Hope For Garbage (15 page)

CHAPTER
34

Slam!

The front door banged shut, and Trevor jumped up in his bed. 
God damn it…every time!
  He glanced over at Jacob’s bed.  The little guy had flipped over onto his stomach, but the noise didn’t wake him.  Fortunately Jacob was a heavy sleeper.  Trevor wasn’t so lucky.

This had become a nightly occurrence.  Sometime between three and four in the morning, one of Mom’s ‘friends’ would leave their house, the storm door
always slamming behind them. Trevor had tried everything to block it out—pillow over the head, earplugs, earmuffs—nothing worked.

Two days ago he had tried to fix the door so that it wouldn’t slam.  That was a big mistake.  He took an old dishtowel and taped it to the edge of the door hoping it
would eliminate the clang of metal on metal.  When mom saw it she went ballistic.  “Trevor!  What in the hell is this?!”

Trevor kept his eyes on the dirty floor, “I thought maybe I could fix the door.  It slams really loud sometimes when I’m trying to sleep.”

Mom snickered, “Oh it does?”  She grabbed his face by the chin and forced him to look at her.  She was wearing the wicked grin Trevor had seen so much of lately.  “Well, genius, if you didn’t notice, now the door doesn’t shut completely.  I can’t have that door open all the time.  Take it off now!”

Trevor got down on his knees and started ripping into the duct tape he had wrapped around the towel.  Out of nowhere, something sharp hit him in the head.  Pain radiated through the side of his face, and he saw a pair of scissors fall to the floor in front of him.  He reached up to feel the spot that hurt so bad—just a little blood.

“It’s barely a scratch!  You’re going to need those scissors. Just cut the damn towel up!  It’s ruined now anyway!”  She was still shouting loud enough to make Trevor cringe.  He knew a slap across the face could be coming next.

“Now I’m going out.  If that door isn’t the way you found it when I get back, there will be hell to pay.”  She grabbed her purse and walked past him, her high heels clicking against the tile, missing his hand by inches.

As she walked out the door, she yelled with her back still turned, “And if you could sleep like a normal kid, you wouldn’t have to worry about the slamming!”

That was the day Trevor realized he would have to suffer through a lot of sleepless nights.   Mom wasn’t lying; he definitely didn’t sleep like he should.  But he
thought he had some pretty good reasons why he couldn’t sleep.

For one, he had to take care of Jacob which was a pain in the ass.  After Mom would leave at night, he had to get Jacob a sippy-cup.  He had to read Jacob a story, and then he usually had to rub Jacob’s back until he fell asleep.  Oh, and Jacob slept in Trevor’s room, so if he ever woke up in the middle of the night, Trevor had to deal with it—not Mom.

Of course she was too busy.  Mom went out every night, and when she came home, she always brought a man back with her.  The walls were thin in their house and he would have to listen to the awful sounds coming from Mom’s room.  He would put his pillow over his head and sing to himself, but it never blocked it out completely.  He was only ten, but he knew exactly what they were doing, and it made his stomach hurt.

Tonight
Trevor pushed the bad thoughts out of his head and thought about Dad. Maybe he would come back—it had only been a couple of years.  Trevor imagined him bursting through the front door one day, “Hey buddy let’s go to a baseball game!  I got tickets behind home plate for the Indian’s game!”  He replayed these thoughts over and over in his head as he tossed and turned in bed.  Suddenly he was startled by shouting.

It was mom. “You son of a bitch!  I told you it was twenty!  This is a ten!”

Then he heard a man yell, “What are you going to do about it bitch?”

Crashing noises came from Mom’s bedroom.  Trevor’s heart sank as he heard Mom scream, “No!  No!  I’m sorry, don’t hurt me!”

Oh no!
  What should he do?  Should he try to help mom?  Should he hide?  Trevor looked over at Jacob who was starting to move around but was still asleep.  He had to protect his little brother.

He slowly opened his bedroom door a crack to pee
k out into the hallway.  A gigantic bald man covered in tattoos was leaning over Mom with his fist in the air.

Trevor crept into the hallway and froze, terrified and unable to find his voice.  Mom looked re
ally bad.  She had no shirt on and her face was red and puffy.  She was trying really hard to get away, but the man was too powerful.  Trevor tried to muster up his bravest voice, “Hey!  Leave my mom alone!”

