With your feet on the air

CW: Self-harm, mention of substance abuse

Gene sunk back in the leather seat as he watched the blur of people outside the taxi’s window. He pulled his bag close to him, which contained a Stephen King paperback and a set of his favorite cassettes. The smell of cigarettes, Black Ice freshener, and cherry medicine had him under an intoxicated spell as he felt himself nodding off. Next to him in her long bohemian skirt and see-through bralette was his mother. 

Gene suggested she wear a jacket since it was supposed to reach the low thirties around nine, along with the possibility of rain. Although, his mother settled for a sparkly shawl that carelessly draped over her shoulders. He watched as she pulled out her favorite perfume and spritzed herself for the second time. Gene could only take so much of it. The sickly sweet scent made him shudder. 

When the car ran into a pothole, his mother kept her composure as she busied herself with applying a toffee brown shade onto her bow-shaped lips. Her red hair was in a messy ponytail, showing off the knots and tangles. Gene had offered to brush it for her like he used to when he was younger, but she had scolded him and told him that he “shouldn’t do such things.” The overwhelming scents, the engine’s hum, this had been his lullaby ever since his father left the picture. 

_

“Gene, let’s go.” He felt a shake on his shoulder as he woke up with a start. He could’ve sworn he had only closed his eyes for a second. Without thinking, he unbuckled his seatbelt and followed his mother out. He stumbled onto the pavement, mind still buzzing, his eyes wandered. Where was he again? Sucking her teeth, his mother grabbed him by the wrist. She hadn’t held his hand since he was four. That was ten years ago.

“Mom, I can walk on my own,” he groaned. He tasted his words on his dry tongue. 

“I’m sorry, Genie, you were taking too long. I don’t have time for these things, baby,” she said. Gene discovered long ago that “things” was a code word for him. Gene looked up at the apartment building they were getting closer to; all the balconies were empty, except the one crowded with plants. Dani’s place. 

His mother rummaged through her bag as she pulled crumpled-up receipts and wrappers. Throwing them on the sidewalk, they fluttered like confetti.

“Mom, you can’t just throw trash on the ground like that, “Gene protested. 

His mother paused for a second to glance up at him, her brown eyes glimmered, she was a lioness, and Gene was prey. Her hand sunk deeper into her purse as she fished out napkins and crumpled up papers scattering them on the sidewalk, a woman no older than she gave her a disapproving look. Gene’s cheeks flushed red.

“Gene, honey, understand I can do whatever I please,” His mother boasted, popping a strip of gum in her mouth.

With the clumsy clicks of her heels, she stepped up to the intercom and pressed the call button to apartment 128 with a pink lacquered nail.

“Dani! Open up so we can get going !” She giggled. The buzzer sounded as the door unlocked. His mother swung the door open, causing it to bounce back from the wall; Gene reached for the door handle and yanked it shut. At the same time, his mother pulled his arm to catch up. Once they made their way upstairs, Gene felt a burning in his knees as he tried to catch up with her. There was an elevator, but it never seemed to work.

Finally, she dropped his wrist as they got to the right door. His mother knocked in a regular beat. All the frenzy from before had disappeared.

“Sammy !” A voice chirped as the door opened. 

“Dani!” His mother exclaimed as the two women hugged. The woman, Dani, turned her attention towards Gene.

“Hola, Gene Bean,” She greeted with a red-lipped smile.

 Gene felt his palms begin to sweat. Dani, short for Daniela, was his mother’s best friend. She was two years younger, and Gene liked everything about her. She had long black hair that she either had down to show off her curls or in a braided bun. Today it was a bun. 

“Hey, Dani,” He managed to squeak out. 

 Gene followed his mother inside as the two stopped by the entranceway to take off their shoes. Untying his shoelaces, Gene felt a fluffy tail curl to his leg. It was Oscar, Dani’s cat.

“Long time no see,” Gene said, scratching his sweet spot on his tailbone.

“So you know the drill already, right?” His mother said, turning to him. She looked tired, as if he was an inconvenience. Gene nodded.

“Use your words, Gene. You know I don’t like it when you nod or shake your head like some robot.”

“I know what to do,” he said hotly. His mother’s nostrils flared for a moment, but before she could say anything else, Dani came to the rescue. 

“There’s a torta I made in the fridge in case you get hungry. Here’s some money in case you decide to get a slice of pizza at Millie’s instead,” Dani said, handing him a ten and some change., My spare key is next to Elvis,” She said, referring to the records she kept stacked in the corner next to her monstera plant.

“We should go, Sam,” Dani said to his mother. She kissed Gene on the cheek on her way out.

“Remember not to open the door to strangers,” his mother added.

“I know, mom,” Gene droned, 

“Lose the attitude.” She snapped. “I love you.” And with that, she closed the door behind her.

