Chapter Text
The classroom’s peaceful quietness, as well as everyone’s concentration, was ruined by the raucous bell echoing throughout the place, stating that school day had come to an end. The attentive and caring blue eyes watched some of the beloved students let out sighs of relief, resulting in a held back giggle from the ginger.
“Okay kids, time’s up! Hand back the papers, please.”
By the time the children packed their belongings and marched to her desk, she gave each and every one of them a warm smile. Some of them with their nerves on the edge, already contemplating their poor grades.
“Ms. Dobie, is there a way I can retake the test?” one of Martha’s clearly anxious students asked, as she fixed her glasses on the bridge of her nose and ran her right hand across the exquisite black power hair.
A small giggle was inevitable, “Oh Michelle, don’t you worry about it, I’m sure you did great. Besides, it was just a silly little math quiz before midterms, nothing much,” The redhead reassured as she took other students’ papers in the meantime. That was enough to ease the little girl’s nerves.
As the classroom became more and more emptier, Martha quietly observed the very last student, who usually sat on the last row, sheepishly carrying his leather briefcase and reluctantly approaching her desk. As he came closer, she noticed that under well-trimmed bangs were hazel eyes holding a sorrowful look, and only when the quiz was in her hands that the smirk hovering her lips faded to something else.
Before he could see the change on her face, the little boy picked up his pace to walk out the door, except Martha was faster.
“James.”
The brunette pursed his lips and his grip on the briefcase became harder, as he abruptly stopped, counting how many steps there were left to leave the classroom. About four or five.
“You gave me the quiz just as you received it a couple hours ago.” As James turned to face her once again, he saw Ms. Dobie looking at the blank Math quiz in her hands, just to meet her confused expression a few seconds later. “Why?”
“I- I’m sorry Ms. Dobie, Math confuses me, I just have a difficult time concentrating, that’s all,” the boy stuttered as he said the first excuse that came to mind. “It won’t happen again.”
“Is it just Math?” Martha questioned, trying to contemplate a bigger picture than his shallow statement. “You’re not my most participative student, and that has worried me long enough,” the ginger was as sincere as she could be, trying to earn a valid answer from him. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right James?” He remained reactionless, as she tried to read him. “I’m your friend, not your enemy.”
His lips curved in a sad smile, as he nodded, wanting desperately to leave. “See you tomorrow, Ms. Dobie.”
Pursed lips and thin frowned eyebrows delated Martha’s jumbled mind, which immediately had been making up thoughts about thousands of reasons that could explain the boy’s constant frigidness and distance.
With a generous pile of papers in front of her, as well as the lousy coffee kindly made by the old cleaning lady, Mrs. Thompson, Martha enjoyed the few last minutes of her shift to get started on the grading. The room’s silence and emptiness felt somewhat pleasant, and was extremely worshiped by the novice teacher, who had to always deal with fussy children talking loudly, running around and in constant battle with one another to see who would give her the right answer for a question. She could always use some silence to put her thoughts in order.
However, anyone with eyes could notice Dobie’s uneasy nature by sighting her jumpy legs and unquiet fingers. Her mind was about to enter a short circuit at any moment for having to deal with so many things at once. The right hand that once leafed through pages, now massaged her aching temples, then moved to place her glasses on the top of her head.
As the blue eyes closed and Martha propped the elbows on the desk, in distress, she ran both hands across her face and took a deep breath. In the meantime, the door behind her opened, and, by the sound of the clicking heels, she knew it was her fellow coworker, Ruby Harris.
“Already regretting accepting the job, Martha?” she heard that nasal, almost unbearable voice, echoing throughout the room as the blonde woman walked to pour herself some of the poor coffee.
“I might.”
“Just don’t let Mr. Hamilton hear you,” she mentioned the principal.
Holding a fake smile on her features, Martha looked up at the woman with a chipmunk voice, approaching her to take a seat on the desk’s surface, trying her best to look attractive and sex appealing. The blue eyes had spotted some hidden wrinkles on the corner of her eyes and lips some time ago; Martha dared saying Mrs. White was a few years older than her, though Ruby had always dodged the dreadful question. She must have some trouble with aging, just like the old duchess at home, who Dobie still carries on her shoulders.
“What’s troubling you, dear?” White asked while sipping loudly on her drink, so loudly it got on Martha’s nerves.
“Just a student of mine–”
“Ah, troublemakers, you can’t run from them,” another loud sip. “Who’s the little bastard?”
