Page 24

Milo smiled, and there was a pleasant silence for a while.

Tuesday

10

–––––

In-between

This time, it had been enough. It had driven away the demons and smothered the dreams. Why couldn’t it be like this every night? Leaf draped his heavy arm over his face to shield himself from the sun and enjoyed the silence for a while. But suddenly, the sound of a rumble broke the stillness, and it dawned on him that he wasn’t home. He abruptly shot up and looked around.

Fuck!

He had fallen asleep on the leather sofa in Nathan’s basement. Sunlight streamed in through a row of upper windows. A wooden lattice stood in front of them, adorned with a few climbing plants whose shadows swayed lightly on the opposite wall in the wind. But more than enough light entered the hobby room, which Nathan used half of the space as storage for his photography equipment. In the corner were lamps, and several cardboard rolls were stacked against the wall.

Shit! I was supposed to stop by Tristan’s.

Leaf swiftly rubbed his face to wake himself up and tied his hair back. After gathering his belongings, he trudged up the stairs, his limbs feeling leaden. The smell of fresh coffee wafted from the kitchen, and to his left, the front door was open. Leaf stepped out onto the porch and lit a cigarette.

Across the street, Nathan was walking with his Bull Terrier. The dog tugged wildly on the leash and barked at a tree, while Nathan, unfazed, scrolled through his phone. Shortly after, he limped across the street, speaking to the dog to calm it down. Just then, a car pulled up, and his neighbor got out.

“Hi, Nathan, how’s it going?”

“Hello, Jeff, good, thanks, and you? Done with work already?”

“Linda has her exams today, so I took the day off,” he explained, opening the tailgate of his pickup truck and retrieving a toolbox. “Check this out. Just stocked up on new tools. Special offer.”

“Nice! What do you plan to do with it?”

When Nathan stepped aside and revealed the contents of the box, Leaf felt like fireworks exploded in his head.

“Pick one!”

Leaf stood paralyzed in front of the garage wall, where the wrenches, screwdrivers, hammers, and drill bits hung. In the cool light of the fluorescent tube, they gleamed like precious jewels.

“I said, pick one!” his father yelled. “You have a mouth, so use it, damn it!”

Leaf flinched, trembling with fear all over his body, yet he spread his hands and gestured, “I don’t want to.” Ultimately, it didn’t matter which piece he chose. Each one hurt. Then his father grabbed him by the neck.

“No sign language! I want to hear your voice!”

Leaf tried to break free, outstretched his hand, and tapped his chin twice with his thumb.

“No! Mom’s not coming back! Now open your mouth already!”

He silently called out for his mother again as his father grabbed a wrench and dragged him to the workbench. With a firm grip, his father pinned down his arm and struck his right hand with full force.

Leaf screamed and curled up in pain, while his right arm held tightly like in a vise.

Another blow followed.

And another.

The sight blurred behind hot tears, and his own screams rang in his ears.

“Mom is dead! You will never use that language again! Got it!”

Leaf pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut.