Moving On

A Story by Tiny Glitch

The road stretches out ahead, the sun a blinding glare through the windscreen. Marcus slides on a pair of shades, humming gently as he does so. He tips his head back, his Adam’s apple straining against his skin. The sky is cornflower blue. Never-ending. Glorious. The rest of the world sleeps, with their office jobs looming, bills and mortgages to pay, families to provide for. Just after dawn, with the road an empty ribbon of tarmac before him, and the morning light soft as velvet, Marcus is not one of them. He is free. With a contented sigh, he rolls down the window, letting the breeze whip through his feathered hair.

He places a Marlboro between chapped lips and steals a glance in the mirror. With the glasses, and the cigarette dangling between his lips, he imagines he looks like an old film star. He lights it, admiring gleaming silver of the lighter in the sunlight. His lips curl upwards as he runs his calloused fingers over the names ‘Marcus and Kitty’ engraved into the metal. He breathes in deeply, drawing the dry, smoky air deep into his lungs.

The leather seat is warm on his back. He closes his eyes momentarily in bliss, the sunlight dancing across his face, and the sweet, sharp smoulder of tobacco in his mouth. A cloud of smoke rises in front of him as he breathes out, whipped away by the speed of the vehicle. An old love song plays on the radio, and Marcus sings along, his voice rough as gravel.

A flock of birds swoops through the air, their silhouettes dipping and diving, taking absolute pleasure in the freedom of the skies.

Marcus’ hands tremble slightly as he nears town. After all these years, it seems hard to believe that today, everything that he has dreamed of will be his. No more cruelly dashed hopes. Today, he will open his shop. Let anyone try to stop it happening. His mistakes no longer matter. He has moved on, and the world is going to have to deal with it.

Rudy is woken by sunlight streaming through the thin curtains. He throws the duvet off, and within seconds, he is up and out of bed, the tiled floor chilly on his bare feet. He runs out of the room, shouting with anticipation, and bursts with a flash of colour into his mother’s bedroom.

She sits up wearily in bed, her eyes scrunched up in a web of premature wrinkles, sleep clouding her vision. The sheets bunch up around her twig-like limbs like a bird’s nest. She pushes the curtain of long brown hair from her face, stifling a yawn. Despite her evident tiredness, she grins weakly at Rudy, who craws into bed beside her, snuggling into her warm body.

“Happy birthday.” His mother smiles at him fondly and rubs at his hair, attempting vainly to tame the wild curls. She sounds only half awake, if that.

Rudy looks up at her pale face, and her lips curve upwards, but her eyes are focused somewhere else entirely. Rudy knows that his mother is vastly younger than the others at school, but she is an adult, and therefore, to him, immeasurably old. Now, however, it strikes him that she looks little more than a child herself.

“What shall we do today then?” She wraps her arms around him, her elbows jutting into his sides. “The park, or the zoo?”

Rudy’s chews at his bottom lip, his expression pinched.

“It depends.” He tilts his head, eyes half shut.

His mother holds him tight. “On what, Darling?”

“Will Dad be coming?”

Her features scrunch up, her eyes brimming with a secret sadness. She runs her hand through her hair, the roots greying, far too soon for her tender years.

She squeezes Rudy against her.

“Maybe, Darling, maybe.”

Marcus pulls over beside a towering block of flats. He throws his cigarette out the window, then rolls it up and clambers out, slipping the keys into the back pocket of his faded jeans. His reflection looks back at him from the lovingly polished metal as he slams the car door. The leather of his shoes scuffs along the pavement as he traipses to the door. The glass is cloudy, the sun a distant memory in the misted pane.

He pushes open the door with his shoulder, the entrance hall eerily quiet. The wooden floor is smooth and slippery, his shoes gliding silently across it as he heads to the stairwell. Only a wilting pot plant observes his progress.

