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‘If it wasn’t for you, we’d have a-.’ The sudden memory, the rush of feelings that came with it caught him off guard. His chest tightened, and he bit back shame. His existence was a ******** up. He should have been sent away. Then his mom and his brothers could have had normal lives. They could have had a father, something he’d cost them all. Something he never wanted to do, but that was how it ended up. Michael’s voice had driven him for a long time but- ‘It’s all your fault.’ The words were true and untrue, yet they cut deep, even now, even after months of being away from them, from all of them.
It had been one summer, hot long ago? It didn’t matter, he remembered how it was his ‘fault’. He’d been out running around the streets, testing his limits, following the leads of the older kids, in retrospect, the ones who were like him, who felt they had nothing to lose, thus, nothing to risk. It was hot and sticky, humid too, he’d gone to the kitchen to get iced tea. The voices of a man he thought he didn’t recognize and his mother, pleading.

“He’s a good boy, you’ll see. Hardly makes trouble unlike his-“
“You mean your second mistake. At least we had the decency to be married and create a scandal, at least with Matthew, you had the decency to pick someone white.” That word cut him. Who was his mother talking to? She was so against racism who the hell would she let into her house with that kind of-
“He’s my son Gabe. I mean, he’s not baby anymore-“

“So he’ll be harder to get rid of, but you can get rid of him. Your last name is already a ******** disgrace, but that thing you call a son? He’s not worth ruining your life over. Face it Joanne, he’ll ruin you. Nobody wants a-“ He made the mistake of being seen, and even now the man’s face was burned into his mind. He knew it. Michael had a picture of him on his nightstand from when they had gone fishing. Michael’s father. The one who had left their mother for ‘business’. The one who’d left because he loved his intern more than his wife. His mom had told him why it was better. His father was from the south. As a child he didn’t understand but when he’d gotten older he did. When he saw the man again then, he did. Michael’s dad was a racist, and Marcus wasn’t white. It was simple enough.

“Get rid of him Joanne, for your own sake. Then I can come back.” He’d stormed out, and watching him go Michael was on the stairs, looking at him with the most resentment he’d ever seen. “This is all your fault.” Was what he said before he ran to his room. Marcus’s mother was still away, looking defeated, thumb rubbing the place were one would wear a wedding ring. She tried marriage thrice. Each time they failed. She didn’t even look at him when she came into the room, she said no assuring words, no hugs or kisses to tell him he was loved, to tell him he wouldn’t be left behind. Dinner was silent that night, a new stack of papers sitting on his mother’s desk. Matthew looked worried but said nothing. That night she told her children to sleep well. She said nothing to Marcus.

His father had left them. Divorced his mom right after he was born. Matthew’s father had been abusive, going as far as breaking his hand before CPS had come in, before his mother finally got rid of him. It was only Michael’s dad that kept in touch. He loved his son. He liked Matthew too. He brought gifts for them when he visited. Nothing for Marcus, never anything at all. He never talked to them about what he saw. He never talked to them about what he was afraid of. After that day nobody made his lunches anymore. Nobody gave him a few spare coins or bills to buy himself anything. He didn’t get anything special for his birthday, just three days later. He’d gotten new shoes. Something he’d needed, his old ones having been held by duct tape. No elaborate cake. Later he’d found return slips, dated the day before his birthday. Returns on a few toys, toys he’d wanted. Returns on clothes. On his favorite foods.
His mother never said anything, just smiled and gave a guise that it was still the same. The papers on the desk hidden away. He didn’t need to look for them to find out what they were, Matthew told him. Told who’s name it was on the papers.
That was how it was going to be.
He didn’t stay in the house much. He spent any hours he could outside. Running. Jumping. Climbing. He wasn’t as good as the others. They knew what was possible for someone like him, still growing. They watched out for him. They taught him what he needed to do. To not care about others. To not depend on others. To wake up early and make his own lunch. To scrounge for empty cans to earn a few coins. To run odd jobs for the old guys out on their decks for a few spare bucks. To stop depending on people to love him. If he wanted love he shouldn’t expect it. He had to stop caring, he had to rely on no one but himself.
That at the end of the day he had to survive.

