A lone youth stood beside a dewy bus stop with eyes wide as the morning. It began innocently. A quiet cat lurking in the six o'clock shadow. Morris was struck by the timing of it and the awful luck of both involved.
Five minutes earlier the neighbor had swept out her door as the 1 line hissed past. On Tuesdays she took the car. It was a mystery. Some unknown slice of her routine. Morris loved the way she dressed on Tuesdays. It was the only day she wore heels.
Shiny black stilettos.
He had purposely missed the bus just to watch her walk down the steps. His eyes did not leave her strawberry curls as she climbed into her black sedan. The bumper cast a weak shadow across cold concrete as she stepped heavily into reverse. In that moment the cat lunged playfully toward a trash scrap blowing across her driveway. Morris watched the grace of the movement in horror. Heavy rubber crushed the delicate feline skull irrevocably close to the pavement. Bulbous sacks burst from sockets in a wave of gore.
Morris felt his stomach heave. The memory of morning eggs began to churn in his head. He could taste bitterness rising. The little animal was nothing more than a greasy track mark on the concrete. He blinked.
Flynn's glance flickered toward the boy. She blushed heavily and followed through with the motion. The tires squealed as they tore forward, trailing animal remnants to the end of the block. Morris gaped.
He had never met the woman. She was a fantasy in her heels and stockings, but never had a word been exchanged. He turned and walked back toward his house. His mother would have to let him stay. The mess was evidence enough to his illness. Besides, his birthday had passed over the weekend. She ought to give him one day. He ran through the various arguments in his head while he strode toward the steps. The key stuck in the lock, but she was leaving herself.
"Morris. You're not on the bus."
"I know. Mom I don't feel well. I just watched the neighbor run over Sheila's cat."
"Oh honey.."
"I cannot go back over there. Not right now. Mom. It was disgusting. I feel nauseous."
"OK sweetie. Go upstairs and lay down. Just make sure to study. I love you."
She waved two fingers and blew a kiss.
Morris trudged up the stairs and discarded himself on the couch. It was still so early. She would be gone until at least five and it was only 7:30. He watched the street for a few minutes. She was well on her way.
He climbed into the attic where he kept his stash. He fished one of the three joints from a canvas bag and walked to the window. The crank was rusted, but still turned. He coaxed the window wider. The smoke wouldn't settle into the walls that way. Not that his mother would notice. When she wasn't working she sat comatose in front of the television. He would watch her blue eyes flicker blindly between the faces of the actors. She would sip gin and smile blankly while he rambled about his school days. He wondered if she would notice if he were speaking another language. She would nod, blink, nod, and smile that blank grin no matter what he was saying. He sometimes told absurd lies just to watch her nod.
Below him the street was soaking up the morning mist. There had been a heavy fog in the earliest hours, but had begun to burn off as the sun rose. He glanced at the sky. Even so, it certainly wouldn't be the fairest of days. He wondered about the cat.
The paper caught the flame too well and the joint began to crumble.
"Fuck."
He pressed the end against the windowsill. There were several similar marks along the white of it. He brushed the ashes self consciously. He remembered his early thoughts oh his mother and dismissed the mess. The hissing of a bus brought his attention back to the street.
There was a park across the street. A truancy officer wouldn't be likely there. He slipped down the stairs, into his coat, and lifted the novel he had been reading from the couch. Outside the air breathed crisp. A patch of blue drifted over the area. His eyes followed the sun for a moment before the clouds swallowed the warmth again. He walked across the pavement and up toward the only bench facing the street. The smear was still vibrant, though the heavy moisture was darkening it against the pavement.
There was a stirring in the window above. The flutter in the drapes was all that remained of Sheila. He watched her step gingerly into the street.
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