The fumes of fresh paint snap Marcus awake, his breathing rough and rasping. He makes a mental note to stop smoking. There is a window every so often, offering glimpses of the awakening city. A romantic Italian record plays loudly in an apartment below, and he hums along under his breath.

Finally, his heart clenched tight in his chest, Marcus reaches the top floor. He lifts his hand to the doorbell, but before he can press it, the door flies open. Kitty flings an arm around him and drags him into the flat, planting a lingering kiss on his lips. Her breath tastes like roses, hot and peppery.

Finally, Marcus breaks away. He laughs, his cheeks flushed.

“What was that about?”

Kitty grins at him. “Well, it’s the big day isn’t it?”

She tosses her hair playfully, black waves tumbling down her back, so dark as to have a blue sheen to it. A black-green dress hugs her slim figure tightly, shimmering and iridescent like crushed beetle wings. Her skin is pale, the only colour the light blush of her cheeks. Even with heels, she is still a good head shorter than him.

Kitty leans against the door, beckoning to him.

“What are you waiting for? We’ve got a shop to open.”

Rudy leaps down the stairs, taking them two at a time, closely followed by his mother. He drags her along by the hand, cheeks flushed with excitement. She has tried to insist that he eats breakfast before he opens any presents, but she can’t help but give in to his infectious enthusiasm. He bursts into the living room, an eager rush of whirling limbs. A few boxes sit conspicuously on the table, but Rudy runs straight past them, to a large thin object, wrapped in brown paper, and leaning against the faded sofa. Rudy’s heart seems about to burst out of his chest with anticipation. He flips over the printed tag. It reads ‘To Rudy. With Love, Dad.’

Rudy turns to his mother, a grin plastered across his face. “He got me something! He actually got me a present!”

His hands fumbling with the string that binds the paper, Rudy tears off the packaging, creating a small mountain of brown-paper shreds behind him. Stood before him, is bike. A brand new bike, bright red, like when he cut his knee last week. The freshly polished metal gleams. He runs his hands over the frame and it is cold and smooth to touch. It is everything he could have hoped for. His dad remember his birthday. Rudy jumps up, his hair a crazed mane around his head.

“Can I go on it now? Can I?”

His mother laughs. “Later, Rudy. This afternoon, I promise.”

Rudy bounces on the balls of his feet. “Can I call Dad to say thanks?”

She begins to shake her head, but Rudy’s eyes are so desperate, so hopeful, that she can’t say no. Her hair falls across her face as she lowers her head, sighing deeply.

“Fine, but be quick. He’ll probably be busy though. Don’t be too upset if he doesn’t answer.”

Rudy nods in understanding and leaps up, reaching for the phone. His mother looks away, eyes closed tight.

Rudy picks up the phone and gingerly punches in a number. He holds it to his ear and waits, his breathing shallow. In his car, Marcus’ phone rings. He breaks away from Kitty’s embrace, and snaps the phone open. His gaze lingers on Kitty’s lipsticked lips as he holds the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” Marcus’ voice is tinged with more than a little annoyance.

“Hey, Dad.” Rudy smiles hopefully, his cheeks bunching up into dimples.

Marcus balls his hands into fists, and his jaw clenches. “Oh, it’s you, Rudy.”

There is a heavy silence. Rudy plays with a rug, feeling the rough fabric between his fingers. Finally he asks “You do remember what day it is don’t you?”

“What day it is?” He can only echo Rudy’s words, his focus taken by the shop on the side of the road. His shop.

Rudy waits again. “Dad, it’s my birthday.” He glances at his mother, who sits facing the peeling wall, her expression hidden by the waterfall of hair.

“Right, yes, of course.” His voice stumbles over the words. There is another pause before he realises what is expected of him. “Happy birthday.”

Rudy waits for something else, and when nothing is offered says “Thanks for the bike.”

“What bike?” Marcus rubs at the back of his neck, the hairs bristling at the touch.

“You know, Dad, the bike you got me. The red one. Remember?”

Marcus falters for a moment. “Oh, right, that bike.”

