Black Leather, Blue Light

“Do you want to swap shoes?” The boy said, his hair wet from the rain. He was taller than me, and he had broader shoulders and thicker arms. I recognised him. He was a year or two above me at school, though we had never spoken, and I did not know his name. 

I swung my head tentatively from right to left, looking for Jamal or Ryan. I did not see them. 

“Really?”, I asked cautiously. We were both wearing a pair of black leather shoes, though his was in better condition than mine, which were slowly turning white from scuff marks.  

“Yeah, they’re nice”, replied the boy, eyeing my feet. “Really nice”.

I wish I had detected the venom in his voice. But I was young - young and desperate for new shoes. 

Many of the boys had teased me about my shoes, but Ryan and Jamal were the worst of them. According to them, my shoes weren’t the right shape, with a square nose instead of a pointed one. They mocked me for the way the sole of the left hung off the shoe and slapped the ground as I walked. On one occasion, I’d had to take them off for P.E. They smelt sour, everyone could tell that, but only Jamal had seen their insides. A tongue missing from the left, and a supermarket logo on the tongue of the right. I’d never heard the end of it after that. 

“Okay, quick then”. I tried to hide the eagerness in my voice. Something felt wrong, and I wanted to get the exchange done as quickly as possible. 

I brought my left leg up to my waist and began to undo my shoelaces. Once I’d managed to prise it from my foot, I felt a hard shove on my back. Unbalanced, I toppled onto the wet, cold tarmac. Using my hands to break my fall, I felt a sharp burst of pain slice up my forearms from my wrists. I rolled over onto my back and looked up at Ryan.   

He loomed above me, his face stretched into a maniacal grin. The hood of his raincoat was pulled up over his head. I didn’t have one, and my blazer felt heavy with water. 

The nameless boy picked up the shoe I’d  dropped. He tossed it and it sailed through the rain, until landing in a puddle with a distant splash. 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Michael”, Ryan sneered as the two boys sauntered away together.  

I walked to my shoe, my step uneven, and my face burning red.   

I squelched home from school that day. Glancing through the window of the post-office, I saw the crowd of boys who’d usually stop to buy bonbons and penny-sweets. I never stopped. 

The closer I got to home, the more uneven the pavement was. Neatly trimmed lawns morphed into jungles of thistles and discarded beer cans. I made sure to take the long way round, avoiding the shattered bus-stop. Boys and girls not much older than me would gather here, in their hoods, to kiss each other.  

I rounded the corner to my house, stomped up the tarmac driveway and put the key in the rusted lock. It only took me three attempts to get it open. Some days it took five or six. 

The house was empty when I arrived, as it always was. My mother wouldn’t be back from work until five or so, and my brother James often stayed out late with his friends before returning, smelling of  the cigarettes my mother smoked. 

I walked into the kitchen and opened a cupboard for cereal. I knew to do this carefully, as the bottom hinge had come loose. If you pulled it too hard, the whole door could come off and drop onto your toes. 

My mother had forgotten to buy cereal again. I sighed and hunted for something else to eat, and found a banana, more brown than yellow. I sat down in front of the television, peeled it and took a bite. It tasted sweet but turned to liquid in my mouth. I was hungry though, so I ate the rest of it. I couldn’t concentrate on the television as I watched. I was too busy rehearsing what I’d say to my mother when she returned.

She arrived home about an hour later, by which time I’d decided upon a firm and direct approach. 

“Mum, I need new shoes”, I said as she hurried in through the door.

“Well, hello to you too” she smiled back at me, kissing the top of my head. 

My mother was a strong woman. She must’ve been. She worked two jobs, one as a cleaner at an office block in the town centre, and one at a nursing home, where she helped the elderly get ready for bed. In my mind, the dark circles beneath her eyes were like a badge of honour that she wore with pride. 

She headed straight for the kitchen and retrieved a beaten saucepan down from a shelf. I followed. 

“Listen”, she said. “I haven’t got a lot of time, I’ve got another appointment with Doctor Cartwright before I head to Oak Lodge, so I’m doing you beans on toast”.

My mother had been going to the doctor often. So often that I’d once asked her if she was going to die. She’d laughed at that, and told me that Doctor Cartwright was more of a talking doctor, whatever that meant.   

“I need new shoes”, I said again, making sure to stress my voice where I needed to.

  “We’ll get you new shoes soon, love”. She gave me a faint smile from her thin, pale lips. Her trembling fingers wrestled with a tin-opener. Her words weren’t enough. I felt a lump in my throat.  

“I need them now. All the other boys at school have nice shoes”, I protested.   

“I just said we’ll get them soon”. Her voice grew cool. She didn’t look at me, she was busy lighting the pilot on the stovetop. My face flushed red, and I remembered one of the gambits I had rehearsed earlier. I slammed a fist down on the counter-top and immediately winced. My arms were still sore from my scuffle earlier.  

“I’ll run away”.

She whipped her head around at me and shot me a piercing look. As she did, a sharp, blue flame burst from the stove top and caught her hand. 

“Christ!” she said, and bolted for the sink. She ran her finger under water. There was an uncomfortable silence, save for the sound of the spluttering tap. She took a deep breath and sighed. She looked at me, her eyes softening, as if to offer me a truce. 

I did not take it. I needed new shoes.

“I need them today”. 