A few months later and little had changed. He wasn’t sent away. Abandoned. His mom kept him. Said she loved him. But the damage had been done. Marcus had stopped believing her. Years later things would be better. But that summer Marcus had learned that he didn’t always need to be happy, he didn’t away need to love. So long as he survived he could move on. That was all he had to do. Survive.

‘It’s hard isn’t it?’ The voice of his older brother haunted him, even while he was awake. ‘You build yourself up to take a plunge, then when it comes time for you to take action you back away. ******** typical.’ Marcus had built up what exactly? He was laying on his back on a rocky outcropping, looking skyward, wishing he could see the sky and fog and clouds. ‘You did it again. You say you’re going to do something, but then you abandon it. You lie.’ What did he say he was going to do? ‘You say you’re going to take charge Marcus, that you’ll make things better. How are they better Marcus? All I see is the same s**t. The same ******** s**t.’ Yeah, yeah that sounded about right. He would try to make things better but just end up ******** up somewhere. Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore his brother’s voice, tried to focus on the sounds on the island instead. One the ocean, the wind- anything but-

‘You’re a ******** Marcus. I love you, but you’re a ******** up.’ He loved Michael too, just like he loved Matthew. Enough to care, but not enough to be hurt. He’d promised to get a decent job, to help with the house. But nobody was hiring. His mom didn’t want him working. She wanted one of her sons to get their diploma. To graduate. He did well in school. The most he got in trouble for was parkour. Freerunning, whatever one wanted to call it. He just got a slap on the wrist. Maybe yelled at that he was putting his life on the line. People didn’t understand it. He knew his limits, he knew how to push them. He knew what was safe and what wasn’t. At the end of the day, he knew what it was that he had to do in order to stay safe.

It was few months before he’d graduate. He had a part time job. It was set to end in late June. He’d saved and pinched his pennies. He’s applied for numerous scholarships. Grants. Anything. Everything. But he would have nothing. Loans he might not even be able to get, his mother’s credit so badly ******** up, him with no credit at all. It made him nervous. It made him worry. He said he’d take care of things. He’d watch out for Matthew. But the guy had started drugs. It started with acid. He’d caught him in his room, tripping out. Then just a few weeks later heroin. His baby brother had fallen, and he’d been unable to protect him. He said he’d watch out for him. He’d said it all through high school, but in the end, he only watched out for himself. He’d only focused on his own survival. That was all he had to do. It was all he wanted to do. Shut the rest out, focus on yourself, and survive.

So why did it hurt?

He wanted to go to college but he didn’t know what he wanted to do.
He wanted to get out of the city but he didn’t know where to go.
He wanted to give himself purpose but didn’t know how.
His life had been about survival, about himself, no others. He let others in and they hurt. He did it often, hoping it would be different. Hoping that he wouldn’t make the same mistake.
He never made the same mistake twice, only one he hadn’t made before. He’d tried the arts, failed, he couldn’t act. He tried math, and that had pretty much blown up in his face. He’d tried history, he could hardly remember s**t. He tried science and he had almost caught himself on fire. He was okay at things, good at things, but nothing drove him, nothing made him want. Nothing gave him that craving to be more. Nothing gave him purpose but himself. He wanted to be able to help people, but he couldn’t help his family. He couldn’t help his brother keep out of gangs, out of drugs. He couldn’t keep his mom from throwing herself at scum in her childish attempts at love. He couldn’t win Michael’s forgiveness for driving his father away. Marcus couldn’t win, so he’d chosen to survive.

That was his existence. Survival. Self preservation. He wanted all those things he’d been promised, yet was never able to have. Someone who wanted him simply because of him, not what he could give them. He wanted to be loved. He wanted to love. He didn’t want to be alone. He was alive. He was better off than others. So why? Why did it hurt? He was surviving wasn’t he? He had survived so far.
He’d survived, but he never really lived.
He’d lived, but with no purpose.