His shaky words came out
in almost a whisper, but it was loud enough for the man to hear.  He looked over at Trevor and then dropped mom to the ground like a bag of groceries, “What the hell?  You have a kid here?  You sick bitch!”

Mom was crying really hard now, and the bald man seemed even angri
er.  He stopped for a minute and stared at Trevor, his huge body heaving up and down with each breath.

To Trevor’s immense relief, he just hurried down the hall and out the front door.

Slam!

***

Silence filled the air as Trevor paused a minute to catch his breath.  Dr. Fisher was shaking her head, “Wow.  I am so sorry you had to go through that Trevor.”

Trevor felt a twinge o
f anger stir inside of him, “No.  Please don’t feel sorry for me, okay?  That’s the worst.  I don’t want pity from you, or anybody.”

“It’s not pity Trevor.  There is a difference in feeling sorry about something that happened to a person, and feeling sorry
for
a person.  That is pity.  But I understand where you’re coming from and it’s noted.  Did things change after that night?”

Trevor thought about it
.  That night probably was the turning point.  “Yea, now that I think about it, that’s when mom stopped going out.  I guess she realized it wasn’t worth getting beat up over.”

He
took the last sip of his water.  “Her eye was all black and blue for weeks—that’s when she really began hiding in her bedroom.  She rarely came out for anything.  I would feed Jacob and then put him in his playpen until I got home from school.  He didn’t get fed again or changed until I got home.  He was never potty-trained and just stayed in diapers.”

Trevor squeezed the empty water bottle, crushing it in his grip, “
Jacob didn’t like his playpen, and I was always worried he would get out.  But every morning I would put him in there and hope for the best. I had to go to school or mom said the family services people would come snooping around.”

Dr. Fisher looked especially bothered by this part of the story.  She seemed to be at a loss for words, “How did you eat?” she finally asked.

“Actually, I remember this guy Tony used to come deliver groceries to us.  Mom had some kind of arrangement with him.”  He shook his head, “Man, did we get the bare necessities.”

Trevor counted them off on his fingers as he said them, “Bread, milk, a jar of peanut butter, potatoes, Cheerios, bottled water, rice, Saltines, toilet paper, a bar of soap, and of course,
the two most important things, kleenex and cigarettes.  Same thing every time.”

“So I assume your mother was on government assistance?”

Trevor shrugged, “Yeah, I guess.  She got a check in the mail and she wasn’t quote, ‘working’ anymore, so yeah I guess we were on welfare.”

Dr. Fisher nodded, “Hey I have an idea.  Do you want to get a bite to eat?  We can keep talking over some lunch.”  She looked at her watch, “Well, a late lunch anyway. You know, a change of scenery.”

Trevor was getting hungry and his stomach had started rumbling.  He finally had his appetite back but didn’t want to stop the story.  He didn’t know if he would ever have the courage to finish it, if he didn’t do it right then.  “Yeah, I guess I could probably use some food.”

***

Dr. Fisher swore this deli had the best corned-beef you’d ever tasted.  Trevor must not have mentioned he was a vegetarian.  He ordered the egg salad instead.  The deli was noisy with the late lunch crowd, but they managed to get a quiet booth by the corner window. He took a large bite into the egg salad sandwich.  It was delicious.

As he chewed, he looked out the window at the busy people passing by.  Everyone looked so normal, so tran
sparent.  But like Dr. Fisher had told him, things aren’t always as they seem.  He bet most of them were carrying around some kind of baggage that stressed them out.

They
ate their sandwiches in silence.   Trevor took another sip of his Coke, “You know, if you have somewhere to go or something, please go.  I don’t want to take up your whole day or anything.”

Dr. Fisher smiled, “When you called me from the hospital this morning, I cancelled all of my appointments for the day.  You sounded like you really wanted to talk, and I’m glad you have.  We can take as much time as you need.  If you’re still up to it.”

“Yeah, I feel like if I don’t talk about it now, I never will.  You know?”

“So, you were taking care of your brother, Jacob?”  She coaxed.

Thoughts of sippy-cups and shitty diapers raced through his mind.  “I was taking care of him, and then Allison.”

“Your baby sister?”

“Yeah.  One day, my mom called me into her bedroom to tell me the wonderful news, about her miracle baby.  She said it was—get this—a gift from God because there was no daddy.  Obviously, I wasn’t that naïve.  Her friend Tony, the grocery guy, he took her to the hospital when she had the baby.  Maybe he was the father.  That was the only time I ever remember Mom leaving the house in like years.”

