Roasting Marshmallows - Part One

As I began to write this Septem"ber" month short story, I quickly realized Timmy's story could not be properly told in a few short pages. "Roasting Marshmallows" will still be a rather short story, but I will be releasing it in segments so that you can become immersed in Timmy' world. Enjoy the read as our first "ber" month comes to a close.

          Sparks lit the night’s sky as they floated up from the campfire. Marshmallows hung precariously from sticks held by little hands trembling in the chilly air. Moms sat in folding chairs with chocolate and graham crackers waiting to be squished together in a sweet gooey treat. Dads stood behind their families, passing time by sharing jokes and exaggerated tales of fishing and hunting while subconsciously guarding against dangers possibly lurking in the darkness just out of reach of the fire’s flames.

          This is what Timmy pictured it would be like if he had a different family. A family who took camping trips with friends. A family who roasted marshmallows for s’mores. A family who had a dad to protect you from the scary things hiding in the dark.

          Instead, he huddled close to his mom while they stood next to a fire built in a large metal trash can beneath one of the many underpasses they called home. There were no marshmallows waiting to be roasted and no dad to keep him safe. His mom didn’t hold chocolate and graham crackers. She held a syringe in one hand and some sort of strap in her teeth as she pulled it tight above the crook of her elbow.

          Timmy was only eight, but he understood his job was to take care of his mom after she pushed that stuff into her arm. He didn’t know what it was, and he promised himself he would never try it because it made his mom a different person. When she didn’t have any, she became the mom he loved. The mom who tried to find a place inside somewhere to sleep. The mom who scrounged up enough money for a small burger and fries. The mom who swore they would be okay. But, that mom never stuck around long.

          Within a few hours, or if he was lucky, a whole day, she would become obsessed with finding more of that stuff. Then, she would drag him from underpass to underpass, car to car, or house to house until she found someone to hook her up. After a few minutes of rapid whispering, she would disappear into a tent, alley, or room with a guy. Timmy knew he had to be quiet and not interrupt them. The last time he did, it earned him a bloody nose and busted lip. The men didn’t like Timmy to interrupt, so he would sit outside waiting like a good boy. Eventually, his mom would emerge with some cash or a syringe already filled, and the long night would begin.

          Tonight would be no different, he knew. Thankfully, it was not raining, and Timmy had already spotted an area next to a pillar supporting the underpass that had cardboard scattered close. He had been keeping an eye out to see if someone claimed the cardboard, but so far it seemed up for grabs. Once his mom began drifting over the edge, he would have to coax her to the spot. Without the fire, the night’s chill would be tough, but he hoped the cardboard would block some of the cold away. Then, he would snuggle next to his mom while squeezing his pocket knife all night. He didn’t want to use it, but if someone tried anything funny, he would. He had before.

          The next morning, Timmy woke with hunger pains from not eating more than a slice of pizza he found in a discarded pizza box yesterday. Or was it the day before yesterday? He couldn’t remember. Maybe today would be a good day, and his mom would find a soup kitchen for them. His stomach rumbled just thinking about hot steaming soup with a slice of bread.

Knowing they would have to get in line early, Timmy reached over to shake his mom awake. His fingers only found cardboard damp from the morning dew. Jolting up, Timmy scanned the area for his mom. She rarely woke up before he did, so his gut told him something was wrong. Still early, only a handful of men and women were outside of their makeshift shelters. Not seeing his mom, Timmy stood for a better vantage point. He was afraid to wander too far from their spot for fear of his mom coming back and not finding him, so he made a quick sprint over to three men standing around the trashcan fire while keeping an eye on the cardboard. Working up courage, he asked the scraggily men if they had seen his mom. They barely acknowledged his presence and waved him away.

Hanging his head, he began walking back to the cardboard when an older woman pushing a shopping cart overflowing with plastic bags filled with cans cut off his path. Hacking up half a lung, she held up her hand to stop him. When her coughing fit subsided, she said in a croaky voice you could only get from years of smoking and no healthcare, “You Julie’s boy?”

Timmy gave a quick nod but didn’t say anything. His mom had taught him to be leery of anyone who approached him, so he waited for her to say more.

“She took off last night with that creep Benny.” She leaned forward closing the gap between them. “Your momma ain’t coming back. They never do when Benny takes ‘em.” She ran her gnarly filthy hands over Timmy’s cheeks. “You’re a cute one. I’ll make a gooood momma for ya.”

Timmy knocked her hands away and took off running to the pillar with the cardboard. The old woman’s cackle terrorized his ears. When he reached the spot, he crashed his back up to the stone and drew his knees to his chest where he could wrap his arms around them after he retrieved his pocketknife from the front of his jeans. He wanted nothing more than to bury his head and block out everything around him, but he had to stay alert for any signs of his mom and any signs of danger.

There he remained for the rest of the day. No one paid attention to the little boy with a death grip on a small knife and tears creating tracks in his dirt covered face. As night began to fall, Timmy’s bladder and empty stomach demanded his attention. He was torn between keeping vigil for his mom and addressing his physical needs. Ultimately, his pain won the battle. Using his knife, he carved a message into the cardboard letting his mom know that he was running to the back of Ghotti’s and would be back soon. When she came back, she would know where he was and would wait for him he hoped. Shoving his knife back into his pocket, Timmy took off towards the alley behind the pizzeria where he had found that slice of pizza. If he was lucky, he might find more in the dumpster.

Sticking to the shadows, Timmy made his way with no one questioning why a little boy was out so late by himself. This part of town, people were more focused on staying safe or scoring their next fix. Timmy was just background in the chaos. When he reached the alley, he was happy that the flickering streetlamp revealed no one else in the area. Not wasting time, he darted behind the green dumpster to relieve his bursting bladder.

As he was zipping up, the back door of Ghotti’s banged open causing Timmy to instinctively scrunch down to make himself as small as possible. A large man wearing a white apron stained with sauce stepped into the alley carrying a stack of used pizza boxes. At Ghotti’s everyone got their pizza orders in boxes. Most people would take their boxes to go, but some would choose to eat right from the box while sitting at one of the small tables inside the pizzeria. Their discarded boxes were often his dinner even though he usually only found one or two slices when he was able to scavenge for food.

Timmy had never been inside, but the smells escaping from the doors had him dreaming of stuffing whole pizzas into his drooling mouth. He patiently waited for guy to toss the boxes into the dumpster, and after he heard the door slam closed, Timmy jumped from his spot to drag over some empty crates to use as a ladder. He figured luck must be on his side because not only had the guy left open the lid, but also the pizza boxes were sitting on top of the mound of smelly trash within his reach.

The first two boxes were empty, but when he opened the third box, his stomach roared upon finding two whole slices of pepperoni pizza and a third slice partially eaten. He immediately took a monster size bite of one slice and completely devoured the entire slice in three more bites. He was lifting the second slice to his mouth when someone jerked him backwards by his shirt.

“What’re you doing kid!” The same man who had thrown away the boxes earlier was now standing over Timmy holding him by his shirt’s collar.