The Meadow Annual Literary Arts Journal 2018

18-year-old living in the dining room of his brother’s apartment seems fuckable. Any other night I would’ve given in as I had so many times before. But that came with a debt that my brother felt needed to be paid. “Kevin. Come on. You’re embarrassing me,” he mumbled, holding up the white stained straw. “No.” Then he stood, barely able to hold himself up. He was shorter than I was, so it made it much less threatening when he had to look up to me. He girlfriend looked to him and back to me. She knew that look in his eyes, as did I. My brother had inherited his temper from our mother. I watched his hands curl into fists as he raised one arm. “Try it.” He spoke through clenched teeth. I knew what he was going to do; he had done it many times before. Why should I stop him now? Why should this day be any different? I need him. I have nowhere else to go. I felt his fist connect with my jaw. I took it, then another, this time in my stomach. I kneeled gasping for breath. He smiled through a cocaine-fueled rage. I should’ve stayed down, he wouldn’t continue if I stayed down. But something snapped in me. Some fuse somewhere in my head blew and I was filled with a rage. I stood. He turned and I hit him. Just once. That’s all I needed. His body’s alcohol con- tent was already catching up with him. He fell to the ground, no grunt, and no grumble of pain, just a flawed man deteriorat - ing on the floor. The coked-out group on the couch made little movement. His girlfriend just scowled at me, worried more about her boyfriend than my well being. “Get out.” She pointed to the door. “Don’t come back.” I grabbed my things and left. The June moon illuminated the river as I bathed. I had just gotten off work, and the city began to fall asleep around me. I had been living in my car for about a week and found that the The Meadow 101