“James Cardin. And he’s not a troublemaker, a bastard or whatever you call it.”
“Oh, him! I used to teach him the year before.” Now Martha had her full attention turned to the presumed older woman, suddenly interested in what she had to say. “A lovely kid. Very bright and collaborative. One of my finest students, really.” Ruby took a sip of the dreadful drink in her hands. “He always had the right answers on the tip of his tongue,” The expert teacher looked off into space, probably reminiscing the times she’d spent with the kid.
“We can’t possibly be talking about the same James,” Martha lightly shook her head, stunned at the sudden changes the boy had gone through in less than three months. “That’s not the one I teach anyway. He’s always so quiet and I’m afraid his grades are compromised.”
Martha became thoughtful, running in her mind every reason that could possibly explain the boy’s state. Quickly analyzing the novice teacher’s body language, Ruby almost predicted her next move.
“Another day at the office, Ms. Dobie. Our main goal is the paycheck at the end of the month and that’s that,” Ruby babbled something Martha barely listened to but was sure she didn’t agree on. “Don’t reach for the moon, Martha. We’re teachers, not superheroes.”
After the infamous creaking of the front door, the boy stared at the empty, lifeless image his home had become. Despite the Victorian architecture and his mother’s exquisite decor taste, the house was slowly losing its character, as well as draining the energies of those left living there.
Apart from the missing family photos placed on the staircase wall, the once lovely flower arrangements his mother had made haven’t known what water is in months. The place was so dark and morbid that it felt like a haunting house he sees in the pictures he’s not allowed to watch.
“Mom?” The maturing voice echoed throughout the place, as the boy tossed his briefcase on the ground. By the strong smell of cigarettes permeating the entire place, he immediately knew what his mother had been up to all morning. “Mother?”
The barefoot steps became louder as she approached the entrance. With a hypercritical stare, James met his mother’s deplorable state. Not even swollen eyes, a red face and congested nose prevented her from showing him the smallest of smiles, while fixing her disheveled hair and closing the silk robe she’d slept in the night before.
“Hi, love,” she sniffed, giving him a sad smirk and looking at him with vulnerable hazel eyes he’d inherited. “How was school?”
Looking up, trying his best to find traces of his lively mother, he hesitated to answer. “Fine,” as he bit the inside of his mouth and looked down, Karen reached out to caress his silky hair and down to his right cheek, then was dreadfully hurt as he backed away from her touch. The woman didn’t insist, as that was becoming quite common; She simply crossed her arms and hid her pain.
“Hungry?”
“No–” She interrupted him.
“I can make you a sandwich, just– just give me ten minutes–” Constantly nodding and cleaning her runny nose with the back of her hand as she trailed off, he stopped her.
“Mom, I’m okay,” He looked up at her quite rudely; Or rather disdainfully, as Karen thought. “I’m just thirsty.”
“I’ll get you a glass–” The brunette rapidly suggested and was about to return to the kitchen again, until the little boy stopped her.
“I have arms and legs, I’ll get it,” after another one of his coarse remarks, the boy was faster.
The woman went after her son, mentally wishing he wouldn’t enter the room. “James–” she involuntarily let out as he opened the sliding door.
The smell of cigarettes increased.
As he entered, James pretended to ignore the ashtray full of cigarettes, or the smoke of the last one she’d had dancing in the air, as well as a half-empty bottle of brandy sitting on the side. The still growing boy did his best to reach for a glass in the kitchen cabinet, and when succeeded, he poured him some water from the sink.
Quietly chugging, Karen stood by the kitchen entrance and watched him do it, innerly feeling incredibly ashamed of herself, desperately trying to find something to say.
As he placed the single glass on the sink, they exchanged looks for less than two seconds; the woman couldn’t help but put her guards up.
“Don’t be like that…” She said in a low voice.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to,” Karen shook her head mildly, fighting her tears. “I promised you I was gonna stop, and I will. This is my last one…” The hurtfulness increased as her son stood there across the room, holding a doubtful expression on his features.
“You said that a pack ago. And the one before that.”
James made his way out, and lightly bumped into his mother, who’d never moved from the door. She followed him back to the entrance hall. “Now, where are you going?”
“Bedroom. Homework.” The 11 year-old coldly said as he collected his briefcase and walked up the stairs.
