Leaving Home

By Judith Hudson

Todd stood on the bank of the Rio Grande River. He looked out into the darkness; everything was quiet now. The trees along the river bank stood still as if at rest. There was no wind to bend them or shake their leaves. The river was calm, the stars decorated the sky, twinkling like a billion crystals across the heavens. The light from the moon s

• Language: English
• Publisher: URLink Print & Media, LLC
• Release date: Mar 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643670768

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 © 2018 J.P. Hudson

All rights reserved

First Edition

URLink Print and Media

Cheyenne, Wyoming

First originally published by URLink Print and Media. 2018

ISBN 978-1-64367-077-5 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64367-076-8 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

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 

MY 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.

I walked on to Mom’s room. She had dropped off to sleep with textbooks of all colors and sizes beside her, another exhausting day coming to an end.

I sometimes wondered why my mom was wasting away in a classroom when she could be doing something more glamorous. But she always said she had a calling to be in the classroom. And that’s where she would stay until time forced her to do otherwise. So that was that. Her personal life had no glitter, no pizzazz, and at the moment, was very boring. I was no genius, but at my age, I knew a woman Mom’s age could do with