I guess let’s take this back to where I come from so you know how I was raised. My father was an absent one, constantly in and out of prison. Hell, he wasn't even there for my birth—more than likely shooting up or breaking into someone’s house. My mom wasn’t any better. I was born in Wichita, Kansas, to a white woman and a Muscogee Creek man. Growing up mixed is hard enough; growing up without an identity was even worse. By ten, I was never connected to either the native side or the Danish side. I was beaten regularly by my father when he bothered to show up and starved by my mother, who taught me to at least dumpster dive for rotten food. Yet somehow, I was happy. Being alive, breathing the air, feeling the grass brush my feet with every step, and climbing trees for hours, jumping from one to another—these moments made me feel alive. The best part for me was walking through what little woods and fields there were, feeling free with nowhere to go anytime soon. That is, until I found her.
It had gotten dark. I’d been blissfully ignorant of the sun’s passage until it was almost too dark to see without a flashlight or lighter. I came to rest at the bed of a creek, playing with rocks and sticks, poking and prodding the waterbed. The sounds of cicadas were loud, and I could hear the crickets chirping. I didn’t want to go home, not after last night. The night before, my mom had made me down a whole bottle of Nyquil for bothering her about my stomach. I had only gotten through half the bottle when my aunt came into the room, yelling and tackling my mom.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO THAT BOY?”
She was on top of my mom when I stood up, the bottle spilling on the floor to my right, my mom’s hands raised in defense. My Aunt Alicia was the strongest woman I’ve ever met.
“Why should it matter what I do to him? That’s not a kid, that’s a devil!” my mom screamed at her. Before she could get up, my aunt got her in a chokehold as I stood there crying, my knees about to give out from the pain in my stomach. But I couldn’t say she was wrong either. Throughout my childhood, there were many things that should have killed me but didn’t. I’d been stabbed by one of my dad’s gang members—part of MS-13, I later learned. I’d been run over by cars going over 60 mph, thrown off my bike with only a cut to the top of my head as I hit the concrete. I was shot at once in the leg; the doctors said it was close to my artery. I should be dead many times over, I thought. So I couldn’t say my mom was wrong at the time.
“That’s YOUR SON, Diana! My nephew! He is just a boy!” my aunt yelled through tears as my mom was turning purple. I ran to her, even though I knew she was the one hurting me. I don’t know why, but even now, I can never hate her or my biological father.
“P-please stop hurting my mommy! She didn’t mean to; she was trying to help me!” I cried, feeling powerless, unable to move.
“Aiden, go outside. I promise I will stop once you go to the car,” my aunt said firmly.
So I did. I ran outside, doing as I was told, my hands still shaking, my stomach still churning. My knees gave out from under me, and I lay there in a ball. I broke down by the car, hearing my mom yelling at my aunt. A neighbor from down the street saw me and came running, asking if I was okay. He was a nice older man with white peppered hair and an endearing smile, with creases around his mouth showing he smiled a lot. I just lay there crying, and he gave me a hug. I leaned into him, just holding on, hoping my mom would be okay and that she would go easy on me for leaving her there. I sat in the old man’s arms, crying for what seemed like forever. He didn’t move, didn’t even budge, just sat there letting me cry it out, offering the comfort of someone who cared enough to help a little boy in need.
After a while, the yelling slowed. The old man had been with me the whole time until my aunt came out of the house with not a scratch to show. She ran over to me, picked me up, and gave me a big hug and kiss on the forehead. She apologized for leaving me alone with my mom and asked if I was okay. She turned toward the neighbor and thanked him for making sure I didn’t run off and was okay. I clung to her like a backpack, not letting go for even a moment. The crying had stopped, but I was still shaking.
"Don’t worry, Aiden. I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner," she said, her hand on the back of my head providing comfort. "How would you like to stay with me, huh?" Her voice quivered near the end. I had no words to say and just nodded into her shoulder. I didn’t want to leave my mom, but my aunt had food and clean beds—oh, and cable, which meant Cartoon Network. She sat me down on the ground, looked me in the eyes with tears in hers, and simply said,
"Okay."
The neighbor was still there, his eyes hadn’t left me either, and he kept looking at my mom’s house, almost worried about sending me back in there. His gaze broke from me and turned to my aunt. She stood back up and met his gaze.
