Tigers In Us

Blayze is pathetic when it comes to sports. At his school sports matter, not grades. This was never a problem until he is saved, from a routine fight. Then it's a problem.


2. chapter 2

I glanced at the clock, it was time to go, and lucky me no bus today.  My mom had the day off so I got picked up.  Not having to be on the bus was a treat and retreat for me.  No people being jerks behind me and no dump driver and best of all no smell.


The car ride had been silent but now I was home and glad.  In the entryway my mom asked, “how was school”?

“Amazing, I almost got beat up and I got pulled into the office, so how was your day,” I replied.

My dad walked in the room and sat down and pulled a chair up.

“Did they hurt you,” asked Mom frantically.

“Not this time, someone saved me from it,” I replied wishing Mom would stop panicking.

“Can we meet the person,” begged my Dad.

I felt sudden heat rise to my face.  On my white skin it not only showed but stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Girl,” teased Dad.

“That’s not the point,” hollered my Mom before adding, “The point is our son almost got hurt”!

Oh goody, now I was weak too.

“Mom I can take care of myself,” I snapped.

“You live under my roof and there for I care for you,” barked Mom.

My Dad put the chair back by the table and went into the back yard.  He was smarted when it comes to mom’s moods.

“So I’m not strong to you,” I retorted.

My Mom looked shocked and hurt.  One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  Five.  Six.  She started sobbing.

It took two full minutes for her to hold together.  I stood there awkwardly the entire time.  “I do it because I love you, you know that right,” asked Mom.

The tension had returned to me.  “Mom,” I said, then paused, “Mom, I’m not a kid any more”.

I felt like I’d been punched and had the air knocked from me at the same time.  I when to my room and sat on my bed.

Our house is small.  We live in a fairly good area, with several preschools around.  The yard is a grass patch with a young Douglas fir in the middle.  That back yard is just brick with a camping grill and my mom’s flower garden to the side.  Mom grows mainly marigolds.  Off to the side of the garden is a gray compost tumbler.

If this sounds fancy to you it’s not.  The grass in the front yard is half dead.  The bricks are cracked and the flower bed is inside of old tires.  We got the tires from a neighbor's car.  

The house on the inside has a entryway that immediately goes to a kitchen.  The Kitchen has a dining table crammed in the corner where a dishwasher would go, it we had one.  We have a stove and sink on one side and a wood board counter on the other.  Branching out from the entryway is two door parallel to each other.  One leads to my room, the other to my parents.  We don’t have a garage like every other house on this street for some reason.  My parents have a bed and washer and dryer in there room.  How they sleep with my laundry going all night baffles me.

It’s not that we don’t have money.  All of it however goes to my college fund and any unnecessary expense get cut.  I wouldn't see getting a better house unnecessary.  When I ask it turns to a rant about taxes.  One time I accused my parents of boycotting them.  I was grounded for a week.

My room though has a bed and dresser on the left wall with the door.  Most of my clothes are scattered across the floor.  The rest of my room is empty other then my cloths and book boxes lining the left wall.  My parent never let me buy much fun stuff unless it’s educational.  I also have a bay window on the left wall.  My carving kit and carvings are on the window.

My carvings are of many things.  I have a forest in a flat piece of wood I got for Christmas.  There’s another flat of a beach.  After that I mainly have figgers.  A cow, two bears, different trees, and a pickup truck from the 80’s.  The most recent carvings though are my favorite.  A resting tiger on a rock, a still tiger, then the one I’m working on a pouncing  tiger.

I slammed the door to my room laid on my bed and cried.  More like hysterical sobs but whatever.

I blinked.  Why was my room so dark?  I looked up at my clock.  It was one in the morning! Oh gosh! I had to study for that since test then complete a math packet and finish my essay.

I jumped up and realized my backpack was not in my room.  The past day came rushing back to me.  It was in the hallway, where I had left it.  My parents were sitting at the table playing Mancala.

After retrieving my pack I started work.  Ten minutes later I remembered that paper slip.  

I opened the pouch my hands trembling.  I pulled the paper out.  Nervous enjoy shot through me.  “Stop it,” I told myself out loud.  I slowly unfolded it.  I read the note and drop it in shock.  Panic grabs me.  I give myself two second to freak out.  Then I read it again.


Kid.  You got a fight two weeks from now.  After school by the football field.  Don’t show and i’ll find more than ten guys to pulverize you.  Turing Kimball on us was the final insult.


What a good time to ask your parents a burning question that you already know the answer to.  That’s been drummed into your head from age two.

I stood in front of the table.  My parents looked up.  

“How are you sleeping?” asked Mom.

“Fine but I wanted to ask about Judo,” I said.  My lungs tightened in fear as I said it.

“YOU ARE NOT!” exclaimed my Mom then is a slightly quieter voice, “you know how much I hate fighting and I will not have you do that”!

The reason why was every time we went to the library I saw it.  It was ten second glimpse at the most.  The reason though was there was a certain gentle power surrounding the place.

I nodded and went to my room.  I wanted to say why so bad.  I just would appear as a lunatic, at least more of a lunatic then I already am.  I slept terribly after that.

The next day I woke exhausted.  My eyes were so heavy they would not open.  The smell of blueberry pancakes became apparent.  That got me moving.  I went to my closet at the front of my room.  That was where the bathroom was.  Whoever had built this place had a warped sense of humor.  Water closet.

When I sat at the table there was a huge stack of pancake waiting for me.  I pored on the maple syrup and inhaled the food.  My Mom’s pancake where the best.  They were golden brown and fluffy.  Just like on TV.  My mom used to be a TV chef, now she send recipes for the network and stays home.

Mom flipped a pancake and sat down.

I looked up from my food.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you so much last night, I had a lot on my mind,” explained Mom.

“It's ok I wasn't being fair to you either,” I responded and meant it.

¨I just wish that there was some way to help,” she said.

¨Maybe if the dump office staff could care about more then grants,¨ I complained.

¨Don´t say that word,¨ exclaimed Mom.

¨Sorry but I don´t have much patience for them anymore,¨ I protested.

¨I know,¨ replied Mom.

We sat and ate the pancakes.  Both of us lost in thought, about our own lives.


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