He fiddled with his coat. Deep blue- his mother had told him it matched his eyes. To be honest, he sort of hated that fact; it was the only thing that he’d gotten from her appearance wise. Everything else just set him apart. He hated standing in their tiny living room, his one brother looking at the camera with a forced smile, the other so high he couldn’t do anything but smile. His mom was smiling. She thought her son had done well, that he was going to be off to college, he was going to be moving out and making it on his own. He was the smart one after all, the one who wasn’t ‘stuck’.
She ignored the bills in front of them on the coffee table. She ignored the mail telling her that her credit was so bad she couldn’t take out a loan for her son. She waved it off, said he could get scholarships, grants, ‘those sorts of things’. He couldn’t. Even if he went to community college, he wouldn’t have enough. He wasn’t the best at anything. He didn’t have the highest GPA. His mom was fooling herself. Lyring to herself about the reality around them.
Marcus was stuck.

He could try to open up a credit card, get a credit score, but with his mother, his brothers- he could rely on them. Couldn’t trust them. His mom had been so excited. Telling all her friends how he’d been accepted to state. Yes to accepted… unable to enroll. Unable to pay. He might be able to get something. Might. But there wasn’t enough time. His savings were gone, used to save the woman who ignored reality from a bad kidney. All his college savings, gone because she couldn’t take care of herself and so her sons had to pay the price. It didn’t help that he’d been the one told to pay bail for his brother. The same brother who almost got caught while on probation.

They ignored reality. They got stuck.

His cap itched, just a hair too small for him, the hand me down robe was annoying, his scuffed shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor with the clatter of other students. She wasn’t with them. She’d never even managed to pass her classes, let alone have enough of a mind to want to graduate. Marcus didn’t linger on it. Looking to the seats that had been assigned it didn’t surprise him to see his friends from outside of school, the guys that were both a head and behind him. The ones who could see reality. He expected them. At least they kept their promises.
He didn’t see his mom. He didn’t see his brothers. He knew better then to expect them. HE had come, taking his brothers away, making snide remarks about how he looked. How ‘different’ the photo was. How he really should look into working at one of the plants while he looked for a school. The man was a pit of useless hate and bile.

Hate and bile that even after so many years, still stung. Still made him resent. The photos on the walls didn’t have him very often. Like something only sprinkled in. Most were of his brothers. Of his Mom and her family. He didn’t like photos. He didn’t like what they showed him. Didn’t like what they reminded him what he was, and what he was not. He wasn’t picturesque. He was different, flawed, a blemish. His scar as a kid, his hair as a teen- what would be next, his eyes? His hands? Who was he kidding, it would probably be his face. Maybe he’d lose an ear or something.

The din of voiced echoed out and they filed in, shadows and shapes creeping along the walls. He watched them then. Watched how the stood behind the stands, by the stairs up to the platform. They waited. As students walked up one by one, they seemed to get bigger, occasionally making a student trip, stumble over their robe. Marcus had seen it before. He’d seen it at practice too. They just did those sorts of things. He couldn’t stop it.

His name, his turn. Walking up he saw them move. They saw him watching. They didn’t touch, they never did with him. But they watched, they watched him, and he could hear them, whispers. He took diploma, shook the principal’s hand- another- he didn’t smile for a camera. He didn’t need to. Even when he’d been on stage he could tell his family wasn’t there. Just his few friends. She was proud of him she said. He’d done so well and he’d go far she said. So why did it feel like he’d not gotten anywhere?

Outside, people hugged, cried, laughed. Marcus’s friends had to leave early. They had a party planned for him. He was slow to admit, he looked forward to it. Still, a few of his classmates shared smiles wih him, laughs- but he was by himself. As he should be. Looking at the cars he saw them again. He watched them. They watched back. And then- they left. He didn’t know why. He wrote it up to the fact they were done.

Later he’d know, but at that moment, all he heard was a simple question. “So, you can see them after all?”