Eeekkk.
Mason’s eyes opened as he heard the door downstairs creek shut. He looked at the clock on his bedside table as it clicked to 3:34. His mom must be home. He rolled over and shut his eyes back to sleep.
The next time Mason opened his eyes again, his alarm clock was blaring and sunlight poured into his room through the curtains. He scrambled out of bed to shut off the alarm before his mom heard. She hated when he woke her up. Mason put on his glasses and walked downstairs. He reached the kitchen and opened up the fridge to find only an empty milk carton, an old bag of baby carrots, a jar of jelly, and one stick of butter. His mom forgot to go shopping again. He went into the freezer and pulled out a loaf of bread, then walked back upstairs to let the bread thaw as he got dressed. As he reached his bedroom door, he saw out of the corner of his eye his mom’s room. The door was cracked open and her body was sprawled across the bed with the sheets crumpled at the foot of it. She was still in the clothes she had left in the previous night, and her hair was teased into a beehive atop her head.
Mason shut his eyes, shook his head, and then turned back to his bedroom. He slowly walked through the doorway. The string clipped in his room from one wall to the opposite held his clothes, which were still damp from washing them in the kitchen sink the night before. He had no more time to waste, though, and just pulled them off the line, tossing them on. He zipped back downstairs and headed out the door, with a frozen piece of bread covered in jelly in his mouth and his backpack thrown over his shoulder. The bike ride from his neighborhood to school took about 15 minutes. He knew that he would have enough time to get there and not pass by Mikey and his friends if he went as fast as possible.
Mason scarfed down the piece of bread and hopped on his bike. As he raced to school, he was constantly thinking about avoiding them. He pushed and pushed and pushed, and with every pedal he inhaled, followed by a hard exhale. By the time he saw the yellow school buses and fleeting kids in the distance, droplets of sweat were forming along his forehead. But he didn’t get there in time, because there they were, standing right in front of him.
Mikey was one of the tallest kids in the eighth grade, much bigger than Mason. All Mikey did was shout out orders and one of the minions who squabbled in his shadow would carry them out. They taunted kids at school, and with their size they were able to. Mason, ever since seventh grade when he accidentally bumped into Mikey in the hall, fell into that category.
As Mason slowed to a stop in front of them, Mikey stepped up. “So, looks like the nerd showed up to school again. You’d think after yesterday he woulda got the message,” he said, as the rest of them let out slight chuckles. “Not gunna say nothin’ are you?”
Mason looked down at his feet, and did his best to scramble with his bike around the group, but there was no use.
When he later walked into the parking lot of the school to park his bike at the rack, Mason’s knees were freshly scraped from the pavement with trickles of blood already forming, and his cheek was swollen from the blow he had taken, from which one of the boys he couldn’t recall. But it was all the same, happening like that everyday.
The sad thing was that nobody asked about it. Mason would go to school for days without a single person talking to him, or even noticing him. His eyes would be bruised, or his body scraped up, and that became normal, with no questions asked. He was a forgotten person.
On his bike ride home from school, Mason was following the regular route, but tears began to fill his eyes. They clouded his field of vision and he eventually had to pull over. Mason didn’t cry. He rarely ever showed any emotion. But right then, in that moment, he could not take it anymore. His mom came home drunk every night and passed out, sometimes not even making it to her room. She ignored him and abandoned him, just like his father did to them. And then there was Mikey, who every day took out his anger on Mason, punching and pushing him before or after school. Mason was alone, completely and utterly alone, and realizing that was hardest of all. The tears kept on rolling.
“Um, are you okay dude?” Mason turned his head, with his eyes puffy and nose runny, to see a young boy standing not 15 feet in front of him. He looked about his age, around 14. He had shaggy brown hair and wore jeans and a green t-shirt. He was holding an old basketball. Mason realized he had pulled over at the park, about 5 minutes from home. “Well?” he persisted.
“Sorr-,” Mason’s voiced cracked from lack of use. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I was just, um…, I was just-”
“Ya me too. I usually come here to the park, let off some steam.” Mason continued to look at him, with glossy eyes. “My name is Steven. Steven Tretter. I don’t really live around here. You?”
“Um, it’s Mason.”
“You got a last name?” Mason looked surprised at Steven’s curiosity. He had never seen this boy before, not at school or anywhere around town. But it wasn’t like Mason really got out much.
“Mason Norris,” he replied.
