Tommy

By Claudia Charles

"Tommy" is the story of a young boy who is struggling to understand life, truth and love. From his earliest memories, his was a childhood of disorder and fear that was manifested by a distant, cold mother consumed with her own failures and shortcomings and a long-gone father whom he has never known.

Feeling lost and confused in a life of chaos and anxiety, eight-year-old Tommy Walker is desperate for answers to help free him from the mounting burden of his past and present circumstances and give him a much-deserved better life. And although friends are few and far between, Tommy is able to form some important, albeit atypical, relationships with the people who come into his life.

Woven together, these people help him discover what love really is and lead him to a degree of clarity, a sense of understanding and a bit of peace within himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Jan 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662914720

Book preview

PART I

Boy in the Window

The house was a bit smaller than the other homes on the street. It was one story, not two, and the siding was already faded and worn. The curtains were lopsided, and tape covered holes in the screen door. People driving down Newberry Street would rarely marvel at what the neighbors called a ‘flimsy old shithole.’ Nobody ever stopped to smile at the lawn, which was littered with cigarettes and trash. People just drove on by.

Often, a young boy would peek out from his bedroom window, watching and waiting for something interesting to happen. Sometimes, though, the boy would entertain himself, imagining the man or woman driving was a superhero, the passenger their sidekick, and the children in the backseat the villains, crouched together and squirming. He sighed and went back to drawing pictures in the corner of his homework. Soon he got distracted, and he stared at the clock that sat on his desk. He focused on it intently for another minute or so, watching the hands move and listening to it tick. It was nearing 5:30.

Usually his mother was home by then. She worked in all sorts of places, but she didn’t work many hours. She barely let on what her job was or where, unless it was to complain about her boss or what happened on the highway when she was driving home. Often times, his mother would sit him down in the kitchen to cut his hair or give him a lecture, and suddenly she would remind him to do well, to try, and to take hold of his responsibilities.

Tommy, she’d say, a knife in her hand. No one in life is going to get you anywhere. You’re gonna have to get there yourself – you hear?

Tommy would shake his head, tell his mother yes, and then carefully avoid her the rest of the evening.

The Mystery Man

Tommy had been drifting, staring into space peacefully, until a rude banging noise from the front door brought him back to reality, and slowly, he rose, as if awakening from a nice dream he didn’t want to leave. He opened his door, shut it quietly, then trotted down the hall and made a sharp turn. He couldn’t see very clearly through the window on the door.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

He jumped, quietly tiptoeing toward the front. Now he knew it wasn’t his mother because she always had a key. And if it were his mother, she would have already called out to him.

So, who else could it be?

An idea popped into his head, and he ran off to the kitchen. The noises were getting louder, more frantic, and as the child picked up a very heavy metal step stool, he heard a voice from the front porch. It wasn’t exactly calm. It sounded impatient and not tender in the slightest.

Irene? It’s Duncan. The woman down the street said you’d be in, so if you could open the door that would be great.

As slowly as he picked it up, the boy set down the stool. He didn’t tiptoe now, and he felt less on edge. He opened a utensil drawer and found that the bigger knives were tucked away somewhere. Hopeless, he snatched a fork lying out and stuffed it into his pocket.

He was ready.

Slowly, he walked out of the kitchen and toward the front. He could see a figure through the windowpane, but he was still too short to get a better look. He braced for whatever was outside and approached the door.

Like a band-aid, he told himself, opening the door to reveal a shivering young man with a backpack and grocery bags. The man leaned down and stared at the boy rather closely.

You…You’re Tommy, right?

Tommy nodded, but he didn’t understand why or how the man knew who he was. Eventually, he managed to open the screen door too, shutting it promptly to keep the cold air out. The two of them – Tommy and the somewhat secretive gentleman – stared at each other, focusing their attention on nothing else. Of course, Tommy got bored of that quickly, and sure the man was too, he decided to make idle conversation.

Who are you?

The man seemed to shrink, as if he were nervous of the question.

Oh…I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Duncan. I thought…

The man – Duncan – trembled.

