hands on my windowsill. A cigarette is smoldering in
the ashtray on my lap.
The room is empty and in boxes. Clothes are casually laid on a chair
for the morning. Jonathan is moving back into his room, which my
parents occupied, and we are moving tomorrow.
Jonathan wants me to stay. That’s what the argument was about. He
thinks I still need time.
‘You OK, Jude?’ Jonathan comes to asks me.
I mumble I am.
‘Come here.’ Jonathan sits on the bed and pats his knee. I unfold
myself and go to curl up with him. He kisses the top of my head.
‘When you are gone, right, promise me you will make friends. I
know mum doesn’t like you, you know, mix that much but do,
because you can’t sit around doing nothing on the weekends. You
need to get out there. It will help you.’
‘To do what?’
‘OK. Just go and talk to somebody.’
‘If they have a friendly face.’
‘What if they laugh at me?’
‘Then they aren’t worth your time.’