Ten

Kian

Dad was always saying how he hated growing up dirt poor. He gave it his best shot, but drink always got the better of him. I hated living in poverty too. Maybe Dad was right. Maybe getting good grades wasn't enough. The rich stay rich and the poor stay poor. Nobody was going to give me a handout in life. Those of us who live in the slums of Forest Hills were regarded as “the scumbags of society”. You didn't see the clan leaders investing any cash into our neighborhood. We were out of sight, out of mind. We didn't get the fancy parks and picnic greens like the clean part of town did. Kids here played out on the streets, drawing over the pavements with chalk or smashing bottles at the side of the road. Those said roads were not maintained like the ones in town. Ours were crumbled and full of potholes.

Around the picture-perfect suburbs, they had convenience stores, bakeries, a cafe where people would sit outside and chat. Over at our side of town, we had one corner store that stocked the bare essentials. The shutters were permanently locked down over the windows. There was a wall of bulletproof glass separating the cash register from the customers, meaning that we had to communicate through the groove at the bottom. If you tried to pull something funny, the shopkeeper kept a double-barrel shotgun under the counter. It was always best to check your change before you left the building.

So you see, my cards were marked from the moment I was born. I had to make something of myself the best way a kid like me could. Guys like me were constantly fighting to find our place in this superficial, fucked-up world because, at the end of the day, that's all we were, the lowest level of society, the scum that taints the good streets of Forest Hills. Nobody is going to look at me any differently unless I change my own fate. I can fall victim to circumstance, or I can fight my way to success. That's what my poppa meant, so I'm going to damn well make him proud.

"Something's happened our way by the look of it," Dad muttered as an ambulance and two ranger cars whizzed past us on the road.

"I wonder who that's for?" Dad's voice sounded grave.

"Probably another gang fight," I replied, straining to see which way they were headed.

They turned the corner of our street, thus making Dad step on the gas pedal. "I swear, I'm gonna kill her myself if she's gone and done something stupid," Dad hissed, referring to Mom.

His thoughts mirrored mine, that Mom had either overdosed, or her drug dealer had come over to pay her a visit. The flickering blue lights filled our street, freezing my body and flaring my eyes wide with shock. Mom was standing at the edge of the patchy lawn in her dressing gown and slippers, her hair scraped back into a messy ponytail. One of the rangers held out his palms to signal Dad to stop right there. He made an abrupt stop and both of us scrambled out of the Jeep.

"What's going on?" Dad demanded, searching over the big guy's shoulder to where Mom was standing.

"Kian, honey," Mom called over to me, beckoning me to come to her. "Let's go inside."

I knew by the worried frown on her face that something was wrong. My eyes flashed to the right of us, landing on Mrs. Bank's open doorway and witnessing paramedics rushing a frail figure out on a stretcher.

Air caught in my throat as I struggled to call out to her. "Mrs. B!" I managed a strangled cry.

I must've cleared the distance in a millisecond, clutching hold of her cold fingers as I followed alongside. I was relieved to see that she was breathing. The condensation from her breath coated the inside of the oxygen mask. The way her eyes rolled around in their sockets was an indication that she was conscious.

"What happened to her?" I barely managed to contain the tears from falling freely.

"It looks like she suffered a cardiac arrest," the paramedic pushing the stretcher mentioned. 

"Her son will be notified immediately. I'm afraid I can't allow you to accompany her. But if you like, you can see her during visiting hours tomorrow," he told me in a sympathetic tone. "We'll take good care of her, don't you worry. She's going to be fine."

I nodded, allowing her limp hand to slip through my fingers. Dad's hand weighed heavily on my shoulder. "Let's go inside, son. She's in safe hands."

"Rick, do you have a moment? I need to speak with you," the ranger who stopped us spoke to Dad. "It's important."

Dad flashed his eyes down to me, then back to him. "Sure, Max." Dad jerked his head towards our house. "Go on, Kian. Your mother will fix you some dinner." Dad raised his brows at Mom in a serious glower. Mom swallowed, fidgeting nervously as if she was worried about what the ranger was likely to say.

I stopped and turned to look as they pushed Mrs. B's stretcher up the ramp of the ambulance. Mom's fingers gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Come on, Kian," she muttered in a defeated tone.

Once inside, Mom padded through to the kitchen and began heating up a frozen pizza. I loitered around in the living room, slumping down onto the couch. With my chin resting along the tatty cushions, I peered out through the window, trying to make out what Dad and the ranger were discussing. Tears blurred my vision, stinging my weary eyes raw. The ranger named Max placed his hands on his hips as he spoke, and Dad gripped his forehead, looking like he just cursed out loud. Then Max pointed directly at our house, and they both glanced my way. The anguish that was etched across my father's face caused my aching heart to plummet into my stomach. I knew that look only too well. I turned away to bury my face in my hands, sinking deeper into despair, knowing that whatever bad news my father had just been given it would be enough to make him break his promise tonight.

Life was forever throwing me off balance, shaking the foundations under my feet. It felt as if the universe wanted me to break, to snap, to lash out against the cruel injustice that rained down on me every stinking day of my life. Rage was slowly beginning to overcome my grief, twisting my innocent soul into something dark and sinister. I didn't know how much longer I could stay being me. And if I had to be completely honest, I wanted to be anyone else but me.