"If it’s only one night, it would be fine if the boy stayed in my garage. I have a couch and TV in there." My aunt was a little standoffish, weighing the question as she stared at him and my mom’s house, which had gone silent. I just stood there, holding her warm hand.
"That sounds great, but only if I can see it before I go," she answered, looking at me with a smile.
The old man let out a sigh of relief. "Not a problem. I dread the thought of sending the kid back into that house."
We followed him about four houses down to a warm brown-colored brick house with a big willow tree in the front yard. It looked well-kept and very pretty. Still holding onto her hand, we followed him through his front door into a nice home with a white fireplace on the right wall, a few couches, and a big TV from the early 2000s. He had a bunch of newspapers and old cigars put out on the coffee table. Then we made it to the kitchen and into the garage, which was a cool little spot I could tell he liked to hang out in. There was a nice big brown couch against the wall right in front of a TV no bigger than a standard cardboard box. It looked old but had a VCR with it.
"Are you sure it’s okay for him to sleep here tonight?" she asked timidly, not wanting to bother the old man.
"It’s fine. I even have some pizza in the freezer if he’ll eat it," the old man said with a sort of sarcasm. A big smile formed on my face. It had been forever since I had pizza.
"Is it pepperoni?" I asked quickly and quietly, trying to hold back my excitement.
The old man’s green eyes lit up as he responded, "Sure is."
So there I was, between my aunt and the neighbor, waiting on the pizza and getting settled in. My aunt sat next to me, holding me like I was going to disappear. "You’ll love living with me, I promise. We can have pizza as often as you want," she said with a big smile. But as good as it felt knowing there was food here and not one but two nice adults, it felt wrong. My mom was alone in a dark house, and it was all my fault.
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"Why does my mom hate me?" My aunt sighed at the question, like she was wondering that too.
"She doesn’t. Your mom is just unwell. It has nothing to do with you. Wait here, and I’ll ask him if he has any cartoon movies.
She stood up, and I just sat there thinking about her words, “unwell" and that it’s not my fault? How isn’t it? Before I could continue that train of thought, she had come back with a Rugrats tape and popped it in the VCR.
"I promise you’ll be okay, Aiden," she said. I shook my head, unsure of what to say. Hell, what was there to say? Then the old man came back with plates and drinks.
"Careful, kid. It’s still hot. Hope you like Pepsi, though."
I took it happily, and he sat on the floor in front of the couch. "Hey, mister, what’s your name?" He turned to answer me with a mouth full of hot pizza. "Jack," he said. I couldn’t help but laugh—he looked like a hamster with his mouth full of pizza.
My aunt checked her phone beside me and said she had to get everything set up. She lived alone but had to get food and stuff. "Jack, here’s my phone number. Call me if anything happens." He nodded and continued eating. "Don’t worry about the kid; he’ll be fine." And with that, my aunt kissed me on the head one last time before leaving and promising to get me tomorrow. Jack and I sat there most of the night watching movies and laughing until it was around midnight.
"Hey kid, do you need a blanket? It’s kinda cold here?" I looked at him and said yeah, and he rushed off and came back with a big blanket with a flower pattern on it three times the size of me. I took it gratefully, and it was easily the warmest blanket I’d ever used. It smelled of old people, though. (I know you know what I mean—the smell of every grandma’s house.)
Jack wished me goodnight and left into his house, leaving the TV on with Bugs Bunny playing. It felt like I had blinked, and it was morning. I could hear the morning birds through the garage door, so I stood up and stretched. I really needed to pee, so I ran to ask Jack where the bathroom was. As I came back into the house, it was still dark; the lights were all off, and I couldn’t hear anything from outside except some cars in the distance. I ran around the house looking for Jack, but there was no sign of him anywhere. I did find the bathroom, however, so that’s a plus. After sitting on his couch for a while and still not hearing from Jack or even knowing where he was, I went outside and made a beeline to my mom’s house, quietly and slowly so as not to wake her up. As I got inside, I could hear the water running in the kitchen, which was nice—the water had been shut off for about a week. (Don’t ever take baths in rainwater. Trust me, it sucks.) I walked toward the kitchen, and there was no one, just a running faucet. It was the same as Jack's house; no one was there. I ran through both rooms looking for my mom, but the only sign of her was the still-spilled Nyquil bottle on the floor.
