Toby

*Sensitive content: cursing, mental abuse, bullying, substance abuse, mention of death, violence*

Toby is a bully, and everybody knows. Those days at school, when he shows up, are hell for a lot of the kids. His targets are mostly students that make good grades, wear clean clothes, and have parents that love them. The opposite of him. He doesn’t really hurt them, just their pride. His torment involves pulling down pants, using his size to push them out of the way in the crowded hall, taking their lunch money, etc. It enrages him when he hears them whine over stupid shit: “I’m not allowed to call to my boyfriend,” “My mom took away my computer,” “I’m grounded and can’t go to the party this weekend.” Shut the fuck up!!! he yells in his head. He hates them. More than that, he envies them.

It's Friday afternoon, and Toby is making the hour-long trek home from school, walking along the woods and scattered crappy homes. Not many people walk alone on the outskirts of town. His unfashionably ripped blue jeans, stained white t-shirt, and worn-out tennis shoes conceal the handsomeness of the 15-year-old. He is tall, almost 6 foot, with broad shoulders, his ivory skin tanned from the walks in the sun. He isn’t muscular but after years of fighting, he is strong. These attributes are thanks to his father. His hair is shaved close, unable to see his natural brown curls, and dark circles enclose his deep hazel eyes. His worn blue backpack, that carries books he scarcely uses, is almost as heavy as his thoughts.

The closer he gets to home, the higher his anxiety gets. His mom and dad will probably be there, as they usually are. Hopefully she’ll be crashed out on the couch from her latest high. It’s way better than when she is tripping. And there’s his dad. Ugh. It takes a lot more alcohol to make an angry drunk pass out. Toby would rather go somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t home. He then comes up to his favorite hideout, the abandoned bridge. He admires its unconventional exquisiteness: the overgrown wild bushes and unkempt grass, graffiti all over, slowly deteriorating with time. Peace. He stops to look at his bridge, tempted to disappear until night fell, in which both his parents would either be out of the house or sleeping. He sighs instead and continues home. Eve needs me.

Eve is the latest child his parents are fostering. Truthfully, their newest paycheck. They don’t give a shit about these kids that come through. They keep them alive and collect their paychecks, which is all that is required since the state is swamped with cases. Luckily, all the youngsters have been able to move on in one piece but usually not without a small dose of emotional/mental abuse from his parents. The brunt, including physical, goes to Toby. He prefers it this way. I can handle it. As he ambles on, he thinks of all the foster kids. Despite Toby’s situation, he always breathed a sigh of relief when a kid would move on from their house. Yet, he worries more about Eve. She’s so little. She just turned 1 year old, has gleaming chocolate skin, round cheeks, a head full of raven-haired curls and bright cocoa-colored eyes. So cute and too innocent. He feels even more protective over her.

The sound of glass breaking interrupts his thoughts. He looks up and sees the isolated white shabby single-wide trailer with the navy roof, the closest neighbors being at least a mile away in each direction. Home sweet home, he laughs sarcastically to himself. He looks around the small yard as he dawdles up the dirt path leading to the front door. Tall grass grows over items such as junk, a broke-down rusty vehicle, and old baby items strewn about. Lizards run in opposite directions as his steps disturb them. The family's one working vehicle, a brown 1989 Chevy Chevette, is parked in the makeshift driveway. He stops briefly to allow a black snake to cross his path, then goes up the rickety steps and into the front door.

Dropping his bookbag as he enters, he notices the backdoor open with only the screen closed when he finds the source of the noise. A shattered whiskey glass lays in pieces on the home's dingey carpet floor. His dad lies sprawled on the grimy red cotton velour couch, his hand hangs above the sharp mess. He’s donning a tattered white undershirt and black basketball shorts. One empty Jack Daniels gallon container, another almost full, and a pack of cigarettes all sit on the cluttered beige coffee table. Weird, Toby cringes as he looks at his dad’s face and physique, I’m the spitting image of this guy. He then shifts his gaze to the small, blonde woman in the nearby matching chair. His mom, swallowed in a faded blue muumuu, slumps unconscious with a lit cigarette in her hand. She’d be pretty if she was sober, he thinks as he absentmindedly grabs the cigarette out of her hand and puts it out in the clear ashtray, aware of the utility lighter and unlabeled bottled of pills among the mess. Strange that he loves them but simultaneously wishes they would die. A small crying noise interrupts his thoughts.

He walks down the small hallway toward Eve’s bedroom. The wood panel walls lined with memories from when he was a baby. These images depict a life that Toby doesn’t remember being a part of: a time before his dad was injured in the car accident, before they fell on hard times, before the stress of life turned both his parents into abusive addicts. I think Mom tried for a while, he tells himself, but she just wasn’t strong enough. And now they hate everybody, including themselves. His heart drops as he realizes he is becoming the same.

