Boy/Boxes

He guys! Long time no see. Sorry, I've been busy. 

Here's another section for my 'atmosphere' experiment. Once again, this was originally a song story piece, a story inspired by music, in this particular case the song What's A Boy to Do by Matt Kearney- all lyrics are his if I directly quoted any and this is meant purely as a literary experiment. This one is a bit different than the last one I think I posted, the song itself follows the story of a young man through the major mile stones of his life but I didn't write all of them. These are primarily the first three mentioned in the song, correct me if I'm wrong, this is something from the archives! I hope you enjoy!

 Boxes were stacked everywhere. Most of them were only half filled with trash and trinkets that didn't mean quite enough to be kept through a move. But they were all coming along, the furniture was draped with white sheets and dust. There were only two pieces covered in bubble wrap to be loaded into a truck and taken along.

Before the big white truck came to cart everything away, a boy walked into the open house. He was tall for his seven years, dark haired and his intense blue eyes scanned house with a mixture of sorrow and rebelling anger.

“Alex! Alex, come here.” A woman crashed through the house holding a paper in her hand and a cell phone in the other.

“Here, honey, now let me explain...”

The boy, Alex, resisted her tender touch.

“No- mom, I get it. You couldn't pay again, it's fine.”

“Alex?” His mother looked confused.

“Where's my bag?”

“In the closet, as usual. I'm really sorry.”

“I told you, it's okay.”

Alex dragged his feet to the little closet at the back of the house. He opened the creaky door to discover a grungy backpack filled with practical joke trinkets, a few pocket knives, some school books he wasn't supposed to have.

Alex looked over everything and kicked the backpack over, letting the insides spill out and make a mess on the closet floor.

“Alex! He's here, c'mon, we've got to go!”

“'K mom!” Seizing the pocket knives, the boy rushed out of the door and tumbled into the white van with his mother. Their life was packed up and ready to go. The van was their one way ticket, bound for Saint Louis...

The school yard was nearly empty. Only Rags and his gang hung around, unawares of Alex crouched in the shadows of the garbage bins. Rags yelled about something. Alex looked down, a rough piece of rubble took up the palm of his rough hand. The gang shifted around, Alex knew they would start playing their game soon. Rags would take out a gun, the gang would inspect it and voice their approval. Rags would tuck the weapon away and they'd leave. Alex looked around cautiously before he boldly stuck his head around the dumpster and aimed.

The rock skittered across the pavement after striking Hands on the wrist. He howled with rage. Rags' hand was up in a split second, gun cradled between his thumb and pointer finger, cocked and loaded. Alex knew though, Rags didn't have money for more than one or two shots. Bullets weren't cheap if the teenager could've even found a dealer. The yard echoed with the rock's reverberating contact with the stone. Rags relaxed and put the gun to rest as well.

The gang left swiftly and Alex was left alone in the yard, idly holding his old pocket knife which was hinged open and tucked into his sleeve. He pulled it out and put it away. He left, kicking rocks in front of him in a dispirited manner. Time to go home.

“Hey Alex, coming over tonight? We're having a little extra celebration for Selena's promotion too. What'd you say?”

“No, I'm busy.” Alex said reluctantly, taking a swig at the glass in his hand. He was dressed up. He hadn't dressed up since middle school, for the orchestra concert. He grimaced at the thought, remembering his mother fussing over his hair beforehand. His mother had loved fussing. He downed the last half of his drink and put it harshly down on the bar. He left the club, eyes stinging with buzzy tears.