Page 18 of Our Moon (JACT #1)

Ally has started hanging out in the garage during band practices, and since the guys all know now that she broke up with Blake, they don’t think or say much of her sudden reappearance.

She used to hang out and watch the band practice all the time, she even named us.

But once her and the douchebag started dating, she spent most of her time with him, only showing up to watch us play in the garage or at shows once in a while.

We’re all thrilled to have our number one fan back.

I’ve kept my word and haven’t told the guys about the night I found her outside crying, so they don’t know that we’ve started up a little friendship. We chat mainly through texts, deciding that if they catch us talking, they’re likely to ask questions, which will lead back to that night.

It’s a Wednesday, and we don’t practice on Wednesdays because Joey has to work that night at the home improvement store.

We all have jobs we work during the day, but that’s their big stock night, so it’s the one night a week he works evenings.

We all usually use that night to do non-band things like dates, or when you’re a Monroe, family night.

I’m always invited to family night, but don’t always attend since it’s a constant reminder of how fucked up, and non-existent, my family is.

But tonight I’m going. Why? Because Ally asked me to.

Ally: Are you coming tonight?

Me: nah, u guys have fun.

Ally: Please? We’re playing Pictionary and the teams will be uneven. Plus, Alex can’t draw for shit and I don’t want to get stuck on his team.

Me: arent u twins? if he cant draw, doesnt that mean u cant draw either? y would i want 2 b on ur team?

Ally: We’re not identical! Plus, twins don’t share talent like they do genes.

Me: i know, i was just messing with u .

Ally: So you’ll come?

Me: yeah, if its cool with ur parents, i will b there.

Ally: They invite you every week, of course it’s cool with them! And do you realize that it takes me an extra minute to translate some of your texts?

She’s always such a ballbuster.

Me: omg. r u serious? wtf smh rotflmao so sry

Ally: …

Me: c u at 6.

Ally: Bye, Chase.

Me: l8r

I park my car in my usual spot at the curb and hustle up to the front door, it’s five after and Mrs. Monroe, as sweet as she is, is a stickler for punctuality. I knock on the door and wait, pretty sure that I’m now going to get chided for two things when she opens the door.

Annnd she doesn’t disappoint. Opening the door is an older version of Alex and Ally, well, more like Ally since she’s a female and all, but the three of them share that same sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. “What have I told you about knocking? You’re late, Chase.”

She always tells me to come right in, and as much as they make me feel like a part of their family, it still feels weird just walking into their home. “Hi, Mrs. Monroe,” I say as I walk past her into the house. I give her a quick kiss on the cheek and she tells me to go on into the dining room.

I shake Mr. Monroe’s hand and take a seat at the table next to Trevor, directly across from Ally. “Glad you can join us tonight, son,” Mr. Monroe says.

“Thanks for inviting me,” I say. It’s the same exchange every time I accept one of their dinner invitations, but I don’t mind.

It’s the only stability I’ve had in my life.

I look across the table at Ally, and she makes a funny face at me, I try not to laugh out loud.

These are the reasons I’ve come to love the Monroes.

They’re the most funny, kind, and down-to-earth people I’ve ever met.

***

“Pizza!”

“Pepperoni pizza!”

“No, it’s a cookie!”

“Chocolate chip cookie?”

“Earth? ”

“Seriously!” Alex yells. “Earth?”

“Alexander, you can’t talk while you draw,” Mrs. Monroe scolds.

“It’s okay, mom. Time’s up anyway,” Ally says, trying not to laugh. She wasn’t kidding, Alex is a horrible artist.

“What is it, son?” Mr. Monroe asks.

“Pimples,” Alex says. “See,” he says pointing to what I guess were supposed to be the eyes and the mouth of the face. “I started out with a smiley face, and then added the dots for the pimples.”

“The mouth looks like a dot,” Trevor says flatly.

“I’d like to see you do better,” Alex challenges.

“I did do better, you guessed Jennifer Lopez right away.”

“Because of the butt,” Alex says. “It was a stick figure with a butt, not too hard to figure that out.”

“Could have been Kim Kardashian,” Ally supplies, causing me to laugh.

“What are you laughing at, big shot? You’re up next,” Alex taunts.

