Son

by Hallie Oakwood

Kim met him in a dark alleyway — his choice. She’d brought their family labrador, Figgy, tail thumping against his ripped jeans. Amidst rain spits, she took out a dog-eared brochure of carpentry training courses she’d been researching, ink smudging in the downpour. 

“Just something I saw by chance,” she said. He flicked pages without looking. In her other pocket, her fingers touched the smooth surface of the wooden jewellery box he’d made while at school. “Remember?” she handed it to him, keeping her voice steady. “Your teacher said you were talented, best in class. You could come home while you study.” He held the box on his palm, ran his chewed, grubby nails along the sanded edges, his eyes far away. Then he gave it back. 

“I made it for you Mom.” Under black clouds, they huddled in the doorway of a derelict restaurant, windows boarded. “Do you have it?” he said. 

Pavements were covered in pill bugs; rain had brought them out of hiding. They lurked in search of shelter and food. 

Figgy whimpered. From the depths of her pocket, Kim took out his faded passport.  He squatted and gently stroked Figgy’s damp fur before pulling Kim in for a hug. She held her arms tight around his torso that was reeking of damp and sweat. Then he took the passport and slipped back into shadows. 

* * *

HALLIE OAKWOOD is an art teacher and writer. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Ink Sweat & Tears, Micromance Magazine, 101 Words, Flash Phantoms, The Wise Owl and others.  

---