I assumed...Ah… He coughed and then began again. Is your mother home?

Tommy shook his head.

Duncan sighed, and for a moment they were silent again, neither of them knowing what to say. They resembled each other faintly. Both had brown hair and brown eyes, and broad noses. Both dressed as though they hadn’t a care in the world, which they hadn’t.

Tommy was confused, and he hoped he hadn’t done the wrong thing. His teachers had once told the class that if someone was trying to break into your home, you should report it immediately. But Tommy didn’t remember the phone number, and his mother had disconnected the landline. It was a very unpleasant situation, though he was sure that the man didn’t mean any harm.

Luckily, that assumption was right on the money.

Listen, I don’t want to bother you, so do you know when she’ll be back? It’s really important.

Tommy thought about it.

Nope. You can wait, though. She’s always back by six – I think her friend picked her up this morning.

That explains why her car was in the driveway, Duncan mused to himself. He hadn’t met Tommy before. In fact, he barely knew about the kid until a year ago. Grumbling, he straightened out his shirt before running a hand through his hair. He was still waiting for Tommy to say something else.

Doesn’t he want to show me his LEGO collection or something? Isn’t that what most kids wanna do when people show up? Or do they run away?

He squinted to get a better look at him. The boy didn’t look like the sort of kid to show off his LEGO collection. He also didn’t look like he was afraid, so that comforted him a little. Duncan rubbed his neck. He probably doesn’t read the instruction manuals anyhow.

Duncan was sure Tommy was just a little shy. Why shouldn’t he be? A random stranger coming into your house? That should be enough to make any kid slightly more terrified than usual. To be precise, Tommy was disconcerted. But never shy.

Can we sit? Maybe that way we can wait for your Mom to come home. It will be easier to explain everything that way.

Tommy jumped. He had been envisioning getting a medal for his bravery and courage. It disappeared. Blinking, he led Duncan to the living room.

The living room itself wasn’t exactly a living room. It used not to be there; it was added on shortly after Tommy was born. There were large patches on the wall that hadn’t been painted yet, and the woodwork looked shabby. And it was sparsely furnished. The television was old and only had a few channels. It was all they could afford. And there was no coffee table to put your feet up when you would arrive home, or a big, comfortable sofa to cuddle up on.

Of course, it didn’t feel completely cold and sterile. There was one metal swivel chair in front of the TV, and behind it stacks of newspapers and boxes of junk crowded the corner. In the opposite corner, there was another chair. It didn’t match, but there was an old pillow on it, and it was slightly more comfortable. The room was what Tommy’s mom would call well-loved, which was sort of ironic if you were to actually consider the definition of well-loved.

Tommy observed that Duncan looked just as impatient as his voice sounded, and he hunched over slightly when he walked. He offered the chair in the corner.

For a few minutes they made small talk. It was awkward, but they got through it and finally, Tommy asked if he could watch TV. Duncan tried not to show it as he blew a silent sigh of relief. He could tell Tommy felt uncomfortable and didn’t want to answer the usual How’s school? or So, what grade are you in now? questions.

All Tommy knew was that Duncan had to see his mom, and that was it.

And that was sort of true.

Sort of.

Disbelieving Duncan

Halfway into an episode of Spongebob Squarepants, the front door opened. It shut, and a wave of cold air lingered in the house until it evaporated. Duncan rose from his chair, but Tommy kept watching.

Tommy? What are you watching in there? I told you not to watch that garbage.

A pair of heels stabbed the floor as they moved further down the hall, but Tommy still didn’t look away.

The heels stopped.

"Tommy, who the hell is this? Do you know who this is?"

The woman wearing the heels knew who it was, but she couldn’t believe what she saw when she walked in her living room.

Her son and stepson were sitting in the same room together. Watching TV. They’d probably been laughing, too.

Tommy looked up now, a little provoked that his show was interrupted. His mother was standing there, fixing her glare on him, hands never leaving her hips. Her eyes began to stray from Tommy to Duncan. She looked him up and down, and then back to Tommy.

Well?

Tommy did not get up, but he stared back at his mother and gave the most plain, vague response he could without avoiding the question, fearing giving the wrong answer. Either that, or the punishment and lecture that would come after.

Duncan said he wanted to talk to you, so I let him in.

His mother’s eyes began to burn into Tommy.

What did I tell you about letting strangers into the house?! she yelled and turned around to face the young man in the corner.

"And what about you? Why are you here now? Why today?"

Duncan gulped.

Just by taking a quick glance at her, he could tell Irene wasn’t exactly the same physically. She’d gained some weight, put on more makeup, and dyed her hair. Unfortunately, she was still the same woman who would goad him when he would cry at night. The same woman who always made fun of him when he would come home with a black eye.

She was still a huge bitch.

I have been looking for you and Tommy for a while now, Duncan began. This was more terrifying than he had planned. But he had to get on with it.

But you keep changing addresses. You moved him around. You don’t have a phone number.

His stepmother pursed her lips but allowed him to continue.

You know, you never even told me you had a son. Another son. You never said, ‘Oh, hey, Duncan! You have a half-brother! Want to meet him?’ So, what do I do? I track you down.

Duncan neared closer, but he didn’t say anything more. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to form the words.

It wasn’t my responsibility to tell you. You didn’t have to know. It’s not like you actually want to be here, so don’t use him as an excuse to try and get some money out of me.

Duncan took a step back. He couldn’t believe it.

Hey, listen to me, Irene, Duncan’s voice raising. This is not fair. Not fair to me, not fair for Tommy – it just doesn’t work. You can’t shelter him his whole life. And, Duncan’s eyes sharpening, I have a stable job. I don’t need to beg for money. I can support myself.

Irene couldn’t hold it any longer. Get out! I don’t want to see you in here again, so help me God!

Duncan stared at her blankly, but the gears soon began to turn. He grabbed his grocery bags.

Fine, I’ll leave. But you know better than to do this to yourself.

He began to walk out of the room but turned to face Tommy.

See ya’ around, okay?

Tommy nodded.

Duncan lingered, but the tension in the room drove him to leave. He left a couple bags by the front, then opened the door and walked outside into the cold, wondering what would come next.

You’ve Got a Habit of Leaving Me

While he walked to school, Tommy thought very intently. He was in a predicament. He had not kept track of the days since his mother had been out. Most eight-year-olds, one would suppose, don’t really have a need to keep track of time. Children are supposed to be carefree and happy, and they shouldn’t worry about whether it was a Monday or Thursday.

And maybe, that’s what one would suppose. But Tommy wasn’t really up for being carefree and happy when his mother hadn’t been home in two days, and he didn’t have any idea why.

He wondered if it was wrong to leave your child home alone. And even if it were, he reminded himself not to worry. There were two or three frozen meals and a box of ramen noodles tucked away in the basement below, and he decided that if he were bored, he could always find a magazine or a book or a puzzle lying about somewhere.

But Tommy did grow increasingly worried in the span of those two days. He knew things like rent and bills had to be paid. They didn’t have an Internet plan, so there was no worry there, but there was a television bill that had to be paid. How else would Tommy be able to watch TV as much as he did?

Tommy had questions, too many to list, and he didn’t know what to do about them. He had heard something about contacting a teacher or a ‘trusted guardian’ if something didn’t seem right at home.

But what was right?

Tommy couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember what exactly felt right at home because everything he had experienced growing up felt normal, but somehow uncomfortably off-putting. His earliest memory was of his mom bringing home a friend. He left early, only staying there a little less than a half-hour, and he came back twice more that month. Then, there were no more friends.

Tommy’s mom got another job, worked longer hours, and the house became increasingly cluttered. She didn’t clean it anymore, and neither did Tommy. Sometimes, he wondered if his mother was lonely or unhappy. Sometimes, after a particularly nice second glass of Scotch, his mother would complain about her job, or her younger years, or what she wished she had said to her own mother. By the third, she would start rambling about her love life, how she threw her virginity away, and how Tommy came along. By the fourth, the reminiscent tone would dissipate, and the reverence she held for her son would shift to angry, slurred yelling.

It is speckled with grime as if

Small print overspread it,

The news of a day forgotten -

If I ever read it.

Where had he heard that? He couldn’t remember now.

As Tommy lugged his book bag to school, he recited what he had been told; round they went, collecting and percolating.

You took my childhood! You are worthless. Do you hear me?

Are you listening? Hello? Little boy?

In the middle of the sidewalk, on his way to school, a girl had interrupted his thoughts. She was an 11-year-old who felt mostly annoyed every time the boy behind her popped his lips or when his shoelaces snapped across her ankles when she walked.

She stood taller than Tommy, at least by three inches, and her face was framed by her dark, curly hair and an almost menacing frown. Just like Duncan, he wasn’t afraid of her, though he’d never found a reason as to why he should be afraid of a girl. What could a girl do to him that his mother hadn’t done or said already? It wasn’t as though this girl was any different. All Tommy felt in that moment was a very intolerable, intrusive feeling of tension, and tension was much worse than fear.

He hated tension because it was like a big barrier that separates two people until they feel uncomfortable enough to break it. Now the girl was tapping her foot against the ground in a rhythmic pattern.

Tap.

So, are you gonna say anything?

Tap. Tap.

I’m sorry, Tommy mumbled. He wasn’t really sorry; he didn’t even know why he was apologizing because he hadn’t been paying attention, but he figured if someone were upset with him it was better than fighting. And he couldn’t risk coming home with a note saying he beat up a girl.

The thought of it swirled in his brain. His mother’s words ebbing into the corners of his brain.

What was that? The girl got closer, bending down so close her curls were nearing his shoulder, and her mouth began to form a smirk. The girl looked him up and down. Something was definitely off about this kid, whose hair and clothes were messy and disheveled.

It’s freezing out here, the girl thought. Why isn’t he wearing a coat? Isn’t he cold?

Tommy only had a t-shirt on, and it was under fifty degrees. He shuddered slightly, and the girl felt a wave of pity for him.

I’m sorry. The words slipped out of Tommy’s mouth again; this time, only slightly louder.

The girl straightened up and patted his shoulder.

Uh...Okay.

The girl was now at her full height, seemingly towering over him. She started walking again but turned on her heel. But don’t keep it up. It’s annoying, ya’ know?

Tommy nodded solemnly and rubbed his fingers together, warming his hands. The rest of the way to school, their walk was silent.

Comfort in the Darkness

Tommy was watching TV again. This time, it was a channel from public access, and a man was reading scripture. Tommy didn’t understand much of it, but he thought it was a nice break from multiplication.

"Because of the Lord’s great love, we are not consumed,

for his compassion never fails.

They are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness."

He turned the television off and raced down the hallway, grabbed The Very Hungry Caterpillar and lay down on the carpet in the entryway. He didn’t hear the turn of a key. His mother walked in abruptly, but he was ready, having assumed a nonchalant pose on the floor, focusing on the third page.

I told you, Tommy. You need to keep this door locked when I’m not home. Someone could come in here and steal my shit.

Tommy knew his mother wouldn’t tell him where she had been, so he didn’t press it. She noticed he was reading, and Tommy heard her steady breathing stop.

You shouldn’t be reading those baby books. You’re past that now.

She walked past him and flung her purse onto an old easy chair, and Tommy could see her heels as they pressed into the carpet and then the wood as she made her way through the other side of the house.

Tommy suddenly groaned, remembering he hadn’t flipped to another channel when he turned off the TV. He heard his mother sit down and there he was, the man who was still talking about hope or destruction or whatever it was, on the screen in front of her.

"Let us examine our ways and test them,

and let us return to the Lord.

Let us lift up our hearts and our hands

to God in heaven, and say:

‘We have sinned and rebelled

and you have not forgiven.’"

Tommy! Get in here!

Tommy winced but managed to haul himself into the other room where Irene was standing, one heel off and the other in her hand, waiting for him.