We’ve been playing Pictionary for about an hour now. I was teamed up with Ally and her mom, while Alex, Trevor, and their dad were on the other team. It turns out that I’m almost as bad at drawing as Alex is. “Almost” being the operative word. I can still draw a face that looks like a face.

I get up and pick a card from the deck. Are you serious?

Of course I’d draw a card with an animal on it, and a chicken at that.

This is going to be fun. Mr. Monroe flips the timer and I get started.

My chicken must not look too bad, because Ally and her mom keep yelling out the names of various birds, so I know I’m on the right track.

What else? Eggs! I draw a couple of ovals behind the chicken, and again I’m on the right track because they yell out ‘eggs.’ Finally, I draw a barn, and Mrs. Monroe calls out ‘chicken.’

I look at Alex and grin. “Whatever,” he rolls his eyes and everyone laughs.

We play two more rounds and our team wins. Ally jumps up and down, taunting Alex by claiming I was their secret weapon.

“Next week it’s charades, bring your ‘A game’ Baker,” Alex dares me.

“Please, I took two years of drama in high school, Monroe, you bring it,” I challenge right back.

“Now, now, children,” Mrs. Monroe chides, smiling because she knows we’re just messing around. “Who wants dessert?”

Mr. and Mrs. Monroe are like the Cleavers.

He’s a very successful corporate attorney, which allows her to stay at home to raise the kids and keep house.

They have dinner at home every evening, except for special occasions, and she’s always baking something for dessert or a snack.

Ally loves spending time in the kitchen, cooking and baking with her mom.

We all settle back at the table, which Mrs. Monroe had miraculously cleared at some point between dinner and our game. She set out a plate of brownies and goes around the table pouring milk. Like I said, the Cleavers.

“So, my little twinnies, what would you like to do for your birthday?” she sings out, using her term of endearment for Alex and Ally.

Alex looks over at Ally. “Don’t you dare say it,” he warns.

Ally looks at him innocently. “Whatever do you mean?”

“We’re not going to Lombardi’s,” he tells her.

“Why not?” she asks. “It’s the best restaurant around!” She looks genuinely appalled that he doesn’t agree with her assessment. Lombardi’s is a really great Italian restaurant that Ally chooses every time she’s given the option.

“Why can’t we do Taco Barn or Jose’s?” Alex whines .

“Because you get the shits when you eat Mexican,” Trevor laughs, earning a light smack on the back of his head from his mother for his language. “Sorry, Ma,” he grins sheepishly.

“And besides,” Alex continues, ignoring Trevor’s comments, “you picked last year.”

Ally sighs in resignation. “Fine. We will go where you want to go, but please no Mexican.” She makes a face.

“How about Pizza Kingdom?” Alex asks.

“Isn’t that for kids?” Mrs. Monroe asks.

Ally answers “yes” while Alex answers “no.”

Mrs. Monroe looks to me and Trevor for the truth. “It’s got arcade games and stuff,” Trevor supplies.

“You can get pizza at Lombardi’s,” Ally tells Alex.

Alex rolls his eyes. “How about Joe’s?” Joe’s is a seafood restaurant and a pretty good one, too.

“I can agree to that,” Ally says, surprising Alex with her quick consent.

“Sweet, I want some fried shrimp!” Alex pumps his fist in the air .

“Ok, so we’ll go Saturday at six o’clock. Tell Joey,” Mrs. Monroe says. Then she turns to me, “You’re invited, too, Chase.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Monroe. I’ll be there.” I haven’t missed a Monroe birthday since I met Trevor in the fifth grade. I had just moved to Charlotte from a small town outside of Raleigh and he was my first friend, pretty much my only friend.

The twins were so much younger back then, first grade.

At the time, you would never have guessed that more than ten years later we’d all hang out together and have anything in common.

But Trevor always loved his little brother and sister, and as the twins grew up, Trevor kept them close.

The four year age gap was irrelevant, and because they always hung out with Trevor, they were a lot more mature than other kids their age, even Alex.

We help Mrs. Monroe clean the kitchen and then I head home for the night.

It’s a school night for Ally and Alex, so there would be no hanging out in the garage until late.

Mr. and Mrs. Monroe are pretty easy going most nights of the week, but they’re firm that on Wednesdays and Sundays, the twins spend time studying or getting extra sleep.

