Can't Let Go(2)

We always park around the corner in some off chance the place gets busted. Up until two years ago, it was part of my nightly prayers that it would. But things changed when I turned that corner two years ago and found Dex sitting in that folding chair. Although I don’t pray for it to remain open, I just leave it out altogether. My eyes glance at the diner across the street, and I imagine all the delish foods they probably make every day while my stomach erupts with a growl sure to be heard from across town. That bowl of Fruit Loops not completely doing its job of filling my stomach as last night’s dinner.

“Stop wasting time. Let’s go.” My dad’s voice booms over to me, and I start walking faster to not upset him.

Weaving through the small ‘grocery store’, we wave to the usual knowing employees and walk down a series of steps to the underground level. Once we get to the stained linoleum hallway with two chairs set outside for the only two people that ever fill them, he knocks and is immediately let in. He never looks back at me or speaks a word. For the next four hours, I don’t exist in his mind and, truth is, we both prefer it that way. It’s like a mini vacation from our own hell.

I’m not sure why my dad never shipped me off to my grandparents’ or just left me at one of the places that takes unwanted kids. The only humane thing he’s done with me since my mom left us to pursue her own dreams is keep me instead of turning me over to foster care. Not that she was much of a mother anyway. Neither of my parents have ever been very parental.

Dex and his dad interrupt me just as I’m digging further in my mind that usually I try not to do. But I like to remind myself that I will not turn into him or the other kids that wander the streets. That I will get out of this one day and live a happy life with plenty of food and kids I will always tell how much I love them.

“There she is,” Theo, Dex’s dad, says as the heels of his dress shoes click on the floor. He doesn’t fit the type from around here. Tall, blonde, scruff on his face with a muscular build. Always dressed in nice slacks, a button-down, and dress shoes. No one would ever assume he’s as messed up as my dad—well, I guess he’s not as bad, but they run in the same circles.

“Hi, Mr. Prescott,” I answer, giving him a small wave. His large hand lays on top of my head, and he messes my hair up slightly before doing the same series of knocks my dad did ten minutes ago.

“You two have fun. Love you, Edge,” Mr. Prescott says, using Dex’s nickname he earned last year when he made a pick that stuffed peoples’ pockets. Not sure why the guys trusted him for his input, but they all tossed him some bills after, which got him so excited, which, in turn, made me hate him a little.

Soon Mr. Prescott’s gone and the smell of bubble gum and boy wafts under my nostrils. A wide smile instantly crosses my lips because I’ve been waiting for two weeks to see him. “What’s up, Chrissy?” he asks and hands me a Game Boy. I’m scrunching my eyes up, getting ready to ask him what’s this when he quickly remarks, “I borrowed my friend’s for the day,” answering my unasked question.

“Thank you,” I genuinely say, and his shoulders rise and fall like he doesn’t care.

Dex Prescott and I might not have the most stellar of conversations, but, for four hours every other Saturday, it’s just me and him. We play games, always ones he brings with him. He sneaks food away in his backpack that he shares with me. He’s fortunate to only live with his father every other weekend, while the rest of the time he lives with his mom. I can’t say I’m not jealous of his ‘normal’ childhood, except for when he’s with me, but I’m happy for him all at the same time. Not sure how I can be happy for someone I feel so much jealously toward, but I do. I wouldn’t wish any other person to have the life I have.

“I have something for you,” I say, digging into my pocket. I pull out the small disk and Dex’s eyes light up, grabbing it out of my hand.

“How did you get this?” he asks. “I’ve been saving, but my mom says no more games.” He holds the newest game of Mortal Kombat out in front of him like it’s a Babe Ruth rookie card. “You play it first.” He hands it back to me, thankful he didn’t ask me again how I got it. Especially since I kind of borrowed slash stole it from another kid. Not that I would usually ever steal. I’ve told myself a million times I’d never do it. But the kid called me a dirty piece of trash right in the middle of the playground. All his damn friends laughed and chanted it back. So, when I went in to go to the bathroom during recess, I played a payback that benefits Dex. The guilt resonates pretty hard within me, so I just replay the nightmare of the playground scene in my head to justify my actions.