Leaving Home

By Judith Hudson

My book draws many parallels to Mark Twains classic, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. My fresh writing approach and familiarity with Jamaican culture renew the old story and make it unique.

If Tom Sawyer grew up in Jamaica, his name would have been Todd Christianthe main character in the novel Leaving Home. The story chronicles the growing pains of a twelve-year-old boy from my home country. I write vividly about the carefree days of youth and the often tumultuous transition into adulthood.

Leaving Home is a true-to-life account of a young boy growing up in rural Jamaica. Todd Christian is a twelve-year-old boy who struggles with growing pains. He sometimes gets into trouble, like the time he tried to fix his mother up with Deacon Ross or the time he played detective to find out who his mother was dating. Todds young life is filled with many adventures. His place of refuge is his beloved Rio Grande, where he is often joined by his friends Fritz, Jacob, and Malcolm. The boys would often sail down the river on their raft the U-Friendship. As Todds story unfolds, he discovers that his mother has a surprise for him. He does all that he can to spoil his mothers plan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543428551

Judith Hudson

I am from the Caribbean island of Jamaica, but I am currently base in Miami. I am an award winning poet, besides being a writer I am a journalist and teacher. I’ve been writing since I was ten years old, Leaving Home is my fist novel and I am currently working on my second.

Book preview

Copyright © 2017 by Judith Hudson.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2017908839

ISBN:      Hardcover          978-1-5434-2807-0

                Softcover            978-1-5434-2806-3

                eBook                 978-1-5434-2855-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 06/05/2017

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Words And Meanings

About The Author

CHAPTER 1

M Y MOTHER, MY sister, and I lived in a small town in Port Antonio, Jamaica. My father had died five years ago in a car accident. His death was a great blow to my family. I guess no one felt it more than my mother did. She cried for months. My sister and I thought she would never recover. But in the end, she did. My sister, Zara, was eleven years old at the time, and I was seven.

We were rich, not with money, but we were rich with love, togetherness, and warmth—gifts that not even the precious stones of the earth could buy.

My mother was an English teacher, an English professor to be exact, and my sister was a straight A student. She wanted to be a doctor. I, of course, Mr. Todd Christian, wanted to be a writer and to win the Pulitzer Prize one day. I wasn’t a straight A student, or a straight B student for that matter. But at twelve years old, I figured that I had a long way to go.

My mother spent her spare time going over students’ notes. Zara spent her time in some boring old medical book. I, on the other hand, spent my time at more pleasurable and memorable spots, like the river, where my friends and I would catch shrimp by setting a big pan into the water, then moving back to allow them to swim into the pan, then pulling it up quickly. We didn’t catch much that way. But whatever we caught was always enough. As for my friends who weren’t shrimp enthusiasts, they could always feast on the plethora of mangoes that grew on the banks of the Rio Grande. And when we were full, we would lie on our backs and stare up at the spacious sky, thinking about all its wonders.

Oh, how fulfilling it all was. What peace and tranquility we knew. How wonderful and adventurous the world looked then, in the eyes of twelve-year-olds. Those were the days I would always remember.

When I reached home after another day of fishing and gathering memories, Zara was the first to greet me as I stepped inside.

Were you at the river again? she asked.

Yes, you’re right, I said, stepping past her to enter the kitchen.

She came in after me. Boy, I swear you’re going to drown one of these days.

Well, I chuckled, I’m sure you’ll weep like the sweet sister you are.

Me, weep? Why don’t you try drowning den? she said. Bwoy, wi would have a party like you wouldn’t believe.

Yeah, yeah.

Wait til Mom gets here. She’s going to skin yu alive.

Yu wish, I said, walking over to the stove. The pots were on, but when I opened them, no food! Wait, where’s de food? I screamed. De food!

Stop it. Didn’t you eat enough shrimp at the river?

What the hell do yu mean by that? Rivers provide shrimp. Mothers provide chicken with rice and beans.

Well, your mother provided crackers in the cup—

Kiss me—crackers and what?

Water! she snapped.

They don’t even give you dat in prison, Zara.

I don’t care, Mr. Christian, she said. And, as I was saying, the crackers are in the cupboard, the butter and cheese are in the fridge. That is what your mother provided.

Now, you know your face looks like—

Go ahead, she dared, tell mi what mi face looks like.

You’re ugly, I snapped.

Oh god, why do I bother? she said, throwing her hands in the air.

I don’t know why. Why do yu, huh? Why do yu?

Have your crackers, then have a bath and go to bed.

When she left, I sat alone in the kitchen, trying to figure out my somewhat complex sister. She was a beautiful girl with long black shoulder-length hair; she was tall and thin, with an oval face, big brown eyes, and teeth as white as pearls. She looked just like my mother, and looking at Zara sometimes gave me an eerie feeling. They looked so much alike. Zara was a top student, loved by everyone in our small town. People were always saying how smart she was and how proud they all were of her. God, they would go on about Zara—Zara this and Zara that. I guess, deep down inside, I was a bit jealous and a bit hateful of the people around us for favoring her and not me. Despite my jealousy of her, I did love her dearly, although I didn’t show it. I preferred to annoy her with my bad manners and cruel remarks. But Zara did love me too. And I think she actually liked looking after me whenever Mom was late.

I smiled to myself, remembering when I was six and I cut my finger. Zara kissed it to make it better. She came into my room to see if I was all right, and turned the lights back on when Mom turned them off and scolded me to be as big as my words. But the minute she left my room, Zara would sneak back in, and on came the lights. Then she would leave me with some words of wisdom too, saying, Todd, one need not fear the dark, for there is nothing in the dark but darkness itself. What one needs to fear is himself, for he is the one who does evil in the dark. That was Zara, sixteen going on sixty.

Aren’t you finished with the crackers yet? she asked, presenting herself in the kitchen again.

Maybe that’s because I’m choking to death. There’s not enough juice to carry down the dry, tough biscuits.

You’re rude and—

Yes, out of order.

Impossible! she snapped. Now, if you don’t move from that table, you little brat, you’ll have me to deal with.

You know, Zara, I think you actually like bullying me. Why?

Power, she said, rolling her brown eyes. I’m older than you.

And that gives you the right to bully me?

She walked over to the kitchen table, smiled sweetly at me, and then leaned forward. Yes, baby brother, that gives me all rights.

You hate me, don’t ya?

Sorry I’m late, Mom said from behind. She made her way across the kitchen to kiss me.

How was he today? she asked Zara.

At the river again, she informed.

No, not after I told him not to. Todd, explain.

Well, all my friends were going. So I decided to go.

But Zara told you not to.

Well, yes. But who was I supposed to play with? You know the boys will laugh and call me names if I stay home just because my sister told me to.

So you defy her?

Well… yes.

All right, you defy your sister. Don’t defy me. No more river. Am I being understood?

Yeah.

I’ll be in my room, she said, leaving.

Well, Zara said, if your friends call you names, you can just say Mom was the one who put her foot down.

I answered with a loud hiss. She walked away and then turned to face me. Just because you’re rude and spoiled, that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.

Later, as I walked past Zara’s room to go to mine, I peeped in on her. She was lying on her back with a book covering her face.