The Broken Road

Lately, as you can see, both stories are given much care :)
I write a lot... I wish it would always be like that.

Thank you so much for your kind words, all the more that there aren't many reviews for this story :)

leedee - well, yes, they're both mine :) I think I have, or I feel that I have (which is not the same) so many things to tell that I have to divide them to put into two different stories. The Jigsaw is more passionate. The Broken Road is more delicate and nostalgic, I think.
But who knows where I'll end up with them? :D

l.fire - welcome on board :) I hope you'll stay with me. The 'present time' is approaching, but you'll have to go through a few more chapters before we make this step ;)

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Something That Hadn't Clicked

Ringo peeked at his watch and started to run. Damn! He’d promised to be at the clinic at six. Impossible. He'd be late.

When he rushed into the hall, breathless, his mother was already waiting. She sat on a chair reading a brochure. Ringo approached her quickly, a little tense, expecting a scolding, but she only smiled at him, put the paper away, and said, "Well, shall we go now?"

This was the third time she had attended a session at the addictions treatment clinic. After all these years Ringo had finally managed to talk her into therapy. Or maybe it hadn't been really him; maybe the time had just come for her to make that step. For the first time in months he felt a chary hope, and the world seemed a bit friendlier place to live in.

Of course, results were yet to come, and he didn't know how long she'd stay motivated, but even now he could tell that his mother was trying hard to change.

"Enjoy the moment while it lasts," Ringo had said to himself, and he’d done his best to follow that motto.

"How was your meeting, Ma?" He hugged his mother warmly and led her to the exit.

"Difficult, I think." She drew down her brows thoughtfully. She was still pretty when sober and well-groomed, nicely dressed, with her hair done.

"Well, just like my day at school, then!" The boy laughed, trying to sound cheerful, although he always had an unpleasant fear that if she found something too difficult she could easily give it up.

"Really? So what happened at school?"

"I asked you first." Ringo winked at his mom and brushed his hair off his forehead.

"Huh," she sighed. "Well, we were talking about, um, our families." She blushed. "I guess I haven't talked about it in quite some time."

"Yeah." You rarely talk with me in general, not just about family. "Sometimes it's nice to get things off your chest, right?"

"Maybe...I don't know yet." She shook her head. "It's still too soon to tell if it’s working, but at least I feel that I’ve moved on somehow. Well, I don't remember the last time I went to a hairdresser!" She laughed, almost happily, and Ringo echoed her laughter.

"You look pretty," he said warmly. "You should go out more."

"So, where do you want to take me?" She smiled mischievously and slipped her hand under Ringo's arm, cuddling up to him.

"Well, what about a walk? I bet you'd like to see the riverside. What do you say?" He patted her hand with his.

"Why not? Lead on!" she answered energetically and pulled him by his arm.

Marion was so like a child, fragile and easily hurt. She walked latched on to her seventeen-year-old son as if he was the most stable element of her life. And the sad thing was that it was true; that unconscious behavior told the whole story of their relationship, which somewhere throughout their dramas had changed from a mother-son pattern to something more like a father-daughter one, to the detriment of both. And now they were trying to heal their love, which still flickered, although distorted and haggard.

A nice, cool breeze toyed with Marion's chestnut hair, blowing it about. Thick and gracefully draped in soft waves, it was beautiful, catching the eyes of passers-by. Ringo smiled to himself. He didn't remember when he’d last been proud of his mother.

"Mom, did you meet some interesting people there, at your meeting?" he asked.

"Well, there’s Libby, a painter. She's definitely eccentric and amusing. And Tom...I think he's a doctor, but I'm not sure. He used to work with children, anyway, and he treats us like children. Quite entertaining, I must say. And a few other people—like Maria, a young widow...do you know that her husband committed suicide? Brrr!" Marion flinched. "Can you imagine it? Horrible. Just horrible. And she was the one who found him, to boot. I'm scared just thinking of it!"

Ringo's heart clenched painfully. You can't imagine? Right...but I can. I’ve gone through this countless fucking times, but how should you know?

He loved his mother. He was happy she was starting to come out of her depression. But it wasn't that easy to alleviate the disappointment, regret, and years of pain and fear that stuck like a thorn in his flesh. They were to haunt him yet and cast a shadow over his life.

"Sounds scary." Ringo hid his bitterness, determined to support his mother as much as he could. "I hope she'll be all right."

"Me too. I think she’ll carry on somehow."

"Let’s not talk about such sad things. Maybe something funny?" Ringo took a deep breath to relax.

"Sure. Funny things happen all the time. I'll tell you a story, but first you tell me how things are at school." Marion nudged her son in his ribs.

"Okay, I guess. I got A in maths, and Mr. Finch praised my English essay."

"That's my boy! Oh, let me kiss you." The woman pulled Ringo's head down and pressed two loud, juicy kisses on his cheeks. "I'm so proud of you!" Her face radiated joy. "I'm so lucky to have such a decent son!"

You bet you are. Ringo forced a smile. "C'mon, Ma, it's nothing difficult."

"Don't be so modest, Ringo. You're really talented. Well, to tell the truth, I was a good student too, you know?"

