Ryan Johanssen sat on the newspaper box and cracked his knuckles. He hated when his parents fought. He hated having to take his sister Frankie out with him when they did. What was he supposed to do though? Leave her in there while they fought over who blew all the rent and grocery money on what drugs? Even his slow flickering mind could cast light on the idea that this was no good.
His stomach churned acid. They were going to have to go to the shelter to get something to eat again. He hated scraping and groveling but how else would he eat today? The church ladies always looked askance at him when he walked in. Almost like they thought all he did was walk around looking for free food all day. There was nothing he could do about his size. Food just stuck to his ribs better. That’s what his grandmother always said, but the shelter ladies always looked at Frankie and then Ryan like he was stealing her food. He had never even fathomed such an idea. He had to protect her and keep her fed on days like these, otherwise she would begin to cry and sniffle. If there was one thing Ryan was not equipped to deal with, it was Frankie’s emotions.
It was a long walk to the shelter though. If his parents realized he had taken his sister on that far of a walk they would punish him. Ryan also did not have the tools available to deal with someone being mad at him. His two responses were silence and rage, and neither flew with his parents, especially when they were sober.
They had owned bikes once. Not that they were great, but they were faster than walking, and kept the two from feeling as poor as they actually were. Ryan didn’t really know what happened to them, it was better not to ask. They were probably sold for a few rocks of cocaine while the kids were sleeping.
The kids wouldn’t even have clothes on their backs if it weren’t for holiday presents from relatives and their grandparents. Sometimes Ryan wished everyday was a weekend day and his grandparents were actually his parents.
The soundtrack of his real parent’s argument was indistinguishable from any other: Various yelling punctuated by something being slammed or thrown. Occasionally the cacophony of breaking glass could be heard. No possession lasted long in the ground floor apartment. The sound would die down from time to time. Ryan knew from experience that this was not the end, merely a chance for his parents to catch their breath and find something else to argue about. To enter during one of those intermissions would simply invite punishment of some kind.
It wasn’t so bad when they punished him. He could wait it out. He knew it would be over soon and that someday it would be over for good. What hurt most was when they went after Frankie. She had stopped reacting. He glanced over at her to see how she was doing. She had crawled into the other newspaper box like some feral creature trying to protect itself from predators. The only way that someone could get to her was from her line of vision. Her stare was listless and spacey as it was in times like these anymore. She had her ways of protecting herself, and they were somewhere deep in her subconscious.
Ryan’s stomach churned again. He made a decision, for better or for worse. He coaxed Frankie our of the newspaper box, held down the lid so that she didn’t scrape herself as she got out. He then scooped her up and started walking. She would walk eventually, once she came to and realized they were going somewhere. He just hoped there wouldn’t be too much trouble for them when they returned. Only two more days until the weekend.
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