Sunday Shorts

Short fiction by me

Clean Up

by Phoebe Miller

A playing card lay face down on the table.  Last one from a long game of poker.  I picked it up and wouldn’t ya know – ace of spades.  My lucky card.  Where was my luck last night?  Not only did I lose $100, but I won the privilege of cleaning up and keeping watch.

No one knew when Tara’s parents would be home.  It was my job to sound the alarm so the boys could scale the back fence. Everyone except me parked in the church lot behind the row of houses on this quiet street.

I seemed to always be the look-out. I have a feeling it was planned. One of the guys was pretty good at card tricks. Though he'd never admit to being into magic now that he was in the popular crowd. A memory of him wearing a cape and a top hat with a fake white bunny rabbit popped into my head.

I'd laugh but I can only manage an eye roll right now. I'm fed up with being a doormat, and the smell of wintergreen snuff mixed with cigarettes is curling my stomach already upset from one too many beers. Maybe that was why I lost the last four hands.  Drunk again, the village idiot.  Was I always the butt of their jokes?  Invited only to be cleanup crew because they knew I’d do anything to be included.  I could stand watch while they all had their fun.  Why didn’t it ever strike me as odd that I was the only one without a date?

Pondering the mysteries of my teenage universe, I emptied ash trays and spit cups into a huge grey garbage bag it would also be my privilege to lug to the nearest dumpster. They trusted me to get rid of the evidence.

But what did I get? Smelly hands and a headache. Oddly enough, hanging out with the popular kids had not rubbed off on me. I was still stuck in the middle of nowhere in the high school pecking order.

Tara’s parents loved me. Of course they did. I was the kid they liked to believe their daughter was.  They’d never suspect I was drunk, though you’d think they would wonder why I was the only one up at 2am, drinking coffee in their kitchen.  Maybe they liked that I was here babysitting, knowing their daughter was actually up to no good. 

I stuffed the trash into my trunk, breathed in the fresh night air and returned to my post in the kitchen.  Brewing a pot of caffeine, I made myself some toast too.  Funny how I knew this kitchen better than Tara did.

I poured a cup of coffee, adding half as much creamer.  Tara’s mom bought the flavored kind, which was cool with me. I never got that fancy stuff at home. Tonight, though, its sweetness was too much. I dumped my mug and made a decision.

Tara’s parents could be late, sometimes rolling in at 4am.  I didn’t want to waste another two and a half hours of my life.  What would they do if I left?  There would be six kids in a whole lotta trouble. Did I care?

It wasn't like I'd bonded with these people. I was fooling myself.

The least I could do was warn them.

Standing in the kitchen doorway, I shouted down the hall. “Hey! I’m leaving!  I’m going home!”

Not so much as a groan or grunt of acknowledgement.

“I’m leaving!” I repeated, louder this time.

The only response was Tara squealing like she did when she had a good time.  Sick that I knew that. 

I slammed the back door and jumped into my car, feeling a tiny bit guilty.  I almost honked the horn, but didn't want to wake the neighborhood.  There'd be enough commotion when Tara's parents got home.

I spent the next few days watching my back, fearing the worst. There were no angry phone calls, no threats. I kept my head down and focused on homework and surviving the normal maelstrom of junior year. I could easily slip through the halls unnoticed. I often hung out in the teacher's lounge or various back offices. One of the perks of being a nerd.

Word was Tara got grounded for three months.  No more parties at her house.  Her parents stopped going out on the weekends.  The others suffered various punishments.  Cars were taken away, allowances lost, but none of it touched me.  Sure, I was back to being invisible, but that was alright. 

I've become something of a folk legend, but I won’t confirm the rumors that I’m the one who got them all in trouble.  I just chuckle when I see the star quarterback climb aboard the bus each morning, his head down to avoid the curious glances. He was a whole lot more interesting when he pretended to be David Copperfield. He should have stuck with magic.

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**I hope you enjoyed my first installment of Sunday Shorts. My plan is to share my short stories once or twice a month in addition to my other posts.**