She watched him, noticing how her gentle and affectionate boy was fading away into something else. “Dinner’s at seven!” She yelled as he walked upstairs. He pretended she wasn’t there. “Don’t forget to shower!” As a response, Karen received a loud shutting door, which caused her to close her eyes and shiver at the banging.
Finally being left alone yet again, Mrs. Cardin finds uncomfort in the once worshiped silence, as she feels tormented by agony and eaten alive by grief. Karen’s attention is strangely taken by the rectangular marks left by the missing framed pictures on the staircase wall, those which have always haunted her since the impulsive decision. The pictures left of young James on the wall, somehow, no longer made sense.
Finding peacefulness in that starry night, she leaned against her bedroom’s balcony railing, while having a burning cigarette in between her fingers. Karen watched the smoke dissipating into the fairly windy night, as she ignored the broken promise she’d made to her son that afternoon.
By the time she intentionally moved her attention down to the ground, the brunette allowed the intrusive thoughts to reach her rotting brain once again that day. The neverending ache felt so excruciating, it was hard for her to remember how she felt before it all. In late nights as such, the suffering woman constantly found herself thinking if the distance from balcony to the floor was enough to end someone’s life or to just break a leg. They’d become so familiar in the last few months, she didn’t even mind them anymore.
Though she could never take the risk of verbalizing them.
Two minutes or so, still enveloped by condemning thoughts, the sound of an opening door caused her to throw away what was left of the poisonous burning stick, avoiding the shameful feeling of having her own son stare at her with disappointment once more. “Mother?” The young boy said with a sleepy voice as he entered the bedroom. She watched him rubbing the hazel eyes filled with tiredness as she closed the double door, as well as the curtains which danced with the wind.
“Can’t sleep?” At the sight of a drowsy James, with pouty lips and disheveled hair, she gave him a funny face after he shook his head. He was trying to earn her compassion, and Karen, being the softhearted she’d always been, it didn’t take her much to give in. “Alright, darling, you won. C’mere,” she patted the soft mattress, “I was feeling lonely anyway.” The woman watched him making his way to her bed and becoming immediately comfortable when lying down. It didn’t feel that big all of a sudden.
After turning most lights off, the only source of luminosity being the bedside lamp, Karen joined him under the covers, seconds later becoming surprised that he didn’t back away from her touch this time. As she enveloped her son in her arms, she took the liberty of caressing his shoulder lightly, allowing the silence and her actions to speak for themselves. Even if he didn’t retribute, it was enough for her.
“How was school?” The woman asked after some time of dark silence.
“Fine. You’ve already asked me that today.”
“I’m getting old,” not laughing was helpless at his mother’s finest old lady impression.
“You’re not that old, mom,” the boy said amid laughter.
“Oh, I am indeed! Early-onset dementia, I’m afraid.” The old lady’s voice attacks again. At that point, James barely noticed he had his mother’s chin comfortably resting on his shoulder. It’s the closest they’ve ever been in weeks. “Anyways, how are Peter, Frank and all the boys? Are they being nice to you? You’ve barely talked about them.”
His answer was straight-up silence, a little shrug and that was it.
“5th graders aren’t the best people. Especially boys.” Sadness invaded his voice again.
“What does that mean?”
“You went through 5th grade mom, you know,” she gave him time to defend his theory. “With boys, it’s all competition. And girls hate each other silently.”
Unfortunately he couldn’t witness his mother’s astonished features at the statement. “And you came to that conclusion on your own, little genius?”
“I read it in a magazine.”
“One of mine?”
“I guess.”
Now she was the one who shrugged, “Mmm, you might be onto something then.” A long comfortable pause stood by them, “ I don’t hate anybody, I can tell you that.”
“Not even dad?” James impulsively let out, addressing the elephant in the room. Suddenly the energy between them became heavy. Unexpectedly, most words had vanished from Karen’s brain, unable to form cohesive sentences. After breaking the embrace to turn to face her, unsatisfied, the insistent 11 year-old kept on, “how come we never go see him?”
“James–”
“I miss him–”
“Please, don’t make this more difficult than it already is.” She said it quietly, her voice clearly breaking. “It’s late darling, now please get some rest.” After an attempt to touch his face by taming his bangs, the fuming boy turned back to his original position, far away from her this time.
And they were back on square one.
Reaching out to turn off the lamp, facing pitch black, Karen swallowed the lump on her throat as she turned her back to her own son inches away from her, who, somehow, felt way further. Not even the invisible string of pain they shared could bring them together, on the contrary.