Trevor took another bite of his sandwich, “Mom kept
Allison in the bedroom with her like she did with Jacob.  Then when Allison was about a year old, I took over—just like I did with Jacob.  I fed her, changed her, and then stuck her in a playpen.”

He went on, “In middle school, we were able to
go home for lunch if we wanted so I started doing that every day.  Jacob learned to sit quietly on the couch and watch his cartoons until I got home.  Allison was a good baby, not as hyper as Jacob.  She didn’t mind the playpen at all.  I would feed them lunch quickly and then hurry back to school.”  Then Trevor mocked in a stern voice, “Mom was not to be bothered.”

Dr. Fisher sighed
, “Such unbelievable neglect.”

“Yeah, I guess we were used to it.  We didn’t know anything different.”  Trevor knew he was coming to the darkest point in his story—the memory that he couldn’t bear to think about.  He looked around the busy diner.  “Do you think we could take a walk somewhere?”

“Sure, there’s a little park at the corner.  Why don’t we go there?”

Dr. Fisher paid the tab and they headed for the park.  As they walked side by side, she mentioned some of the quaint shops around the Beaumont Center.  Trevor wasn’t listening; all he could think about was the next part of his story.

This was the part he feared the most.  This was the part that was so hidden in the depths of his mind, he never thought about it, let alone talked about it.  This was why the man-in-black haunted his dreams, and he was about to re-live it all.

CHAPTER 35

“Trevor!  Trevor I need you!”  He heard the yelling coming from Mom’s bedroom. 
Shit.
  He had five minutes to get on his bike and get his ass to school.  One more tardy and it meant detention.

“Just a second!”  He yelled back from the kitchen. 

Jacob and Allison looked up from their empty cereal bowls.  “She probably wants cigarettes.”  Jacob said matter-of-factly.  He knew way too much for a six year old.  Trevor poured Cheerios into their bowls and handed them spoons.

“What about the milk?”  Jacob asked.

“Trevor!” Mom bellowed again from down the hall.

“Look, I can’t get milk until tomorrow when mom gets her check.  Just deal with it!”  He reached over the top of the refrigerator and grabbed a pack of Viceroys out of the carton.

Allison started crying.  “I want milk!” she sobbed.

Trevor was about to lose it.  He was thirteen years old, not thirty!

“What about oatmeal then?” Jacob yelled.

“Just hold on!” he screamed over his shoulder.  “I have to boil water—I don’t have time for that!” 
Jesus, they were bad off
.  The people in his neighborhood were pretty poor, but he would bet they all had a microwave!

Trevor walked into the dark hallway that led to Mom’s room.  Her bedroom door was only opened a crack, but the cigarette smoke was seeping out.  He could feel his chest tightening up—not so much from the noxious air, but more from his anxiety at seeing Mom.  Every day she looked worse.

He slowly pushed the door open and peered inside.  The room was dark.  A heavy wool blanket covered the only window.  Mom liked to keep it dark because it was easier to see the TV.  She watched TV all day long—game shows and nothing else.

“Well don’t just stand there stupid!  Come here
,” she waved him over to her bedside.

As he took a step, his knees began shaking and his eyelid began twitching
.  Get a hold of yourself Trevor
.  He took a deep breath of the foul air and walked forward.  He made sure to stop at arms-length away from mom.  She didn’t want anyone coming near her, not even her children.

He handed her the
pack of Viceroys wrapped in a tissue.  She carefully pulled the box away and threw the kleenex onto one of the growing piles next to her bed. She immediately struck a match and took a long drag of the cigarette.

Mom was around thirty-five years old.  She looked like she was in her sixties.  Her face was sunken in and full of wrinkles.  Her filthy, thin hair was slicked back and wrapped in a handkerchief.  Deep lines surrounded her lips, partially because of the smoking, but also because Mom didn’t eat—literally.

Trevor would offer her food all the time but she wanted only two things: bottled water and occasionally some crackers.  She had begun losing her teeth.  Trevor had noticed the first one about a year ago, a big black hole when she smiled.  Now she had lost most of the ones in front. 

“Empty that for me.”  Sitting on the bedside table was a paper plate with a mound of cigarette butts.  It was only one day’s worth.  Almost half of mom’s check money went to cigarettes.  It was part of the reason Allison couldn’t have milk in her cereal.

“Yes Mom,” he picked up the teetering plate and turned to the door.