"Don’t try to fool me – I…I know you were watching TV. God, this is why you’re so goddamn brain dead." She was on the verge of laughing as she pointed to the TV.

Tommy felt like he couldn’t move.

After all my hard work. Do you know how much I’ve given up just to take care of you? You don’t care, do you?

Slowly, she tried calming herself down. It didn’t help because she turned and focused on the TV to see what was actually on. She muttered something under her breath, someone incoherent, then: Is this what you want?

Tommy looked up. Want what?

His mother swore again, waving her shoe in the air. Do you want to be some religious little freak? Huh?

I - I didn’t know, Mom. I didn’t know what it was. He crouched down as if it would shield him from his mother’s next blow.

What did you think it was? She was shrieking now. Her shoulders were tense, her eyes now scorching his skin like they always seemed to do.

I don’t know – I just wanted to stop working for a while. Tommy was almost in tears, his ears heating up, and his throat filling up with something thick.

"I called on your name, Lord,

from the depths of the pit.

You heard my plea: Do not close your ears

to my cry for relief.

You came near when I called you,

and you said, Do not fear.

Only a goddamn retard would say that! You can’t stop, do you hear me? His mother’s face was now red, and her voice wasn’t getting any quieter.

But I wanted to, I wanted to, I’m sorry! Tommy could feel the snot dripping out of his nose, getting caught in his mouth. He started to cough, but he felt his mother’s hand as it slapped his cheek.

Fucking hell, Tommy! Do you want to end up working a shit job that goes nowhere? Huh? You’re already dumb enough. You’re gonna fail if all you do is watch this...this garbage. Her shoulders were shaking heavily.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Tommy yelled, tears streaming from his face as he pressed it into the carpet.

He wanted to be left alone.

What else could he say?

What else could he do?

Tommy heard a wail and tensed up. It hadn’t come from him. Now all he could do was wait. Wait for the next hit, the next blow, the next assumption. The next slurred, harsh word. It didn’t come.

Irene was crying.

Why is she crying if she wants to hit me? Tommy thought, and he rolled over to see her standing over him, sobbing.

His mother threw the heel down, coming so close to Tommy he flinched. He could sense that she was breaking, like glass. Before long, pieces, some long and jagged, some barely noticeable, were flying across the room in a frenzy. She knelt down, smoothing his hair and soothing the same cheek she had just slapped.

You don’t know, baby…I just... She cupped his head and kissed his forehead. She rubbed away the tears that stained her face and stopped new ones from trickling down before continuing.

I don’t want you to end up like me, she breathed heavily, gasping for breath.

They lay there for a few moments, Tommy laying in his mother’s arms, slowly being cradled. She picked him up, even though Tommy was probably a bit heavy for that, and carried him through the hallways and corners of the house toward his bedroom.

Tommy felt his mother’s heartbeat as she carried him. It was slowing down, but still so fast he could tell she hadn’t completely recovered from her fit.

She lay him down on his bed, pulled a sheet over his stomach. For just a millisecond, Tommy closed his eyes. The darkness was oddly comforting, blanketing him like a warm embrace. He heard his mother leave the room, and he opened his eyes to look. His homework sat unfinished on his desk, an old cabinet in the corner, the few toys he had pushed haphazardly inside.

When the door popped open a few minutes later, his mother glided across the room, straddling a tray on her hip. She pushed his homework to the side and laid the tray on the desk. She glanced at Tommy, whose eyes were shut again, presumably asleep.

She walked over toward his bedside and hovered over him, hesitating. She pressed a kiss against his forehead, but her lips were hard and chapped and brushed against his skin roughly.

Dinner’s there if you want it.

The door opened, ready to be closed again. Sorry, Mom. Tommy sleepily rubbed his eyes.

His mother stopped at the doorway before she said anything.

Me too, baby. Me too.

The door shut, and Tommy lay there thinking. He hoped she meant it.

More accurately, he hoped she would follow through.

Nyleah, Lasagna, and The Chevy Impala

The dinner Irene