Lonely Oak Chapter 23
#23 of Lonely Oak Part 1 | Cycla Circadia
Lyza sat in her room on the chocolate-colored floor. Sunlight filtered through the window, exciting little dusties that drifted by the little rays. Her feet were caste in the bright and heat of the light, warming her toes and shins. She adjusted on the pillow beneath her rear, which was almost big enough to be a bean-bag chair for her, and flipped the last little orange card over in her hand. 5 + 6 = 11 She sighed, "I knewed dat," she muttered to the room. "Stoobid matth." The cards flopped down in a pile of ten, five orange and five green, and she stood up to look at Bimbles her stuffed honey-bear, who gazed down at her from atop her gigantic bed. "May-bee I can cheet on the kwizz, ya think so Bimbles?" She asked her bear rhetorically. "I don't think so, Lyza," he replied sourly. "Cheating is bad." "Bud I canen't lern it, and the kwizz it's tomorrow. First thingy in the morning." "Maybe if you study your flashy-cards," Bimbles reasoned, "you'll get it before the kwizz." She shook her head. "I nebber get it. I nebber get anyovit. May-bee I can get outta going to school..." Bimbles fell over with dismay. "But, Lyza, you've missed a lot of school already. If you don't go to school, how can you ebber get anyovit? Plus...it keeps you away...from here." Lyza sighed again, tugging on one ear with her hands, stroking it. Just then, a door shut with such force the entire house shook. From behind the other wall of her room, a thud sounded, followed by a voice: "God damn I thought they'd never leave." Lyza took in a deep breath. Her mouth shrank, and her fingers curled even more tightly around her left ear, tugging with such force she could feel the tension pulling on her scalp. "Good job Bimbles!" She hissed, "He coulda hear-ed you!" More thumps came from behind the far wall; drawers sliding, opening and shutting, closet door opening and stuff being pulled out. Footsteps walked here and there. "You think he'll figure it out?" Bimbles asked nervously. "Sh! Be quiet," she mumbled, "If he heards you talkering he'll--Ah!" A knock came at her door, loud and commanding. "What!?" She shouted. "Open the damn door." "No. I'm studding!" "Bullshit." Another slam against her door, "You're talking to your stupid-ass bear." "He's not stoobid! He's smart! A lot smarder den you!" "Shut up and open your god. damn. door." He commanded, each word followed with a slam of his fist, so hard it sounded like he was going to break the door down anyway. Without any more words, she went to the door and unlocked it. He stood there, black shirt and jeans two days worn, eyes squinted and narrow, and ears tied together by small segments of rope in three places. In his right hand was a lighter, the long one mom used to light the candles in the house. His left hand was clenched in a tight fist, the veins in his skinny arm appearing as raised lines beneath his thin fur. "Where izzit?" He asked. "Whereza what? Yer brain? You nebber hadded one." "Shut it you little shit." He pointed the lighter at her. "I waited all weekend for those dickbags to leave. Now where izzit?" She shook her head and tried to shut the door. "I dunnos what ya means. Sorries--" He pushed through the door; she pushed back feebly, and he slammed his whole body against it. "I'm coming in." "Momma! Daddy!" She yelled instinctively. "Nice try. They're gone." "Where'd they go?--Get outta my room!" "To the shop," he said, looking around and pulling books off her book case, "I know it's in here somewhere..." "It's Sunday. Why'd they go there?--I said gedout!" She pushed him. "Stop that you little shit," he said, and pushed her down harder, holding her against the ground for a moment. "Ow! Dat really hurts!" She groaned, rubbing her head. "I'm telling on you." "You wouldn'ta gotten hurt if you'd just tell me where you fucking put it." She glared at him. "No." She stated. His face twisted in anger. "So you do have it." He picked her up by the shoulders; she squirmed and squealed but he shook her a bit and that shut her up. "You're going to tell me where it is." "No!" She repeated. "I don't like that stuff. It smells bad. And you're not aposta be doing it." "I'll do what I want you little shit." He said, shoving her toward the door. She fell again, hitting her knee. "Ow..." "Where'd you hide it?" He demanded, looking at her. She whimpered, and yelped when he slammed his foot right next to her. "Okay! Okay!" She scurried on hands and knees over to her bed, disappearing underneath like a frightened little roach. She could fit under her bed, but her brother could not. It was a narrow space that was a place she loved to hide in, especially when her family started yelling at each other--which they were doing a lot more often lately. She didn't like the yelling, it made her tummy shake. All the way in the back corner, against the wall, there was a little baggy with brown stuff in it. She didn't know what the stuff was exactly but she knew it was bad stuff. It made her brother act weird. Once, she caught him rolling it up into some paper and lighting it with the lighter he had in his hand now--which made her scared--and she watched as he sucked it in and blew white smoke at her like a train. It smelled awful. But she didn't have time to think about that. He made her promise not to tell anyone, but she said she wasn't sure. That made him angry, and he pressed the paper to her head. It hurt, really bad. She cried and her head made a little blood. Her brother didn't smoke the stuff that much at first, but she knew he was smoking it more and more since mom and dad were having to go to the shop lately. She knew that when they were gone, he would smoke it. Last week, on Thursday, he came home from school and she saw where he hid the stuff. The next day, before he got home from school, she snuck into his room and took it, and hid it here beneath her bed. She thought he might forget about it and