“Well Mason, I think you oughta come shoot some buckets. Looks like you’ve had a rough day.” Mason noticed Steven’s eyes sinking down towards his knees, then back up to just underneath his own eyes, at his cheeks. Steven raised his eyebrow. “Um-”
Before Steven could ask about the scrapes and bruises, Mason interjected saying, “You know what, I should probably go. My mom is expecting me home soon and I’ve got to get dinner made. It was nice to meet you Steven. So, ya, I have to go.” Mason hopped onto his bike and was only a few feet away when he heard Steven yell out.
“Well, I’ll see ya later then.”
Mason turned his head back at Steven for only a split second. He was in somewhat of a shock. He had gone days without a single person talking to him at school, and suddenly this boy thinks that they will just see eachother again, and be friends? Mason did his best not to think too much more of it.
Once he got home, he walked through the door to find empty bottles of beer and dirty wine glasses scattered throughout the kitchen. As he wandered upstairs to his mom’s room, he realized she still hadn’t changed. There she sat, on the edge of the bed with a glass of wine between two fingers and the other holding the remote up towards the T.V., clicking through the endless channels to find nothing of her liking.
“Hey Mom. I, you know, just wanted to let you know that, um, I’m home,” Mason whispered cautiously. His mom looked up at him, and stared with an unaware look in her eyes, like this was the first time she had ever seen her son. This look lasted for only a couple seconds, but for Mason, it felt like a lifetime. Just as fast as she’d looked up, though, she was back to scrolling, and Mason caught that as his cue to leave. This women was his mother, but he had never felt so disconnected from a person as he did with her.
Mason made himself dinner, with what little he had, and then immediately went to bed. He was tired and scared, and just wanted the day to be over. Unfortunately, though, he knew that this was just the way things were, a never ending cycle of loneliness and fear. Each day after would go the same way. But Mason couldn’t help but think of that boy, Steven, who he had shared a somewhat real conversation with. This was one of the only decent conversations he had had in months.
On his way home a couple of days later, he took the wrong way, maybe not by accident, and ended up back at that park. There, he saw Steven, shooting baskets right where he had seen him before.
Mason hopped off his bike and moved slowly towards the court, heedful of how close he got. Steven looked up, and immediately recognized him.
“Mason! Hey! Where have you been lately?” He rushed towards him with a bright smile on his face, and Mason took a step back, unaware of what to do or say. Steven caught his hesitance.
“Dude, come on I’m not some psycho or anything.” Although Mason was uncertain, the look in Steven’s eyes showed what he was saying was genuine.
Mason smiled somewhat apologetically saying, “I’ve never really been all that good at basketball.” He walked towards the court, and Steven followed. What ensued was something that Mason would never have thought could happen. He made a friend. They played basketball for hours. They shared stories of school, of bad habits, of their dreams, and what they wanted to do in life. Every day after school, Mason would bike to the park, and share with Steven things he hadn’t told anyone else. He shared his fears of the kids at school, of the darkness he felt had suppressed his mother, and of the guilt he felt because it had happened to her. He told Steven of how his father left them, and how deep down he missed him. Throughout all of this, Steven listened to him, and that was something very new for Mason. Steven would tell Mason that he needed to leave a mark on the world, and he carved his initials, S.T., into the backboard of the basketball hoop, saying that it was okay if even something that small was his mark on the world. And Mason listened to Steven, something he had never done before.
One day, they were at the park and were, like always, shooting some baskets when Steven said, “You know, I think you are strong enough to stand up for yourself against this Mikey kid.”
Mason replied saying, “You have no idea how scary this guy is. All I want to do is avoid him. People like him probably have a lot going on. They don’t need something to irritate them more.”
“But don’t you understand. You have a lot going on in your life too. That doesn’t give anyone the right to take that stress and anger out on someone else, like what this kid is doing to you. It’s not right Mason. It’s just not right.”
He pondered this. “Well, it happens. I guess it’s just something that I have to deal with.”
“That’s what I mean. You shouldn’t have to deal with this. No one should have to. You come here everyday with scrapes and bruises because of the way he treats you.”
Mason then began to raise his voice. “Well sometimes things aren’t all about what you think! I’m fine, okay?”
“You aren’t fine! Your mom ignores you, and makes you take care of yourself. That’s not right Mason!”
“You know what, I don’t have to deal with this right now. I need to go home.”
Steven added in one last thing as Mason’s back was now to him, walking away. “It’s okay to not be okay.”
Mason paused, but then got on his bike and left. He was enraged at Steven’s newfound confidence and ability to just tell him how he felt. He biked all the way home, but wasn’t thinking about the ride. Instead, he was remembering those words. It’s okay to not be okay.
The next day before school, Mason was once again confronted by Mikey and his friends. Mikey stepped forward and said, “I always tell ya that comin’ here is just giving the both of us some trouble.”
