Hope

068/365

Heart pounding fervently in his chest, he hyperventilates, puffs of frost billowing out and dangling in the icy air before him. The impossibility of this whole ordeal is tremendous, yet here he is, standing in a winter wasteland surrounded by incontestable hideousness holding a small velvet box filled to the brim with hope. He dared not shout or express his uncontrollable joy for fear of attracting attention and having his dreams literally ripped out of his hands. Instead, he clicks the tiny golden clasp shut and slips the box into his yearning pockets.

Time teases and taunts him; the walk home more drawn-out and exhausting than usual. Despite the chilly wind his hands are clammy when he shoves them into his overcoat putting his mind at ease every time his trembling fingers brush against the soft velvet exterior. Absentmindedly he glances down at Rupert who in response to the sudden, but much wanted attention, slightly cocks his head and whines. The man laughs out loud and pats his head silently thanking Rupert for his insistent bathroom needs for if it were not so, he would have never stumbled upon such happiness. To his dismay Rupert did not wag his tail and jump up in attempt to lovingly kiss his owner’s face, but instead conjures up a low guttural growl that the old man is all too familiar with.

Up ahead glass shatters and is followed by unapologetic, hysterical laughter. The laugh unmistakably belongs to his neighbor. A young troubled boy not much older than his nephews by the name of C.J. Thomas. With a sharp heave Rupert lunges forward sending C.J. running for his own crumbling porch. An abrupt commanding tug of the leash stops Rupert in his tracks. Obedient, he gives the hoodlum one last bark before following his master into their home. Floppy paws dash forward to the Mrs. side, wet nose nudging her to the couch.

She giggles and puts her hands in the air in innocence, “I was just getting the remote Ru, I swear”.

He’s persistent until she’s safely seated. The man shoots his wife a stern but concerned look. “You know you’re not supposed to be up and about. I told you we’d be right back”. She rolls her eyes feigning annoyance as a draft of frigid air whips into the room.

“He got the side window again,” she sighs. “I would clean it up myself but apparently I’m not supposed to.”

Wicked cackling makes its way into their shabby home. Outside C.J. howls with delight. How he despises those crabby old neighbors of his always mopping around making the view out of his window so…ugly? Whatever the reason, the fact of the matter was that he went out of his way to make their miserable gloomy lives just that much more intolerable. Maybe they’d just get it over with and hang themselves already, he’d find himself thinking right before smashing a window or popping a tire. He frowns at the thought of this. He could never understand why they made no effort to stop him. They never yelled, called the cops, came banging on his door for compensation, nothing. He turns away burdened by the weight of his own problems, twists the handle of the paint chipped door, and steps inside his living room.

“Didn’t I tell you to get the hell out and STAY OUT?!!!” His mother hollers with inexplicable rage. She stands swiftly and raises a threatening fist. He hangs his head and nods, walking hastily past her towards his bedroom. He always knew she hated him. Despised, rejected, regretted him making no effort to hide it from his young fragile heart. And now that he was sixteen she could kick him out at free will simply telling the cops, who knew much about C.J.’s delinquency, that he ran away if she was questioned. This was the very reason he had come back: to retrieve his things and make one last desperate phone call.

A gruff grave voice grumbled into the receiver, “What the fuck do you want C.J.? Make it quick you know I’m a busy man. I don’t want to hear any nonsense either boy”.

C.J. whispers a silent prayer, adrenaline pumping, heart racing as he nervously sums up the mishap that had occurred just hours earlier. He describes the chase and explains the ankle-crushing slip on a patch of black ice that knocked the box right out of his hands causing it to disappear in the thick snow. Less listens solemnly for C.J.’s rambling to end. He takes in a deep impatient breath.

“You had one simple thing to do Thomas and that was get the drop off done. This is the last time you fuck up my money.” And with a loud click C.J. is left with no one to protest but the empty echoes of the dial tone.

Hot guilty tears engulf his troubled face.

Next door the old woman embraces her husband with delight and pure ecstasy. She simply cannot contain herself and, despite her leg, stands crooked-ways against the couch to engage in a little victory dance. Her wonderful beloved husband and his loyal furry companion, God bless his inquisitive nature, came across such a great fortune that she could never have even dreamed of. Now they can finally leave this dreadful place away from all the chaos, and stares, and that terrible family next door. And at last she can get the surgery she needs for them to live, and perhaps die, in peace. The old man embraces his wife and kisses her lovingly on the forehead. She gives him a huge thankful smile.

Blasts of gunshots light up the night forcing them down to the floor, ducking for cover. Wood splinters and glass shatters as a single, damned soul hits the crumbling foundation of the instable home just next door from theirs.