"So why didn't you want to study?"

"I did. I wanted to be a lawyer, did you know?"

"No, I didn't know about that. What happened?"

"I took the entrance exams, I got in, and well, I—um, we—" Marion was stuck.

Shit! Ringo kicked himself for being stupid enough to let the conversation drift in this direction. Of course, she’d met his dad. And it had been the beginning of the end. She’d given up her studies, got married, given birth to her son, worked as a secretary, telephone operator, cashier....

"Yeah, I know," he sighed and embraced his mother with his arm. "Shit happens, right? But it's okay. It's different now. You know, being a lawyer is an awfully unrewarding job. Have you seen 'The Devil's Advocate'?"

"No, I don't think so." Marion drew her brows together and looked at the sky, trying to remember the movie.

"It was pretty good. With Keanu Reeves and Al Pacino." Ringo relaxed slowly, as the subject wandered farther and farther from the minefield.

"Al Pacino? Oh, I like him. I like him a lot." Marion smiled like an infatuated teenager. It was so easy to distract her attention. She had trained her mind to reject reality whenever it was threatening or made her uneasy.

"Yeah, he's good. So, in that movie there was a lawyer...." Blah, blah, blah, and so they spent the next two hours drifting along the river among pretty summer people, enjoying the pretty summer evening. An almost perfect picture.

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The whole class opened their eyes wide. Kayden stood at the table and...spoke! It was almost a miracle, just like animals speaking in human voice on Christmas Eve. It wasn't a perfect answer, hesitant and full of mistakes, but it still was a solid answer. Worth a C. And he got it: the first C this year.

When he sat down, his face was radiant. His gray eyes rested on Ringo and he blushed. It was all there, written on his face: childish happiness, pride, an entreaty to acknowledge his efforts. And Ringo smiled at him timidly, finding Kayden’s unexpected guilelessness strangely touching. He blushed too, overawed by his own success as a tutor and by the impact he apparently had on Kayden.

"Hey, congrats," he whispered, nudging his friend's shoulder.

"Huh, that was hard." Kayden pretended total fatigue and wiped his forehead as if off sweat.

"C'mon, not that hard. You can do better, man."

"I know. But it was fucking scary."

"What?" Ringo gave Kayden a surprised face.

"Yes, don't look at me like I'm a freak. Sca-ry."

"Why? The worst thing that could happen was another E, right?" Ringo shrugged.

"That's not the point." The blond boy shook his head, still excited.

"So?"

"When you go for an E and you know you'll get it, there's no thrill. But when you try, then...well, you might lose. And no one likes losing. Get it?"

"Yeah, now I do." Ringo knitted his brows thoughtfully. "But it's quite a funny point of view, I'd say. That stress you're talking about is my usual reaction, you know? I've just realized I've never had that feeling of—let's call it "calm resignation". I guess I always cared."

"Yeah, probably." Kayden put on a philosophical expression. "Funny," he admitted after a moment. "Interesting."

Ringo said nothing, only smiled and gestured with his head toward the blackboard. They had taken only the first step on the long and thorny road that was the fate of every student. There was still the whole world of adverbs, nouns, nominatives, conditionals, and other mysterious compound predicates waiting for Kayden and grimacing at him with Mrs Collman’s face, which all the students thought was as ugly as the back end of a bus.

For weeks the boys sussed out riddles and traps of more or less difficult subjects—Ringo patiently, Kayden a lot less patiently, but with a general effectiveness that was quite impressive. Kayden stopped failing tests. Well, okay, sometimes he still got Ds, but no more Es. Teachers couldn't praise Ringo enough for his undeniably salutary effect on Kayden, and Kayden, so slowly that he hardly noticed it himself, became a part of the class. Not until then did he feel the difference between being an idol and an outcast, learned what it was to be treated in a friendly manner, to be accepted as a full member of a society.

His former friends remained his friends, now liking him even more as the awkwardness of Kayden's previous hopeless situation finally stopped giving them pricks of conscience and they could heave a sigh of relief.

As they spent a lot of time together, studying and talking, often about difficult matters, Ringo and Kayden didn't even notice when their acquaintance advanced to the status of friendship. It had not been tested yet, not consolidated, but had a great potential of shared experiences and honestly revealed embarrassing weaknesses. They simply liked each other. They enjoyed being together; for both of them it was inspirationally soothing and easy. Sometimes it's just like that: something clicks.

Ringo learned that Kayden repeated a class twice and was nineteen now; that he dreamed about going to art school—graphics, probably; that he liked spinach and hated beans; that he was scared of his father, hated him, yet strove to be acknowledged by the man; that he liked Lucky Strikes because they had a good name and he had started smoking five years ago; that he would happily run away from home if not for...he didn't know what; that he was impatient in relationships, as girls were usually too clingy and possessive, and it would be great to find one as independent as he was; that his mother was from Europe—Denmark, to be precise; but no, he couldn't speak Danish; why? 'cause he protested against learning it, of course; and it was a stupid language anyway; that he loved motorbikes and even had one and would take Ringo for a ride (he did take him a couple of times, later); that he’d had his "first time" together with his first cigarette ("no, not with a cigarette, you perv!").