I pull up in the parking lot of the small apartment my mom rents. I hate that I still live at home, especially at twenty-one, especially with her, but I’m saving my cash from the gigs we play to get a decent place. I don’t want to move from one shit apartment to another .

When I get inside, I can see by the low light under my mother’s bedroom door that she’s in there, probably passed out with the TV on.

Good, better to not have to deal with her drunk ass.

Sadly, I’m not sure that I’ve ever really loved my mother.

Not the way the Monroe kids love their mom, not the way I love their mom.

But my mom was never that kind of mom, ever, at least that I remember.

Maybe she was different before my dad left us when I was three. But I doubt it.

I sleep on a futon in the living room of the one bedroom apartment.

The living room is basically my bedroom, containing all my stuff.

I go to my dresser, which doubles as a TV stand, grab a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and then head to the bathroom to change.

When I return to my bed, aka futon, aka couch, I see a text notification from Ally.

Ally: Thanks for helping beat Alex tonight!

Me: no prob

Ally: You already home?

Me: yeah, just getting ready 4 bed.

Ally: Already?

Me: yeah, my mom is asleep so i figured i would take advantage of the quiet.

Ally: Ok, well I won’t keep you. Good night, Chase.

Me: nite Al .

Ally knows about how my mom is from what I’ve told her and from what I’m sure Trevor has mentioned. So she knows peace and quiet around my house don’t happen too often. I stretch and lay back on the futon, tugging the sheet over my body.

Like clockwork, the flashbacks begin almost immediately.

There’s a rhythmic banging coming from my mother’s bedroom. I’m lying on my futon bed in the living room, with my pillows and blanket tight held against my head.

When I got home from Trevor’s house, there was a party in full swing. I don’t know why I didn’t just accept Trevor’s offer to sleep over, but we’re twelve, almost teenagers, and teenage boys don’t have sleepovers.

My mom has her “friends” over. And by friends I mean men–strange men. It’s always the same. When I arrived, she moved the party to her bedroom, she has at least three of them in there now.

Now I hear her moaning and one of the men grunting. It’s disgusting.

I’m not so young that I don’t understand what’s going on in there. My mother is a whore. I’ve known this for a few years now. She exchanges her body for drugs and alcohol.

I’m twelve years old–a kid and yet not. She took that from me, forcing me to live in this den of sin with her. It caused me to grow up faster than I should have. One too many times having to nurse her wounds when one of her men got out of hand or cleaning up her vomit will do that to a kid.

I pull the pillow tighter against my head, trying to drown out the sounds. The batteries in my CD player are dead, so I can’t use my default escape–music. It’ll be a while before I’m able to save up enough lunch money and spare change to buy new batteries, so the pillow and blanket will have to do.

Eventually the noises stop and I loosen my grip on the pillow.

Hopefully it won’t be long before the men are gone and I can rest easy.

Having to be on alert sucks. At least it’s the weekend.

It’s the worst when I have to stay alert on a school night.

Sometimes they’re still at it when I have to leave for school and I get no sleep.

I freeze when I hear the bedroom door open. Heavy footsteps make their way through the apartment, and I hear the familiar sound of the front door opening and closing. I exhale. Finally.

I remove the pillow from my head and roll over to face the room.

My mother is sitting at the kitchen table in her flimsy robe, smoking a cigarette.

Her normally pale face is flushed and she has dark circles under her eyes.

She’s only thirty-two, but she already has wrinkles by her eyes–they’re not the happy laugh-line ones, either.

They’re the results of too much smoking, drinking, and drugs.

“I have fifty dollars here for you to get some groceries on your way home from school tomorrow,” she says, not even looking at me. She must have heard the sheets rustle.

“Fifty bucks? Is that all you’re worth?” I know I shouldn’t disrespect my mother, but she’s never done anything to earn my respect. Yeah, she didn’t abort me, and she gives me a roof over my head and the occasional meal, but I’ve never felt loved or wanted, and that is more important.

“Don’t sass me, boy,” she spits out. She stubs out her cigarette and stomps off to her room. Moments later, I see the light go out. She didn’t even shower.

I vow in that moment that I will never be like her. I will never be like the despicable men she has parading through here. I will never use sex the way that they do.

I squeeze my eyes closed tight, willing the memories to go away. One day I will get out of this place. One day. That’s the last thought I have before drifting off to sleep.