“I really like it. Mum says I can go for a ride this afternoon.”

The silence expands and contracts between them. “Look Rudy, I’m kind of busy. I really need to go.”

His face falls. “Oh. That’s fine. If you’re busy now, I can call you again later.”

“No, that’s fine.” The words seem to jump out of his throat, and he regrets them as soon as he says them.

Marcus grips Kitty’s hand tightly, takes a deep breath before continuing. “Look, I’m sorry, Rudy, but I can’t do this anymore. I’ve moved on. I’ve got Kitty, a new house, the shop. You’re a big lad now. How old are you, nine, ten? I can’t keep talking to you like this. Maybe you’re old enough to move on as well.”

Marcus throws the phone to the floor, pounding his fist against the dashboard. Pain shoots through his fist, but he ignores it. He flings the door open, and storms to the shop, shoulders hunched in tight knots of muscle. Kitty rushes after him, her heels clicking on the pavement.

Marcus strides into the shop, the door crashing shut behind him. He stops, his heart thumping against his ribcage.

Everything is exactly as he had imagined. The newness hangs heavy in the air, as if the slightest movement would disturb it. Shelves line every wall, and fill the middle of the room, and these are stacked with old grocery crates, cheaper than normal boxes, yet classier than cardboard. The crates are filled with old records, their vibrant covers brightening the entire shop. Motes of dust swirl through the air. Marcus turns on the CD player, the strumming of guitars resonating in the echoing space. Fairy lights are strung up along the ceiling, their lights twinkling like tiny stars. It is as he had dreamed, but even here, where his future begins, his past still hovers over his shoulder.

Kitty wraps her arms around him, rubbing his arms soothingly.

“I was seventeen for god’s sake. How do they expect a seventeen year old to look after a kid?” Kitty doesn’t know whether he is talking to her, or to himself. Maybe it’s neither. Perhaps he just needs to get it off his chest.

“Always, it’s been Rudy this, Rudy that. Don’t do that, Rudy doesn’t like it. Rudy, Rudy, Rudy. What about me? I just want my own life. Why is that so wrong?” He is close to tears, his voice hoarse and raspy.

“Forget about them. You’ve got me now, you’ve got the shop.”

Marcus grips Kitty tightly. He moves behind the counter, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Rudy is nothing now. He composes himself, feeling his breathing slow to normal. The wood counter is cool and comforting to his clammy hands. He is no longer Marcus, teenage father, college dropout, but Marcus, aspiring musician, shop owner. Someone with a life to live. He has turned his life around, and no-one can take that away from him. The wind rattles through the door. He dreams are within reach, and he is too young to care about those left reeling in his wake.

Rudy takes the phone slowly away from his ear and places it gently on the floor. His mother reaches over to him, holding his head against her chest. He can feel her heart fluttering against her ribcage.

“What’s wrong?” She lifts one hand to her mouth, chewing at already bitten fingernails.

“He didn’t buy me that bike, did he?” Rudy’s eyelids flicker, the long lashes fighting to hold back tears.

Her face falls, eyes dulled. She shakes her head. It was inevitable. Rudy would have found out later anyway. I was seventeen. That’s what Marcus always said. His excuse for everything. What about me, she thinks. I was sixteen.

Rudy looks at the bike, still leant against the sofa. The gleam of the metal seems tainted and dirty.

He kicks half-heartedly at the sofa. “He’s really gone this time, hasn’t he?”

His mother nods, her skin like aged paper, all the emotion drained out. Rudy buries his head deep in her chest, biting down on his lip hard. He is determined not to cry. His mother strokes his head, fingers shaking.

“Thanks for the bike.”

His mother buries her head in his mop of hair.

“We’re better off without him,” she whispers. Rudy is not sure whether she believes that, or if he believes it either.

They sit like that for a while, each holding the other close. Rudy’s chest aches emptily. For now, at least, they are not better off without him. But maybe, one day, they will be.