Mason was preparing himself to get slapped, punched, or hit. He has never said a word to them, not once. But some fire inside of him causes him to have a spark of bravery. Everything Steven said was running through his mind. He was angry and upset. So, he muttered just six simple words.
“It’s okay to not be okay.”
Mikey stumbled back a little bit. He had never heard Mason speak. What was this boy doing? The look in Mikey’s eyes changed. Mason did not see anger, but fear. Mikey, without a slap, or punch, or hit, walked back a few steps and said, “I am fine.” He then turned his back and walked away. The rest followed, and Mason was left alone.
Mikey and Mason never had another confrontation. There were times when Mason would see him in the halls, and they would lock eyes for a split second, and then Mikey would look away, regaining once again that look of anger towards everybody else.
Mason was in awe at what he had done. He had stood up for himself, and was overjoyed that maybe, just maybe, Mikey was going to leave him alone. He went to the park that day, to find Steven and tell him the good news, but he found no one there. He left, thinking Steven was still mad at him. For days he came back, trying to find Steven, but no one was there. He biked home and got very worried, so he decided to try and call the number Steven had given him on a slip of paper. It was in one of the jean pockets of the pants he had worn days earlier. He found them and pulled out the slip of paper. But what he saw was astonishing. Where he thought there was once an eight digit number was blank, with nothing on that piece of paper.
Mason was confused. Why was the paper blank? He raced back to the park, and sprinted onto the basketball court. There was something he was trying to find. He reached the court and looked up, right at the backboard, and where there once were the letters inscribed S.T., there was nothing but dust. There was no trace of Steven anywhere.
Things started to unravel in Mason’s head. Steven told him everything he was afraid to admit to himself. Steven was the person who challenged Mason and led him to stand up to this bully, to Mikey, and give him advice on the hard life he was living in. But Steven was never really there.
Mason was in shock, and sat down in the middle of the basketball court, where he thought about everything. If Steven was never really there, did that mean that Mason was standing up to this bully all by himself? Were the things that “Steven” said what he actually thought of himself?
After what was probably hours of thinking and tracing everything back in his mind, Mason got up and once again climbed on his bike. He rode home slowly, pondering what he would do next. When he got home, he had realized that he was not the person everyone thought he was. He had a confidence that was buried deep inside of him, and he needed to use it, to remove the loneliness and fear that was built up for years.
He marched up to his mom’s room, and opened the door. There she sat, like she did everyday. She turned towards him when he walked in.
“Mom?”
She kept her stare at him, and then turned back to her drink.
“Mom!”
She heard this one, and raised her eyebrows at the way he had raised his voice. “Now you listen to me, I am your mother, and you should never yell at me like that!”
“My mother? You haven’t acted like my mother in years! I’m sorry that dad left, but that is affecting me everyday too. Drowning yourself in an addiction isn’t going to solve that problem.”
“You will never understand the pain that I go through everyday.”
“What about the pain that I go through everyday? You come home in the middle of the night and don’t speak a word to me. I have to feed myself, and survive here all on my own while you lay here and wallow in your own guilt over Dad leaving! Every day for the past year I was getting hurt at school, day after day, and you never even noticed it. Not once! And to say that you are the only one who will understand that pain is insulting, because I am out here on my own too!” Tears filled his eyes. He didn’t know if he had said too much, but a thought in his mind told him that he needed to stand up for himself and this was his chance. “I have just needed my mom to be here for me and to help me.”
His mother, not realizing everything that was going on, looked at him with guilt. She dropped her wine glass, and it spilt on the floor. But somehow it belonged there. They stayed there and looked at each other for a long time.
Things didn’t get completely better. Mason’s mom still drank, and she sometimes didn’t come home at night until 3:00 in the morning. But over time, she began to open up to him. Some days, she’d have dinner ready for him when he came home. Other times, Mason would find her at his school in the parking lot ready to bring him home. Some days were good, and others were bad, but that was okay for Mason, because things were getting better.
One important thing did occur. Mason had realized his worth. Although Steven was never really there, Mason knew that it was him who had given him this step in the right direction, and that if things were to ever get bad again, Steven could be that small reminder of what he could do. Day by day, things were getting just a little bit better.
One day, Mason was home with his mom when they heard a car pull into the driveway. Not a minute later, the doorbell rang. Mason got up to open the door, and as he swung it open, there was a man standing in front of him. He had scruffy, brown-gray hair, and Mason recognized him immediately. He felt a rush of pain and excitement run through his body as he shouted up to his mother.
“Um, Mom!” His face turned red. “Dad’s home.”