 Gene sighed and settled down on the couch. He pulled his hair back, catching a glimpse of himself through his peripheral he turned to his reflection on the full-length mirror leaned against the wall. He had messy hair, a freckled face, and a birthmark in the middle of his chin that he used to hate. He remembered when he was in elementary school, he would cup his hands with soap, turn on the hot water and scrub his mark until his face turned red. Instead of getting rid of it as he hoped, it started to bleed of how tender it got. His mother yelled at him. If asked how stable his relationship with his mother was, he wouldn’t be able to describe it.

She was an alcoholic and started leaving him alone at ten. She would go out and sometimes didn’t arrive until the next afternoon, and Gene would have to be the one to take care of her. She’s never hit him. Gene knew she never would, but she used her words and was destructive in a way that left her breaking plates. 

  Now that she’s met Dani, things didn’t have to come to that anymore. Granted, she still drank but only with Dani, and she was better than before. At least now, she picked up a box of mac n cheese and prepared it for him once in a while. He appreciated those moments. Gene got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen cabinets for a container of Nescafé. Dani introduced him to it. She advised him that adding a few coffee grounds into some warm milk would help any troubles he had. Turning on the stove, he poured some milk into a pot and began to warm it. Gene paused when he heard a familiar guitar riff.

The lyrics, “I live cement, I hate this street,” filled the room. 

 Gene looked out the window and saw a car parked down below, a red 1972 Oldsmobile delta 88. The windows were down blasting “Caribou,” by the Pixies, one of Gene’s favorite songs.

He had never seen that car before, which was saying a lot since this was practically his second home. Biting his lip, he turned off the stove. He wanted to get a closer look, is all. Grabbing his bag, he pocketed Dani’s money just in case. Quickly, he grabbed the key that lay tucked inside one of her Elvis albums.

_

The first thing Gene was met with as soon as he took a step outside was the thick blanket of heat and humidity that layered his pores. He could already feel the sweat collect above his brow.  Gene closed the door behind him and pretended to tie his shoe, catching sight of the driver. He seemed older but only by a few years. He sported some Ray-ban sunglasses, wore a dangly earring on his right ear, and a red button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows showing off his tanned skin. Gene could see a flash of his belly button as he stretched. Suddenly the man glanced up at Gene. There was a cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth.

“Hey, you got any-?” he asked. Gene couldn’t catch the last part, 

He motioned a hand to his ear. The guy gave him a crooked smile. With a swift motion, he turned down his music.

“I said you got any ice or a beer? My cigarette practically lit itself. It’s hot as hell out here,”. He was rolling the cigarette between his fingers like one of those weighted exercise balls his mom had.

 Gene shrugged, “Don’t know,” The man raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t know?”

“I’m visiting a friend. It’s their apartment,” Gene said flatly.

The guy nodded, blowing a puff of smoke into the air. He pulled his sunglasses to his head, revealing his pale blue eyes. 

“You just going to stand there.” He said matter-of-factly.

Gene felt his ears burn. What was he supposed to do? He didn’t know this guy. Even so, he found himself walking towards him. 

“So if you’re with a friend, why are you by yourself ?” he asked. Gene put his hands in his pockets, trying to seem cool.

“Not my friend, my mom’s. I heard you listening to the Pixies and decided to come down to check it out,” Gene said. Throwing his head back the guy let out another laugh. Gene liked the sound of it. Almost melodic.

“You’re pretty straightforward,” he stated, taking another whiff of his cigarette. He squinted when he did. Gene didn’t know if it was from the sunlight or the smoke.

“By the way, how old are you? ‘Feel like I’ve seen you around before.” 

“I’m a freshman at Oakwood Grove.” 

“Really? I’m a senior there. Alright, hop in,” He said, bumming out his cigarette in his cup holder. 

Gene hesitated for a second before he opened the car door. 

“Where are we going?”

“Does it matter?” He said, turning up his radio to Isla de Encanta. His eyes were dancing with a liveliness that Gene wanted to get used to. 

“The name’s James,” He grinned, showing off an impacted tooth next to his canine. 

“Gene,” Gene said. 

“Nice to meet you Gene. You don’t strike me as the type to like this sort of sound,” He said. 

Gene shrugged, “I could say the same for you. James.” 

James laughed, “I guess you’re right. But I would say their album Surfer Rosa has most of my favorite songs. Before I got this car, I would have my headphones in going deaf with “Where Is My Mind,” on my walks home from school on those rainy days especially. I swear it was like getting lost.,” Gene studied James for a moment, dark golden hair and dimples. His car smelled of cigarettes, not so much that Gene couldn’t breathe, not to mention the airy fragrance of his cologne felt like he was lying on a pillow.

“It’s supposed to rain later today. We could play some Surfer Rosa,” Gene suggested pulling out one of his cassettes from his bag, “And probably get some pizza? I’m starving.”

“Alright,” James beamed, “but we’re definitely getting a beer after to cool down,” Gene rolled his eyes.

“How about you get the beers, and I drive?” 

“Good enough for me.”