A Good Boy

It’s cold in the cellar, but it keeps the stench down. I hate walking the first three steps to the switch, not ‘cause I’m afraid of the dark - I’m 15 now - but ’cause I hate seeing the mess when the light comes on. Ma always says chores before dinner, but I wish they could wait.

I go down and pick up the mop, sloshing soapy water towards the drain in the floor. I asked Ma ‘bout gettin’ one of those little roombas, but she says they won’t work on cement.

There’s a hum from the old cooler and a hiss from the old boiler. They used to scare me. Then I imagined ‘em like old war buddies, hot versus cold. When I was younger I used to talk to ’em while I cleaned. But I’m 15 now and don’t need imaginary friends.

I don’t need real friends, neither. I play online every now and then. Ma didn’t like the Internet at first, but then I showed her how I could order even groceries for delivery. If Ma hates anything more than the Internet, it’s havin’ to deal with other people.

She doesn’t have to deal with ‘em too much. I take the bus to school. When we get stuff delivered I answer the door. She only goes out maybe once or twice a month now. I’m gettin’ my driver’s permit soon and once I do, heck, she may never go out again. I imagine the smooth lines of the highway as I mop the floor, swishing about. Once I can drive, I can take care of real chores - less cleanin’ too.

As I finish with the floor I move to the workbench and wipe it down. The wood splinters, but I’m careful. I wear gloves. I learned the hard way when I was younger, and cut myself. Ma threw a fit, talkin’ bout infections and all. She hates hospitals too. Me, I don’t mind hospitals. I think they get a bad rap. They do tough work that nobody wants to deal with, or see. Sometimes I feel the same way.

Ma tells me not to worry about the future, though. Just keep workin’. One day I think maybe I’ll work at a hospital. Not sure if I can be a doctor - I tried studyin’ when I was younger, but Ma didn’t like that - but I could do somethin’ else. Janitor, maybe. Even though I hate cleanin’ this cellar.

As I finish I see a glint of gold from under the bench and lean down. Damn, I swear to myself so Ma can’t hear. With my gloves on I pick up the finger with the gold weddin’ band and toss it into the cooler with the rest of him.

Now I gotta wipe the floor again.

Least the cool keeps the stench down.