Ringo told Kayden about his mother’s decision to take up therapy and how much he was afraid it would end up as nothing; about how much he wanted to try smoking but had never had the courage to do it (just after he said that, they smoked one in his back yard); about him liking cats; about meeting his father on Saturdays; about his grandma, who was a violinist, and he could play the piano a bit; about still being a virgin although he’d tried with a girl once, but she got scared and it was good because he’d felt very tense that time and probably wouldn't have been able to do it anyway; about the Doc Martens he wanted to have; about the future that scared him a little, as he didn't know what he'd like to do for living; about being very cautious and withdrawn, and that it was quite funny to tell that when Kayden could read him like a book.

They’d told each other a lot more things, talk after talk, monosyllable after monosyllable, glance after glance.

Yes, between them something had definitely clicked.

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"No shit!" Kayden's eyes grew round with surprise. "You're kidding me!"

"Well, it seems we're a kinda dream team, Kayden." Ringo grinned joyfully, shaking his head in disbelief. Just a few minutes ago he’d invited Kayden to his birthday party and then Kayden did the same. And now they were standing dumbfounded on the school staircase, staring at the same date marked in both of their calendars as "birthday".

"Holy fucking shit!" Kayden was visibly excited. "That's—man, that's fucking awesome!" He tossed his head back, laughing loudly.

"Hey, what's so funny?" Mandy approached them, her brows raised.

"You're not gonna believe it, Mandy." Kayden showed her his mobile. "We have our birthdays on the same day!"

"Really?" Her brows went even higher. "Ringo?" She looked at the boy searching for confirmation.

"Yep. Quite a coincidence." He smiled. "I don't know anyone else born on that day."

"Me neither." Kayden shook his head again, scratching his nape. "Hey, that's cool!" He exclaimed.

"Well, it explains why you're such lovebirds, I suppose," Mandy sighed, smiling, and Ringo tensed. This was a subject he and Kayden had never touched on during their long conversations: that night when they’d been so drunk that they kissed, Kayden's gay brother, their mutual feelings, or anything that might put them in an uncomfortable situation.

Kayden must have caught the dangerous note, as he unintentionally gave Ringo an alarmed look and immediately tried to cover his confusion with laughter. He dismissed the topic with a wave of his hand and said, "C'mon, you know how nerve-wracking it is to keep the status quo? God, sometimes when we study I think he's gonna kill me. Seriously. He's like a fucking teacher! I tell you." He was very convincing, to Mandy at least. She snorted and patted Kayden on the shoulder.

"I can imagine, Kay," she said. "Only a saint would put up with you!"

"He is one, Mandy. The fucking Apostle of education!" Kayden winked at Ringo, trying desperately to pretend he had no idea what had crossed his friend's mind.

And Ringo made an effort to smile, pretending the joke had calmed him down.

After all, it seemed there was still something between them that hadn't clicked.

When Ringo got back home, his mother was waiting with dinner. The picture of Marion bustling about the kitchen humming—and still sober—almost had him in tears. He was scared of that hope, that grew stronger with every passing day. He knew that the stronger his hope was, the more painful the fall would be if his mother broke down again. But it was the only acceptable choice: to believe that it all could work.

"Mom, it smells great!" He kissed his mother on the forehead. It was true that she’d made spaghetti bolognese, which he didn't like, but it didn’t matter. He'd eat it with delight, just for her. He'd even convince himself that he liked it, if it was the only thing his mother could prepare.

"I didn't quite forget how to cook, see?" She smiled, proud as a child who’d made a name-day card. "I remembered you like spaghetti, Ringo."

"Sure, Ma," he lied with a light heart. "Thank you. I'm really touched." He was. He really was.

"Oh c'mon! Stop whining, young man, and eat before it gets cold." She gave him a little push toward a chair and when he started eating, she watched his every bite as intently as if she wanted to control the fork with the power of her look. "Tasty?" she asked him at least five times during the meal, and every time he answered, "Yes. Very."

"Ringo, maybe you could invite that friend of yours on Sunday. I could make something special," Marion suggested, her face full of hope.

"You mean Kayden?" Ringo stiffened imperceptibly.

"Yes, him. He seems very nice. Isn't he?"

Ringo fought an inner battle. The conversation at school had thrown him completely out of balance. It made him feel horribly insecure now, when he was already so close to Kayden. Suddenly it looked like the ghost of the old days—well, of that specific day—hadn't died like he’d believed it had, but instead had come back to attack him treacherously, with doubled force, after he’d lowered his guard. And the fact that he really and honestly liked Kayden didn't help to quiet the turmoil.

But on the other hand, if his mother was taking this step—if she was willing to invite a guest, to cook something for him—Shit, I can't let her down!

"Okay, Mom. I'll call him. I'm sure he'll be happy to come."

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Yeah, me too, I'm sure he'll be happy to come ;)

You know, I was wondering why this story gets less attention than The Jigsaw. Is it my fault? Is it less dynamic? Boring? Not so long yet? Or maybe you prefer to read stories with action?
Huh... I won't know unless you tell me :)