then stop. She was wrong. "Hurry up!" He said, kicking the metal support of her bed. She emerged, her fur erect from the jarring sound, and gave the little baggy to him. "Here..." She said softly. "Took you fucking long enough." Without a word, after handing the stuff off to him, she walked out the door. "Where you going?" He inquired. "Kitchen," she said, keeping her face away from him. He stood in her room, in brief silence as her footfalls receded into the kitchen. The house snapped, as it always did because it was an old pile of shit that would fall down any second. He looked around her room, wondering if she'd hid any more of his stash in here--and thinking that hiding it in her room wasn't such a bad idea. He looked at the bear on the bed; it stared at him dumbly. "What?" He asked. "You got somethin' you wanna say?" The bear remained silent for a whole moment. "Didn't think so, bitch." He mumbled. As if on cue, his little sister came into the room--in her hand was the new wireless house phone. "The fuck are you doing?" She glared at him resolutely. "I'm gonna call nine-one-one," she answered. To her surprise, fear seemed to cross his face. "No you're not," he said. "Why the fuck would you do something stupid like that?" "Because you're doing drugs," she said, "I'm gonna call nine-one-one, and they'll see you're doing drugs. You're not aposta do drugs." He glared. "I said I'll do what I fucking want, and you're not gonna fucking call the cops on me you little shit." "Stop using bad words." "Y'know what," he said, anger boiling in his voice, "Fine. Call the cops. Go'wan. But if you do," he picked up the stupid bear, "Pimples turns into s'mores," he pointed the gun-lighter at the bear's foot. "That's fair isn't it?" "Bimbles!" She shouted, "Put him down!" "Then you put the phone down!" he shouted back. "No," she dialed the three numbers, showing him the screen, shaking her hand tauntingly, "I'm gonna hit send. You're scared, I can tell!" "Bullshit; you are!" he replied, "And I ain't scared! Watch." He pushed the thumb-guard in and pulled the trigger. The flame licked the bear for a little bit, and then the fabric of his foot ignited. "Bimbles!" Lyza screamed at the top of her lungs. "Put down the phone!" He shouted over her. She dropped it, and stepped back, tears welling up in her eyes. "Okay! Okay! You win, Kval!" She bawled, "Let Bimbles go, stop him from burning! He's screaming!" Kval threw the bear down and stomped on it several times, each whomp of his foot bringing out the best squeals he'd ever heard from his little sister. Then when he kicked the bear over to her, she stopped crying and picked him up and hugged him. "Bimbles..." she whimpered, "Oh Bimbles..." Kval went to the phone. He picked it up and saw that the numbers 911 were still on the screen. The call didn't accidentally get punched. He hit the red button and the numbers went away. Then he looked at his sister again, watching her as she rocked her bear back and forth, kissing his seared foot. He knelt down in front of her. She balked, defensively hiding her bear. "Go away." She said with a warble, "Go smoke your shit." He set the lighter down and looked at the phone. He punched three numbers into it, and handed it to her. "Here," he said, his voice soft. "You can call it if you want." She gazed at it for a moment, her eyes flickering as she switched from the phone to his face. At last, she turned to set Bimbles down behind her, and carefully took the phone from his hand. She stared at it, thumb hovering over the green button. "I can't." She admitted. He pursed his lips. "Well, maybe you just need a good reason," he said, taking her left hand. "Like what?" She asked, as he gripped her index finger. "Don't worry, I've got one. And by the way, don't ever touch my stuff again." "Wait--Kval wha--"
_ Nine-one-one; what's your emergency? [Crying] Hello? Is anyone there? [Crying] M... [Crying] Try to relax, please. Everything will be okay; can I get your name? Ly--[Heavy Breathing]--Lyza. Lyza, how old are you honey? S--six-and-a...a-half. Are you all right sweety-is everything okay? No! Tell me what's wrong honey, try to relax. My hand... [fumbling] My br-- [pause] My hand broke. Your hand broke? Like your bones? I dunno! It's okay, sweetie, try to relax. Are your parents there? [Pause] No... Are you at home? Yes. Are you home alone? ...No. Who's home with you? My [sniffling] My bwrother... How old is your brother? I dunno! Try to relax, honey, everything's okay. Can your brother drive? No! Calm down, it's okay. It hurts! I understand sweetie, are you bleeding? [Crying] No. Is it just your hand that hurts? Yes... Can your brother get a hold of your parents? [Long pause] No, [heavy breathing] he can't! [Shushing] It's all right sweetie, it's okay. An ambulance is on its way. An ambavan!? I'm gonna die!? Of course not, sweetie, just relax. It's coming to pick you up to take you to a hospital and get your hand fixed, okay? I'm scared... I know, sweetie, but it's okay. Take a deep breath--good. Is your brother there? [Pause] Y...yes... May I talk to him? [Longer pause] [Mumbling] He...can't. Why not, sweetie? He lost his voice...sore throat... Ask him if he can get a bowl with some ice-water. [Mumbling] li.. [static] ...hit... What was that, sweetie? [Fumbling] He tried to say 'going to get it'... Good. Can you tell me how you broke your hand? Uh...I...I fell..." You fell? Where? Uhm... [sniffling] I fell... in the bathtub... Were you taking a bath? [Pause] I was gonna... Are you dressed, sweetie? Yes... [Typing] Um...? What is it sweetie? When will the ambavan get here? It should be there any minute now. Oh...okay. When your brother gets back, tell him to carefully put your hand in the ice water--don't move your fingers. Don't put it all the way in, either, just a little bit. Okay... Do I hafta hang up? I can stay on the line if you want me to until the ambulance comes. Do you want me to? ...Please?_