The Hill

The sun was a hot stone in his eyes for a brief moment, even at this early point in the morning. He had just climbed up the small hill to the place where he was supposed to wait. It was always at this same time; always on a weekday. He was no longer new to this, but the light and the heat left him slightly dazed and sweaty at the same spot on the sidewalk where he would always have to wait. And here he was, waiting again for the exact same thing.

After two weeks, he had some thoughts about all of this, even though he would not share it with anyone else. His mother had decided that this was better than summer school or just hanging out at home, forgetting everything he had learned over the last few months. She was now a single mother, for about six months now. And they were “getting on with life”. He liked that phrase, but it was still something he had to think about all by himself. When he began this, she would be up early, prepping his lunch while he looked over his backpack and finding a space at the table to sit for his breakfast.

           “You have everything you need in the fridge, so you can do it all if I’m not here. Should have done it for you the night before.”

           “Okay.”

           She was usually in her uniform. He could smell the starch and perfume she wore (a bottle that he had bought her with the allowance she gave him now). 

           “You got it?”

           “Got it.”

           “Just don’t burn the place down, kid of mine.”

           “That is a plan.”         

           “I’m serious.”

           “Hello, Mrs. Serious. I’m…”

           She would look angry, but her eyes gave everything away. He always did this when his mother had to head out in the morning, but there was a limit to how far he could push her. He saw that and felt it a few times when she really was rushing things and did not want him to miss anything. 

           This morning was different. She was not in the house when he woke up. She had left early, leaving his lunch in the fridge and his backpack on a chair with a note reminding him that he needed to get going: “Enjoy it and learn something!” No, not today. That was not the plan. He had to go and see if things were going to be just right for what he had in mind.

           Two weeks…This was all he thought about during those two weeks. That joke and the time waiting were in his head. It was the walk there that bothered him more than where he ended up. If any of his friends from school saw him, they would either laugh or try to figure out what he was doing by gossiping with each other about what they saw. Here he was, early on a summer morning, waiting in front of the very same school that they ran out of at the end of year with screams of joy. The one thing that might have saved him from embarrassment was the fact that he walked to school. Most of those other screaming friends received rides from family and had homes deeper in the suburbs that anyone his family knew. They were not interested in the things that his mother was relieved to discover. They talked about vacations down south or cabins that their families rented for the summer. He wondered if this was a joke on him. He just could not believe that you could rent another place that was not a hotel room. Maybe his mother could do this one day. She was just relieved that he did not have to take a bus to another neighbourhood she did not know. The waiting here was safe because he knew it. She knew it. He was here because this is what they both knew. And it was very private.

           It had been very warm that past week. The chocolate bar his mother left in his plastic lunch box would have been syrup if he hadn’t left it at home. That was an interesting fact that quickly became less interesting as he stood over his things. He had on running shoes, shorts, t-shirt and a baseball cap, all chosen by his mother. He would be home by the end of the day, but he knew she had put extra clothes in the backpack, including bandages, aspirin, swimming trunks, goggles and whatever else she imagined he needed. Not that she worried too much about him. He had heard her speaking on the phone with a relative about how he is doing well “considering everything that happened to him”. Everything that happened…to him? It was not just him. His father left a huge gap in their community that hurt more than just their family. He was an organizer, planner, mover, mechanic, steelworker, and passable domino player. They all knew that. He knew that. It was not just a kid waiting in the heat for his lunch to melt that felt things.

           Six months: that was when things happened and only now was he thinking of what his mother had said over the phone. At the time, he had not cried that much. The funeral allowed everyone else to show how they could mourn and grieve. None of his tears then, either. Not at the burial, either. And never at school when he went back to his classes and his friends asked him about it; not even for the counselor brought in to speak to a group of kids who had lost someone (he had not recognized any of those other kids). He still did not cry. No point to it now, not out in the sun and heat. 

           It was really hot that morning. He noticed that only one bus passed by as he walked down the sidewalk and turned up the hill to wait. There were also no cars on the road leading up to the stop. He still wondered if anyone was watching as he stood there. There were a few homes nearby, always quiet when they were waiting to enter the school and there was no sign of anyone planning their day in the summer. He was one boy all by himself, no parents or teachers around. Maybe someone passing by might think he was abandoned or running away from home. Or that he really loved school. His head hurt.

           His best friend got to stay at home. When he told him in that finished basement, his friend did not look away from the screen.

           “Really? That sucks…”

           “Yeah.”

           “And it’s not even, like, over night. You go there and then you come back the same day.” He shot down another ship.

           “Yeah, so?” He looked down into his drink, seeing ice cubes melt.

           “So? May as well go to summer school. Being out there? That sucks.” He took another turn attacking a star base and ate some candy.

           Was that true? His best friend’s parents had money. He could see that from the things they owned, how they lived their lives, what they did for a living (money manager dad; dentist mom). And then there was the way they spoke to him. He always felt like he had to give a performance after greeting them. His mother and relatives never praised him that much. They were not that fascinated by any of the assignments or marks he received in school. He never got coffee or biscotti at any of their homes. Praise like that threw him off. His best friend never went through this (not while anyone else was in the room). Maybe this did suck. Maybe his plan made sense.

           It was a plan now. He looked down the hill at the main road.

           The sun was a hot stone in his eyes for a brief moment, even at this early point in the morning.