Here in this Sorrow Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Shannon was the first to run over and kneel beside Christian. She put her arm around him as the others joined them. She helped him to his feet and asked, “Are you all right?”

Christian looked down and wiped the spit off his chest distastefully. He ran his hands over the rest of his body.

“Did he do any face shots?” Andy asked, reaching over to check for damage around Christian’s eyes.

Christian batted his hand away gently. “I’m fine,” he snarled. He slipped out of Shannon’s grasp and stumbled to the car. “Let’s go,” he said. He yanked the door open and fell into the driver’s seat.

Andy laid his hand on Christian’s shoulder. “Chris, do you want one of us to drive?”

Christian batted him away, harder this time. “I said I’m fine!” he snapped. “Get in the fucking car!”

The other three looked at each other and got in.

“It’s okay, Chris,” Clark said. “You couldn’t have beaten him. You did more than any of us would have. We would have all run away.”

Andy and Shannon chuckled wordlessly, staring out the windows.

Andy leaned against the front seat. “Besides, your going to get even more damaged at the show tomorrow.”

“You don’t all have to comfort me,” Christian said in a low voice, staring at the dash board. “Just drop it, alright? Just leave me alone!” He started up the car and put a Misfits CD in the discman. He turned the volume up so that no conversation was possible.

The rest of the trip was quiet. He dropped Andy off first, followed by Shannon. When the car rolled to a stop in front of Clark’s house, Clark lingered in the back seat for a few seconds.

Christian stared at him in the rear-view mirror for a minute. “I have to get home, Clark,” he said at last. “If you have something to say, spit it out, alright?”

Clark hesitated for a minute, staring at Christian’s profile, breathing slowly through his nose. “Are you okay, man?” he asked.

Christian nodded.

“Do you want to hang out tonight?” Clark asked slowly

Christian shook his head. “Not now, maybe later.” He turned around and looked Clark in the eyes for the first time the whole trip. “Give me a call later, maybe we’ll do something. If not, I’ll be by tomorrow morning. Bring everything for the show. I’m not running around town any more than I have to. I want to get right on the road, and don’t want to go to everyone’s houses... especially if we have to waste time with detention.” He smiled.

Clark clapped him on the shoulder. “All right then. Maybe I’ll see later.”

Christian waited until Clark was inside, and then slowly drove away. At the end of Clark’s street, he jammed on the gas and sped the two blocks back to his house, parking in the street. He got out and went in through the basement door, turning on the lights as he went. The dim illumination revealed a finished basement with a ragged couch and two gold velvet chairs. He went to the stairs on the other side of the same wall and listened up them. The muffled jibbering of the television wafted down from beyond the door at the top. “Mom?” he yelled up the stairs.

“Yeah, Chris?” came a muffled voice from upstairs.

“I’m home!” he tossed his backpack into the chair and fell into the couch face down.

A couple seconds later, the door at the top of the stairs opened. “Your father needs you to work tonight,” she called from the top of the stairs.

He picked up his head and sighed. “I can’t I have homework.”

After a pause, she said, “As long as you do it.”

“I will.”

“How was school?”

“Fine,” he said quickly, twisting around and sitting up. “I need to borrow some money.”

She walked halfway down the stairs. “If you’d spend more time at work, you wouldn’t need to borrow money.” She reached the bottom of the stairs. “What do you need money for? Why don’t you use your own”

“I got mustard on my coat. I need to get it cleaned. I need all my money for the show.”

She sighed. “Oh, Christian...”

He got up and walked over to her. “Sorry mom,” he said exaggeratedly and hugged her. When she squeezed him back, he groaned in pain.

She took a step back and looked at him suspiciously. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice low. “Don’t tell me I can hug you hard enough to hurt you.”

He looked away shamefully. “I got in a fight at school,” he mumbled. “Some kid beat the hell out of me because I told a teacher he threw mustard at me.”

“Did he?” she asked, holding Christian at arms-length.

“Yeah,” Christian said meekly.

“Then why doesn’t he pay to get it cleaned? What happened when you told someone?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?!” she exclaimed. “I should call that school in the morning and have something done about it...”

“Mom!” Christian cried. “No, just let it be, I don’t want any more trouble with that guy.”

She sighed again. “How much is it?”

“Ten bucks.”

She pulled a bill out of her pocket and handed it to him.

“Thanks mom. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “I won’t tell your father you were fighting. He’d throw a fit.”

Christian let go and went back to the couch. “Thanks, mom,” he said.

“Go take your coat down so you can get your homework done. Your father will want to see it if you can’t work.” She paused. “He might want to you to work tomorrow.”

Christian sighed. “I can’t work tomorrow, I have the show, remember?”

She shook her head. “You wanted to be a real employee, you can’t go making your own hours all the time. Someone will have to cover you tonight. You might have to work tomorrow.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m going to the show right after school. I have tickets, and everyone is relying on me for a ride.”

“You’ll have to discuss this with him,” she said.

“There’s nothing to discuss!” He got off the couch. “I’m going to this show, and that’s the last word.” He opened the door and went down the hallway to the outside door. “I’ve been planning this for a long time, and nothing is stopping me.”

His mother came to the hallway door. “If you can’t work tomorrow, then go in tonight. Your father will let you do your homework there if it isn’t busy. You could also just do it in school tomorrow.” She leaned against the door frame and crossed her arms.

“No!” Christian exclaimed. “I’m not going in tonight.” He went outside and slammed the door. He got in his car and sat there for a couple minutes, he head inches from the steering wheel. When a tear rolled down his cheek and dropped in his lap, he started up the car and backed out of the driveway.