The late afternoon sun peeks through the pale-yellow curtains of the large sliding window, reminding him: I need to fix the lock on this. Eve’s bedroom doesn’t have much: a crib, a small number of used toys and stuffed animals scattered on the floor and assorted secondhand clothing spilling out from the peeling brown dresser in the corner. The usual twin bed used for the foster kids is stuffed in the closet. Toby had been surprised when his parents bought the used crib, the only thing the state required for them to foster the baby. He finds her sitting up, rubbing sleep from her eyes, in nothing but an obviously full diaper. Her eyes sparkle as she reaches her arms out to him. “Aww, hi,” he says soothingly. He picks her up and goes about getting her fed and cleaned. One day I WILL be a better parent than either of mine.

He is used to taking care of the foster kids. He chooses to, knowing his parents would fuck them up even more. And so, after feeding her dry cheerios that she loves, he removes Eve’s soiled diaper, bathes her in the pink Mr. Bubbles bubble bath, and dresses her in a short sleeve blue onesie with baseballs (the only clean clothing that fits her). I need to start some laundry too, he thinks distractedly. The light of the streetlamp outside spills in through the window, hiding the nighttime sky as Toby brings Eve back into her bedroom. He hears faint stirring in the living. Mom’s up, he affirms as he smells cigarette smoke wafting to his nose. Eve’s already asleep by the time he lies her down in the crib. He dusts off a pink teddy bear from the floor and gently sets it next to her.

Leaving the door ajar, he goes into his own bedroom, adjacent to Eve’s. He lies down on his unmade twin-sized bed without changing clothes, exhausted but thankful that his mom didn’t bother to check on the baby or him. The room is dark, curtains closed, with the only light emerging through the slightly opened door. He ruminates. How can I get out of school Monday? How can I get out of being at home this weekend? Should I stay here to take care of Eve? How can I get my parents to do the right thing? How do I make sure I don’t turn into them? He drifts away to a restless sleep. And just like in real life, he dreams of his escape. He yearns to disappear from his life and mind. But how? That is always the question. Suddenly, he wakes up in a coughing fit. 

Disoriented from sleep, he sits up trying to clear himself of the cigarette smoke. He takes a quick peak at Eve, still sleeping peacefully and heads toward the living room. Everything appears as earlier, his dad on the couch and his mom on the chair, only her position slightly changed from earlier. Shocker, they're passed out cold, and her with another goddamn lit cig. He takes the cigarette and goes to smother it out when he stops. He brings it up to look at it closer, studying, calculating. It only takes a few moments to decide. Feeling disconnected, as if in someone else's body, he sees himself put the cigarette down and spill the almost-full Jack Daniels bottle onto the floor, soaking the carpet. Not letting himself think, gracefully picks up the utility lighter and lights the carpet on fire.

He knows he has only moments before this shitty place will be up in flames. The flames finding the front curtains, he runs around toward the back. He bursts into Eve’s room, causing her to wake up and begin crying. The smoke is already here. Coughing, he works to get her outside to safety. Haphazardly holding the crying baby in one hand and outstretching the other as he stumbles through the toys on the floor, he gets to the big window. Swatting the curtains out of the way, grateful that the lock doesn’t work as he easily slides it open. Toby and Eve get outside, both gulping the fresh night air. The two lie in the dirt momentarily before he springs back into action. Thinking quickly, he grabs an old baby walker from the yard and puts Eve into it, rolling her away from the house. “Stay here" he says. She looks up at him, whimpering as she continues to breathe the pure air. The flames rapidly spreading, he heads back toward the burning home.

The front blazing, he briskly walks around toward the back. Squinting through the still opened screen door, the smoke and flames dancing back and forth, he spots the two motionless objects on the furniture. Passed out or already dead, he's not sure. The smoke will get them even if the fire doesn't. He slowly backs away as the heat is getting worse. He hears rescue sirens, assuming the neighbors are aware of the rising inferno. He looks around and finds Eve flitting about in her little walker, still safely in the yard and glimpses the flashing emergency lights heading their way. They’ll get here too late, he ascertains optimistically. 

He backs far into the woods and continues watching the blaze consume the trailer with his parents inside as help arrives. Out of site, blending with the trees, he witnesses as firefighters struggle in vain to control the situation. He becomes aware of Eve being picked up tenderly by a paramedic, no doubt will be taken back into the (somewhat more) capable state’s custody. As the scene unfolds, he understands the consequences of his actions. Bittersweet, thinking of what could have been but knowing the truth. It's better this way. 

He turns around and walks away, feeling grateful for the first time in his existence. With nothing but his ragged clothing on his back and hope in his heart, he leaves this life behind, not knowing or caring where he ends up or what happens from here. They will never hurt anyone again. Toby is a hero, but nobody will ever know.