“Get a job, Brim!” my mother screamed at the top of her lungs. You could tell she was mad because her eyebrows were furrowed, and that vein bulged right at the top of her hairline. She gets like that when she’s really upset. She stood right in front of the main door screaming. Brim stood on the lower part of the dust-filled staircase making that stupid face he did when he was angry.
“Fuck you, Tish, you’ve always been a miserable bitch,” he replied. My mom started to tear up. I thought back to when she first introduced me to him. She told me he was my new dad and said that he would take care of us. I knew how it would turn out from the start. She’s never been good with picking.
We used to go apple picking all the time before Brim.
Last week when they were on a break, mom came to pick me up after school every day. When I left school for the weekend, she was smiling at me through the window so wide. The baskets lined the back seat. We spent the entire afternoon there. Just us. For the first time in months. The trees danced with the wind, wishing temporary peace to our chaotic life. Mom stood in front of me grabbing the apples that were too high for me to reach, before chucking them into the baskets she turned to me,
“Check them for me.”
“Why? I’m sure they’re fine.”
“Just check ‘em, I’ve never been any good with picking.”
She giggled, and I laughed too, but something hidden in her laugh told me to hold on to these words. That they would eventually answer burning questions.
“I don’t need this shit, I’m done.” Brim ran up the stairs and started rummaging through some drawers. Mom ran after him promising that she didn’t mean it. I never understood what she
saw in him, he always acted so creepy. Sometimes, late at night, I’d see him standing motionless in my doorway. Whenever I asked, he usually said he was just checking in, reminding me of what my mom said… that he was here to take care of us. But I always got a strange feeling.
“Babe, I’m sorry, I know I overstepped, I just want us to be normal again,” my mom was begging now. I hated it. She did it almost every time he threatened to leave, it felt weak and reminded me of that word I spelled at the school spelling bee. Pathetic. My teacher described it as if a dog were to beg to keep a tick because it was its only friend. I stayed on the main floor and tried to peek through the railing to see what was happening. She was on her knees in front of him with her head hung low. An overwhelming feeling of disgust crashed over me, as though I was the only person standing on a beach as a tsunami came in. He dropped the bag he had started to pack and stood her up. They whispered for a bit before eventually making up and heading into her room.
I rushed to my room before hearing anything else. I stood in front of my door deciding to grab a snack before going in. It would be best not to go anywhere near them for at least an hour. I opened the fridge feeling blessed that my room was right next to the kitchen. Of course, there was nothing but a couple of bottles of jerk seasoning from my mom’s cooking phase and some apples
from the orchard. My mom tended to buy fast food or nothing at all. I grabbed an apple, finally got into bed, tucked myself in, and made sure my TV was at the highest volume possible. Better to be safe than sorry. I bit into the apple, and after I chewed, it felt mushy. The contents dissolved into my mouth leaving a mealy and grainy texture. The sharp sourness quickly turned into a lingering acidity. It was rotten.
Shyonne Nugent is a second year student currently enrolled in Carleton University’s political science program with a minor in english. The following piece is a work of fiction grounded in the author’s interest in damaged relationships titled “Rotten”.
