Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Writing Wednesday: A Tattered Life



This is from my WIP, A Tattered Life. I wrote most of this section last night. First draft. Leave comments if you wish.

When I course up the driveway, gravel crackling beneath my over-sized tires, Mama glances up, only for a second, then gets right back to cleaning up the tornado debris from our yard. She’s pissed, I can tell. I put the truck in park and sit, conjuring up an excuse for being late.
She doesn’t speak to me as I pass her to put my backpack in the house, but I feel her eyes on me, boring a hole straight to my soul. I toss my coat on the couch, run into my room, throw on some shorts, grab a garbage bag and my gloves from the morning, which are right where I left them by the front door.
I run to Mama, grab her by the shoulders and kiss her cheek. “Sorry I’m late, I got detention.”
Her head whips up at me. “Again? What for this time?”
“I towel whipped Duncan Price’s bare ass in the locker room.”
She stares at me for a moment in a state of disbelief, but that usually doesn’t last long, because nothing I do ever surprises her anymore, so I can pretty much tell her anything to get out of trouble. Funny, I’m making up getting in trouble to get out of trouble.
“Very well, but you better leave that boy alone. He could be your boss someday.”
I start picking up garbage. “Mama, are you kidding me? I’m going pro. Duncan may be lots of people’s bosses someday, but he ain’t gonna me mine.”
She stoops over to join me in the garbage collecting. “If you’re going pro you better keep those grades up, make sure you don’t get injured, and stop towel whipping boys in the locker room.”
“Yes Ma’am.”
We work in silence. I don’t dare stop working until Mama gives me a sign that we’re done.
“You hungry?”
“Starved.”
She hands me her bag of garbage, then pulls her gloves off and puts them in my bag. Stretching her spine out, hands on the small of her back, she says, “You take care of those, I’ll start supper.”

I do as she tells me, then go clean up. “Start your homework, Jaden!” Mama calls from the kitchen. A breeze comes through, carrying a trace of fried chicken with it. That meant mashed potatoes or home fries too, and I smell garlic, which Mama always adds to her mashed potatoes. Don’t know if she picked that up in Italy or what, but made them damn good. I hope she doesn’t make brussel sprouts. No matter how big a fit I threw, Mama always made me eat them. Still tells me they’ll make me grow big and strong. I’m 6’2 and 210. How much more big and strong do I need to be?
I grab my backpack, fully intending to do as Mama says and start my homework, but I’m distracted by the crazy chick’s notebook staring at me as soon as I unzip it. I pull it out, lay on my bed, and turn to the next entry.

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John Messina, Personal Injury Attorney

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