So after not hearing from my aunt and not finding either my mom or Jack, I did what made the most sense and walked into the tree line to kill some time. Back to where we had left off by the creek bed, I was just there in the foggy moments between night and day, too dark to see without a flash light yet the sky was still in twilight. I ran through kicking rocks, skipping them and poking at the ground making small holes. I found a group of fireflies and just chased them around right to the end of the creek, until a big dead tree had fallen at the end of what looked like sometime ago long before me. I picked off a branch and started climbing over. I guess I needed it as a weapon for the grass snakes or spiders or whatever. I tracked through the woods further and further from the creek and my home. The grass tickling my shins, the rocks stabbing my feet and the twigs snapping from above where the birds lay. I decided randomly to just book it and see how fast I could clear the woods, and it was fun flying over the ground running and pounding the ground with my feet, my heart racing in my chest. Till I heard a coyote howl from nearby, it wasn't my first time hearing them or fighting them off with a big stick but it still froze me in place.
I slowed down my pace, and continued on this time more weary of the coyotes lurking in these small woods. As I kept walking I could hear what I thought was an infant's cry. A piercing and heartbreaking cry. I ran to it picking back up my pace sprinting hoping the baby was ok wherever it was. I ran until my sides burned and my breath wouldn't catch and there it was, a baby swaddled in a dirty blue blanket on the floor of the woods screaming out for help. She couldn't have been more than a few months old, so I rushed to pick her up and saw she was hurt. There was what looked like a bite on her little left hand. I could see my brown eyes reflected in her almost glowing gray eyes. I took another look at her hand and it looked like a human bite, not a dogs bite? With nothing to calm her down and no idea what to do I picked my stick back up, held her tight, and ran back the direction I came. I was sure if I could get her back to either Jack or my aunt she would be ok. Running and grabbing whatever i could get ahold of trees, rocks, and ground i kept running making sure she was ok. the adrenaline pumping through me making me faster and faster. she was still crying clearly in pain and probably hungry. Then i heard it. A howl from right behind me, a coyote that I couldn't see and I could hear it start to run getting closer and closer. One night a hell on earth the next an actual nightmare, but I wouldn't worry about myself if the baby was still here still in my arms still crying. Then a sharp pain split through me from my ankle. I looked down to see the damage for only a second, and it wasn't a bite. It was a stab wound. Someone had stabbed my ankle somehow and I couldn't see the weapon or them. I gritted my teeth and with the baby kept going, though i could feel the warmth of the blood flowing down my leg all that mattered to me was this baby and getting her to safety. If my mom was right and I am a devil, I can at least do this one thing right, maybe then she'd love me? Who was I kidding?
I finally could see the edge of the tree line but it wasn't the same one I had gone into; this was the edge of a road and a highway. With my ankle still bleeding and the baby coughing the pain was getting to be too much, I just needed to hold on a little longer. I ran till I was right at the edge and BOOM! I felt the same pain as before the feeling of getting stabbed, in the same leg this time it was my shin and it took a good chunk out of it. This time I thought I saw what it was, a spear. A sharp pointed tip impaled in the ground, still gleaming with my fresh blood.
"No" I had thought frantically looking behind me and crawling away towards the road. That's when I saw them hunting us. It was a tall figure at least triple my size standing at least 6 '2 in a helm with gold and feathers of white.armor that shone with what couldn't be natural light, and they were getting closer.
"Leave us alone!"
I yelled, my voice breaking near the end. It didn't stop, it kept getting closer and closer. Then it stopped and stared at me with eyes as white as snow and full of excitement and it spoke three simple words that scare me even to this day.
"I Found You" lifted its hand and the spear came gliding back. I Screamed and tried crawling faster stickers stabbing my palm. blood pouring out of my leg and the baby going limp. It was right on top of us staring down like it was waiting for me to do or say something. I just kept crawling and with each inch I made it step closer, cracking the ground in its silver shined boots. Then it stopped. It didn't take one more step. It just stared as I made it into the road, my eyes not closing, too scared to look away let alone blink. Standing there staring at me I stood up on one leg and used the stick I had as support, I made it to the road. There was a pick-up truck coming. Thankfully, they saw me and stopped just shy of hitting us. I limped to te driver’s window.
"Please help, baby—chase—-person." I couldnt catch my breath between each word so it came out like nonsense so i thought fuck it and threw the baby inside. she was quiet now which scared me even more. Only for the figure to pull something and a moment later with a look of confusion, horror and concern the driver took off and I was dragged back into the tree line