She didn’t reply this time. She looked away, took her finger from under the running water and started rummaging through her handbag on the countertop. She took out a bottle of pills, put one in her mouth and swallowed it. After this, she tended to my supper. 

I felt hot tears boiling in my eyes. I stormed away and up the staircase, not wanting her to see that I was about to cry. Not wanting her to know that she had won. I slammed my bedroom door with the force of a hurricane. I wanted to make sure she heard it. I began to cry, real, racking sobs. Soon, the familiar smell of cigarette smoke wafted beneath my bedroom door. 

I thought about Ryan as I sat on the edge of my bed. His snarky grin, his cocky voice. I wondered what I’d have to endure at school tomorrow. I hoped it would be jokes and jeers like most days, and that things wouldn’t get physical like they had today. I couldn’t tell my mother what had been happening. I wanted to be strong, like she was, and strong people don’t run to their parents when people are mean to them. 

I waited until I heard the choking engine of her car before I ventured downstairs again. On the kitchen countertop there was a plate of soggy toast beneath cold beans. Next to it there was a note:

‘I love you Michael, we’ll get them soon’. 

I heard a knock on my door about an hour later. It was James. He always came to say hello to me when he got home from doing whatever it was he did. If I was still awake, that was. 

He came and sat on the bed next to me. His breath was hot and smelt of cigarettes as he spoke. 

“Mum texted me, asked me to come talk to you”, he said. 

I stayed quiet. As soon as he spoke those words, the same, red hot tears resurfaced. My throat was dry and scratchy. I just stared down, twiddling my thumbs in my lap.

“I know you don’t get it now, but she’s really trying”. 

“I don’t get any pocket money, the least she could do is buy me some shoes”, I spat, and felt instantly ashamed.  

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He raised a hand and started to pull at his messy blonde hair. Then he fixed his eyes on mine, a stare that cut open my chest. 

“Look around”, he said, his tone even. I did as he asked, as I always did. 

“What do you see?” He asked. 

“My bedroom”, I said, my voice quivering. 

“Exactly, because the lights are on. It’s cold and wet out, but can you feel it?”.

“No”, I sulked. 

“Exactly, because there’s a ceiling above you and the heating’s on”. 

I squirmed where I sat. Suddenly the mattress where we sat felt much more lumpy and uncomfortable. 

James put an arm around my shoulder and tucked me into the crease of his armpit. He sighed again, and I allowed myself to sigh with him. It was at that moment that I decided I needed to apologise in the morning.  

“Go to bed”, James said. He looked at me with fond but stern eyes. I did as he asked, as I always did. 

I woke to the sound of James wailing. Startled, I leapt out of bed and checked the clock. 3:03. I rushed downstairs, taking two steps at a time, almost slipping in a tired daze. 

As I rounded into the living room, I saw him kneeling down next to my mother, who was sprawled out on the floor. Her face was ashen. The dark circles beneath her eyes now swallowed them whole. They bore into her skin like tattoos. White, boiling foam spewed from her grey lips. Her throat gurgled as it trickled down her cheeks. Her fingers twitched at her side. Just out of their reach lay a half-empty bottle of pills.  

James had not noticed me. His hands were fumbling with the key-pad of his phone. 

“Mum?”. My voice was meek.

James whipped his head around at me, tears flying from his cheek. Wordless, he stood and approached me slowly. 

“Mum, I’m sorry about earlier”, I said, barely more than a whisper. My throat felt as if it was on fire. 

“It’s going to be alright”, James’ voice was thin and it cracked as it left his lips. I didn’t believe him. He gently pushed me back from the doorway, before closing it softly behind him. 

I could still hear the woman on the phone through the door. She asked a question but I couldn’t make out the words through the muffled static. I heard James’ reply. 

“No”.   

The woman’s voice sharpened and was more urgent than before. It took a short while to tune into what she was saying, until…

“One and two and three, and one and two and three…”. 

I didn’t know why she was counting. 

I started to cry when I heard James do the same. A dull, rhythmic thud carried through the wall. I didn't know what to do, so I just sat.

“No… No… Why?”. Jame’s voice was desperate and breathless. 

“One and two and three…”.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but all I saw were eyes. Not the proud, warm eyes of my mother, but the hollow, dark ones of the woman who lay on the floor beyond the wall. 

“How could you…” James’ cry was raw, like a wolf-cub separated from its pack.  

“One and two and three…” 

I heard sirens. The corridor was flooded in blue, flashing light. It illuminated the house to me, showed me how it was. How it really was. 

Flash. Wallpaper peeled from the walls, which were so thin I could almost see through them.

“One and two and three…”. 

Flash. Gashes and scars tore into the skirting board around me as the paint cracked and sloughed away.

“One and two and three…”.

Flash. The carpet was itchy and cold beneath me. It frayed at the edges.  

Men and women, some wearing green, others black, flooded into the house. 

I don’t remember much of what happened after they arrived. I remember the beeping of the machines they brought with them, the way their voices were loud, but not shouting. I remember James being ushered from the room with wet cheeks and eyes like marbles. I remember the police officer who picked me up from where I sat. I remember how he’d told me we had to leave, a smile forced onto his face.  

“Let’s put your shoes on”, he said, setting me down on the edge of my bed. 

I looked down at my shoes as he put them on, the black leather still torn, still frail. How little they mattered now. How little they had ever mattered.