“Trevor,” Mom called from behind.

He didn’t turn around, “Yes?”

“I love you stupid,” she said quietly.

***

Trevor looked up at Dr. Fisher.  “I just remembered that.”

“Which part?” she asked.

“That she told me she loved me.  That was the first time.”

Dr. Fisher nodded.  “And what happened after that?”

Trevor closed his eyes.  “I just went to school I guess.”

“Well why don’t you walk me through it?”

Trev
or got up from the park bench and turned to Dr. Fisher.  “I know I told you I wanted to talk about this, but now…I don’t know if I can.”  No one had really heard about this part of his life.  He just didn’t know if he could get the words out.

He looked across the park at a little boy running
through the trees with his mom.  He was laughing and clapping happily.  Is that what childhood was supposed to be like?

Dr. Fisher’s voice was calm and reassuring, “Trevor I know this is very hard for you and you’ve been really brave so far.  If you need to stop, I understand.  I will always be here for you to talk to.”

Something stirred inside him.  Maybe telling her would alleviate some of the pain—some of the burden.  He was sick of being the only human being on the planet who knew the whole story.  He might as well just do it now.

The blue sky was tinged with the
pink of dusk.  Across the park the mom was hugging her little boy.  He took another deep breath, “I went back to the kitchen.”

***

“Are you leaving?”  Allison asked, propped up on the couch in front of the TV.

Trevor grabbed his backpack off the floor.  “I’ve got to go to school sweetie but I’ll be back before you know it.  I’ll come home at lunch and make you some
pb&j.  How does that sound?”

She looked up at him with her big blue eyes and goofy grin.  It killed him to have to leave her.  She was only three years old, but was especially small for her age.  He bent down and gave her a hug.  “Be good and I will be back in just a couple of hours.” 

He walked into the kitchen where Jacob sat eating his dry cereal. “This is gross.  I want oatmeal!”

Trevor ignored him, “Jacob, keep an eye on your sister.  I’ll be back at lunchtime and you make s
ure you’re ready for the bus.”

Jacob went to afternoon kindergarten,
and that’s when Trevor would try to get Allison down for a nap.  At least when she was in the playpen she couldn’t get into anything.  Being home with mom was like being home alone.

Trevor pedaled hard the whole way to school, which happened to be over a mile away.  A bus came by his house every morning, but because he had to come home on his lunch hours, the bike was his only option

The morning dragged on as it usually did.  Sitting in his last class of the morning he thought about Allison and the look on her face when he left.  The guilt started to set in and then quickly turned to anger when he thought about mom.

Trevor
looked around at the other kids in the class and wondered what their moms were like.  They probably had moms that helped with their homework and made their lunches.  He would bet no one else had a mother like his.

The lunch bell rang out
and he quickly threw his math folder and pencil into his backpack.  He took off for his bike and started the trek home.

He was halfway
to his house and turning down Beachwood when he heard them.  Sirens—lots of them.  The faster he pedaled, the louder they got.

Then in the distance, he saw
black smoke rising up over the trees.
Jesus, it looked like it was coming from his neighborhood.  It looked like it was coming from his street.

Trevor pedaled faster as
the panic set in.  A large knot immediately formed in the pit of his stomach.  When he got to his street, the knot felt like a fist that someone had thrust into him at full force.  He almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

A
midst the mass of blue and red flashing lights, a large crowd had gathered in front of
his
house.  Trevor looked to both sides of the crowd—the run-down yellow duplex stood on the left, and Mrs. Perkin’s cat-infested bungalow stood on the right.  This was definitely where he lived, but there was no house.  All he could see was a pile of black rubble smoldering in its place.

T
hings began moving in slow motion.  His feet were moving forward like they were on auto-pilot.  He looked around at the crowd of people.  Their mouths were moving, but he couldn’t hear anything.  It was almost as if he was floating under water.

He
found himself moving toward the lights where a man dressed in a black suit stood talking to a group of police officers.  They didn’t notice him in all of the chaos, and as Trevor got closer, the sound of the man’s voice became clear.

Trevor
stood next to the man-in-black, and looked up at his face as he spoke.  The words trickled down to him like tiny knives stabbing him in his heart, “It looks like a gas explosion from inside—probably the stove.  We have three bodies, one adult and two children.  They never had a chance.”

With those words, Trevor fell to his knees and screamed, until he couldn’t scream anymore.