One More Year
Here is Nyah Bowhay's story, our 2024 second place fiction winner in the Boar's Tusk 2023/2024 journal. For more information about Boar's Tusk, click here.
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Get me out of here. I got stuck going to a party with Erica again, but how am I ever going to be able to say no to her. She brings up good points in the moment and I am convinced that I need to go. Because that is what the “cool” kids are doing. Yeah well, I feel cool right now staring into the mirror looking at my disheveled appearance. My black Van Halen shirt and blue jeans are covered in cheap wine, which was dumped on me by some random, wasted girl. I was trying to walk around her to go out the back door, but she tripped, and I ended up being the susceptible victim of the massacre of my new clothes.
My shoes stick to the cheap, linoleum flooring as I move to look at myself in the mirror. My hair is stuck to my forehead, and my eyeliner is smudged down my face. Of course, this bathroom has no clean towels anywhere. How do people live like this? I grabbed a towel that looked to be decently clean and ran it under the hot water. The eyeliner came off after several minutes of scrubbing, but I’d rather look red than sloppy. Well, I guess it’s time to face my fears and walk out of the bathroom and hopefully make it to the front door without being noticed by too many people. I cracked the door and peered into the hallway, thankfully, only a few drunken people sleeping on the dirty hallway carpet were out there.
I slowly walked down the stairs and headed straight for the front door. I feel the pain before I fully comprehend what happened, and I fell to the ground clutching my nose right, as a tall man with black hair, wearing black jeans and a Nirvana T-shirt walks in.
“God, I’m such an idiot. Why do I keep showing up to these parties when something bad always seems to happen!” I said, wincing through the pain.
“I am so sorry. I didn’t know anyone was there. Are you okay? Is your nose bleeding? Do you have a concussion?” Why is he talking so much. I already have a headache and he’s just adding to it!
“I’m fine as long as I can get out of here, as soon as possible. So, as much fun as this was, I’m going to head out.” I stood up swaying slightly and headed out the door keeping my hand over my nose. Blood ran down my face falling onto my clothes and the gray tile flooring. My nose throbbed and I quickly used my ruined shirt to wipe the blood off my face.
I started walking down the road, and I heard leaves crunch behind me. I turned around and saw the same man jogging towards me.
“Wait,” he yelled, “at least let me take you home, I am so sorry about hitting you with the door.”
“It’s fine, I don’t accept rides from strangers. Thank anyways,” I told him politely.
“Well, my name is Hunter. So, we’re no longer strangers and I can now take you home. What’s your name?” Hunter asked.
“It’s Sam. And how do I know you’re not a serial killer or something worse. I can’t trust you” I yelled over my shoulder.
“Fine, then I will just walk this way too then,”
After five minutes of awkward silence, I asked him, “Will you stop following me already?”
“I’m not, I just moved here, and I live close by.” He said as if I should already know.
The rest of the walk to my house was silent, and when I turned to walk to my door he was still following.
“What are you doing?” I growled at him.
“This is my house. I just moved in today. Who the hell are you?” Confusion flashed across his face.
“Well, I have lived here for the past twelve years, so either you’re insane or lost because you do not live here!” I said.
Suddenly the front door slammed open and revealed my incredibly drunk mother wearing a short, white sundress covered in white flowers, sparkly heels, and a veil tucked into her blonde hair. She was holding a champagne flute, smiling from ear to ear.
“Surprise Sammy! I got married in Vegas last night, and you have a new brother! Aren’t you so happy?” She waved her drink around as she talked with her hands, champagne dripped over the edge of the cup splashing onto her dress.
“Mom, what the actual hell. You’ve been gone for a month straight then you show up with a husband and a new stepson. Why would you think I would be happy about this? What did you think? I’d just go along with being in this perfect little family of yours?” I shouted.
The smile instantly fell from her face, and she began glaring at me. Humiliation and anger flashed across her eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
“Well sweetheart,” she said with fake sincerity, “You should be excited that I’m finally happy. But the real question is what you are doing out this late. You know your curfew is at 1:00. And currently it is 1:15.”
As if she cares about me. She leaves for months at a time, coming back whenever she wants. Usually heartbroken from the latest guy she found that dumped her. I wonder what the new guy looks like, he’s probably just as big of a loser as the last guy she brought home.
“I’m barely late, and I only was because brother dearest slammed a door into my face.”
She began to chuckle at my misfortune. She took a step and caught her foot against the porch and fell into the grass. She was face down with her glass still clutched in her hands, lying motionless. I didn’t bother helping her, it’s not like this is the first time she’s done this. I stepped over her body and walked into the house.
“Are you just going to leave her here?” Hunter asked.
I forgot he was even outside. I forgot he was even a person. It’s funny that he cares, soon she will drain all the life out of him, just like she does to everyone she meets. He will figure it out on his own, and eventually understand why she’s as worthless as she acts, hopefully before he’s completely ruined.
“It’s not the first time she’s done this and I’m not about to have her puke all over me again. So, if you want to help her then go right ahead, but I’m done dealing with her shit,” I said exasperated.
A beer can crunches beneath my feet as I step through the house. The countertops are covered in more bottles and junk food. The house is always clean when it’s just me, I guess that is partly since my life has never had order, so I make up for it by keeping my surroundings as clean as possible. God, I hate having to be the adult in my house.
I walk down the stairs to my bedroom, and slam the door closed and peel off my wet clothing throwing it into my hamper. My shoes into my door with a loud smack and I walk into my bathroom. I turned on the shower to the hottest temperature it could go, and I climbed in. As soon as I stepped into the water tears began to roll down my face. My body slid down the glass shower walls, and I pulled my knees to my chest. My reflection from the shower walls looked back at me. She looked broken, defeated. How did I let this happen to me? How do I fix this?
One more year left until I can leave this place and never look back. I can’t wait to get away from this town and especially away from my mother.
…One more year.
