lying beside it.
I watched Travis for a few minutes as he felt around under the couch, cussing loudly.
Finally, he stood. He ran his fingers through his oily hair, growled in frustration, and then bent down and grabbed the bottom of the couch. He heaved it upwards with all his strength, flipping it over backwards, just as my mother walked through the front door.
I saw her confusion as her eyes went wide and she gasped.
“What are you doing?” she asked as her purse slid off her shoulder and hung on her forearm. Had her arm been straight, it would’ve hit the floor.
“This is bullshit,” Travis yelled.
“What is?” my mother asked. She walked into the kitchen and sat her purse on the table. Turning to him, she put her hands on her hips and waited for him to explain.
“My gun is missing.”
“What gun?”
“The gun I bought from Dale.”
“You bought a gun?” I could hear the surprise and disappointment in her voice. I wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it, but it made me mad that he kept things from her.
“Yeah, a bought a fucking gun, okay? And now the damn thing is gone. I fell asleep on the couch last night with it in my hand. I woke up this morning and it’s gone.”
“Was it loaded?”
“Of course. What the hell good is a gun if it isn’t loaded?”
I hated to hear him talk to her with that tone, but what was I going to do about it?
“Well, it has to be here somewhere. Let’s look for it,” she said as she walked further into the room and began looking everywhere he’d surely already looked.
“What the hell do you think I’ve been doing, Brenda?” he said her name sarcastically. “I’ve been looking since I woke up. It’s not here.”
“Where’d you get the money to buy a gun anyway?” She sat the chair upright and replaced the cushions, running her hand down into the bowels of the chair.
“That’s for me to know. Just find the fucking thing, will you?”
“What’s it look like?”
He laughed. “What’s it look like. What the fuck do you think it looks like, Brenda? God. I see why your kid’s as dumb as my pecker hair. He gets it from you.”
My mother stood and turned to face him. With her hands on her hips, she said, “I mean is it black or is it shiny?”
“Does it matter? How many guns do you think you’ll come across? Jesus. You find a gun, it’s mine, okay?”
My mother turned around shaking her head, and that’s when she saw the coffee table.
“What happened to that?” she asked, pointing.
“Your fucking kid came in here running around like a chicken with its head cut off last night and fell on it.”
I watched my mom look at the table, then at Travis, and I wondered if she believed him. She probably did. She always did. I hated it, but I guess she was too tired to try to sort out the truth from the lies. It was easier to believe what he said than to question it.
As my mother helped Travis look for his gun, she asked, “Why did you need a gun?”
“You never know, Brenda,” he said, spitting her name out like poison. “You can’t trust people. Someone could come in here and steal our shit, or kill us. I want to be prepared.”
“You’re ready to kill someone?” my mother asked looking behind the television.
Travis spun around to say something, but he saw me standing there, peeking around the corner. He stared right into my eyes without blinking, and answered my mother’s question with, “Yes. I’m ready to kill someone.”
Maybe I was wrong, but I took that as a threat. The look on his face when he said it, and the way he was looking into my eyes made me feel like he was saying he was ready to kill me specifically. And after the incident with the pistol last night, I had no doubt that he would. He would kill me, and then he’d tell everyone that I’d tried to kill him and he had to defend himself. My mother would believe him, as always. He’d murder me and get away with it. And clearly, he was ready to do it.
Our
I watched Travis for a few minutes as he felt around under the couch, cussing loudly.
Finally, he stood. He ran his fingers through his oily hair, growled in frustration, and then bent down and grabbed the bottom of the couch. He heaved it upwards with all his strength, flipping it over backwards, just as my mother walked through the front door.
I saw her confusion as her eyes went wide and she gasped.
“What are you doing?” she asked as her purse slid off her shoulder and hung on her forearm. Had her arm been straight, it would’ve hit the floor.
“This is bullshit,” Travis yelled.
“What is?” my mother asked. She walked into the kitchen and sat her purse on the table. Turning to him, she put her hands on her hips and waited for him to explain.
“My gun is missing.”
“What gun?”
“The gun I bought from Dale.”
“You bought a gun?” I could hear the surprise and disappointment in her voice. I wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it, but it made me mad that he kept things from her.
“Yeah, a bought a fucking gun, okay? And now the damn thing is gone. I fell asleep on the couch last night with it in my hand. I woke up this morning and it’s gone.”
“Was it loaded?”
“Of course. What the hell good is a gun if it isn’t loaded?”
I hated to hear him talk to her with that tone, but what was I going to do about it?
“Well, it has to be here somewhere. Let’s look for it,” she said as she walked further into the room and began looking everywhere he’d surely already looked.
“What the hell do you think I’ve been doing, Brenda?” he said her name sarcastically. “I’ve been looking since I woke up. It’s not here.”
“Where’d you get the money to buy a gun anyway?” She sat the chair upright and replaced the cushions, running her hand down into the bowels of the chair.
“That’s for me to know. Just find the fucking thing, will you?”
“What’s it look like?”
He laughed. “What’s it look like. What the fuck do you think it looks like, Brenda? God. I see why your kid’s as dumb as my pecker hair. He gets it from you.”
My mother stood and turned to face him. With her hands on her hips, she said, “I mean is it black or is it shiny?”
“Does it matter? How many guns do you think you’ll come across? Jesus. You find a gun, it’s mine, okay?”
My mother turned around shaking her head, and that’s when she saw the coffee table.
“What happened to that?” she asked, pointing.
“Your fucking kid came in here running around like a chicken with its head cut off last night and fell on it.”
I watched my mom look at the table, then at Travis, and I wondered if she believed him. She probably did. She always did. I hated it, but I guess she was too tired to try to sort out the truth from the lies. It was easier to believe what he said than to question it.
As my mother helped Travis look for his gun, she asked, “Why did you need a gun?”
“You never know, Brenda,” he said, spitting her name out like poison. “You can’t trust people. Someone could come in here and steal our shit, or kill us. I want to be prepared.”
“You’re ready to kill someone?” my mother asked looking behind the television.
Travis spun around to say something, but he saw me standing there, peeking around the corner. He stared right into my eyes without blinking, and answered my mother’s question with, “Yes. I’m ready to kill someone.”
Maybe I was wrong, but I took that as a threat. The look on his face when he said it, and the way he was looking into my eyes made me feel like he was saying he was ready to kill me specifically. And after the incident with the pistol last night, I had no doubt that he would. He would kill me, and then he’d tell everyone that I’d tried to kill him and he had to defend himself. My mother would believe him, as always. He’d murder me and get away with it. And clearly, he was ready to do it.
Our
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