A story about a thirteen year old boy who just wants his life to make sense and break free the bonds of his Christian town and strict mother.
Couldn’t Do It Alone…
Chapter 1: Uncle Rich’s Funeral.
Today was my birthday. It was also the day of my Uncle Rich’s funeral. I hardly knew him. My birthday did not really matter. Despite turning thirteen only happened once and having the pleasure of not wearing a tacky and itchy new suit. My Aunt Gladys had picked it. The moment she saw me within the suit she had tears in her eyes and said I was the splitting image of Uncle Rich. Apparently, it was the same kind of orange plaited suit Uncle Rich used to wear. The moment my Aunt had said that I resembled Uncle Rich in the suit, I had an image of Uncle Rich wearing the same kind of suit in his coffin. I shuddered at the thought, not wanting to resemble a dead person, relative or not.
My mum practically had to drag me on the way to the car to attend the funeral at the town church. I put up a great struggle but eventually gave up. On the way, I kept fiddling with my orange bow tie. The high collar kept on threatening to strangle me and I kept on scratching, which only made the itchiness worse.
“Don’t fiddle with it, Henry,” stated my mother in a disapproving manner as she kept on driving.
Huffing slightly, I crossed my arms in a disgruntled manner and glanced out the window.
Its weird because i can kinda relate to the boy character since my mum is strict and my father had an affair with someone who is now my stepmum.
however this story reminds me of when i was 11 and all this **** happened but its all good now.
I tried to make it as real as possible while also keeping it one foot out of reality.
(part 14, end of Chapter 2)
“Your parents love you very much, Henry. They are just trying to deal with it too, in their own way,” said Claire simply to me.
I knew what Claire meant. I had to get over them splitting apart and this was mostly the same thing, just a step further in an unexpected way.
“I know. I just Don’t want to talk about it, okay?” I stated sharply.
Claire seemed slightly shocked at my tone of voice but then nodded her head slowly.
“Okay, Henry. You Don’t have to talk about it if you Don’t want to,” she replied.
I knew what she was doing. I wasn’t a fool. Claire pitied me, not just my situation.
I stood up and continued walking up the stairs, not looking back. But, I knew she was watching me as I walked away from her.
I wandered into my room, slamming the door behind me. With a frustrated sigh I collapsed upon my bed, making the stupid suit I was wearing itch again. It infuriated me so much. Before I knew what I was doing, I wrenched the stupid clip-on tie from my neck and threw it away. I hit the pillows on my bed a few times before finally breaking apart inside and stopped hitting my pillows, burying my face into them. I cried into my pillows for what seemed like ages. Some birthday this turned out to be.
After a few minutes I heard a knock upon my bedroom door.
“Hey, slugger. Are you okay in there?” asked my dad’s voice through the door.
Bugger all, Claire must have told him what happened on the stairs.
I did not respond, I lifted my head from my pillow and sat upon my bed, brushing away my tears hurriedly. My face felt hot, it was probably slightly red from my anger and crying.
“Son? Are you allright?” I heard him say as he opened the door to my room and wandered in.
“Yeah, I’m fine dad,” I stated, feeling a bit awkward for him to still call me his son.
He took one look at me and sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. It was obvious from the expression on his face he knew I was not all right.
“Listen, Henry, you have got to understand that what I want is the best for you and your mother,” he stated sincerely.
I suddenly felt angry at him, despite the fact he was the one to check to see if I was fine.
“You liar! Mum told me how you left us because you didn’t care about us!” I snapped, feeling the tears start to well up inside my eyes again.
“Is that what she told you? Henry, it is true I left your mother, but it had nothing to do with you,” he stated plainly.
“R-really?” I asked, not sure about anything anymore.
“Yeah, really,” he responded and came and sat beside me on my bed.
He leaned in and hugged me gently.
“You know how important you are to me. Your mother and I…just had issues,” he explained as I embraced his hug, the anger fading away.
I didn’t need to understand because I knew what he meant. But it was good to have my dad on good terms with me again. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
“So, how about you come down and have some cake and open your present from me? It’s still your birthday, remember?” he stated playfully with a smirk, letting go of me and rousing my hair.
I grinned at him, knowing it was one of his quirky ways of showing affection for me. I nodded slowly after he tussled my hair.
“Okay,” I said as cheerfully as best I could.
I wasn’t a complete dipstick to forgive everything just like that, but when my dad was concerned, it was best to pretend everything was fine after one of his “man-to-man” talks.
My dad laughed and stood up, going out of my room and I heard his footsteps on the stairs as he was going down.
My dad was a decent bloke, though I knew the routine. When he and my mother knew I was upset, they’d fight over who should go comfort me. It was mostly my dad because he would say to my mum that she would shout at me. That was a half-truth, really. My mum shouts a lot, but not much at me. She does have a strict tone in her voice, but she never yelled at me. But my mum would give up the fight because dad would say it.
Dartho is NOT finished.
If you wish me to continue Dartho, I shall. I just want to put this all up first.
I sighed to myself slightly, the orange suit was wrinkled and the collar was uneven because of when I wrenched off the clip-on tie. My hair was also tussled but I did not care how I looked. There was nobody at my party to judge me on my dress sense, aside from my mum.
I stood up from my bed and wandered out into the upstairs hallway. The stairs were right beside my room on the left-hand side. I made my way across to the banister and started jumping down the stairs, one at a time. I used to do it when I was younger and liked to do it to irritate my mum.
After getting downstairs, I walked into the kitchen since the door was open. My mum was sitting on a stool, a pursed look on her lips. I could tell from the moment she saw my tardy nature that she wanted to comment about it but did not want to give Dad the satisfaction.
My dad and Claire were standing behind the kitchen counter, a parcel in each of their hands. A foot or two away from them on the table was my birthday cake. It was nothing special, just a plain-looking cake with thirteen candles waiting to be lit.
“Come on over here, slugger. Claire and I have gifts for you,” stated dad with a wry grin.
I was somewhat happy but the threatening yet invisible cloud was hovering over me, I could tell my mum was staring daggers at my back.
I tried to knock the feeling off by looking cheerful and walked over to where Dad and Claire stood.
Claire presented her gift to me first. I grasped the wrapped up present and ripped it open, displaying what appeared to be a box of wooden soldiers. I was a little bit disappointed but grinned at Claire.
“Gee, thanks Claire,” I said a mite over-enthusiastically.
“Yeah, sorry if it wasn’t what you were expecting. I just never bought a present for a kid your age before,” Claire stated.
‘Obviously,’ I thought to myself but put on a brave face and put down the box with wooden soldiers on the countertop as my dad handed down to me a small present that was probably only as big as his index finger.
I tore away the crude wrapping paper and saw before me a lighter. It had a flick-open top with what looked like gold plating on the inside. Now, this gift I was slightly impressed with. My dad always got me the coolest stuff, maybe also the most dangerous just to watch my mother freak out.
“Cool,” I said suddenly, inspecting the lighter with delicate care.
For that brief instant, I forgot my mum was hovering around, but she was unable to keep silent anymore about this.
“Mitch! That is far too dangerous for Henry to have!” snapped my mother with desperation.
“Oh, come now Caroline. The boy’s thirteen, I’m sure he is old enough to handle it, right, slugger?” asked my dad to me.
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