The Car In The Driveway

The day we left the clouds were grey as if it was on the verge of tears and the harsh wind was whipping the palm trees that lined the coast. Our Dad’s house was a clean white with expensive and neat furnishing on the inside. An exact copy of every other beach front home in the area.

The five of us were sitting in the back of our Mom’s black SUV watching our parents argue. Eventually Kingsley turned his head away and forced our youngest brother Tennessee to do the same having had enough.

Kingsley was the only one he would listen to without complaint. We started calling Tennessee “Ducky” because he would follow King like he was one. It also helped that when we were born our mother assigned him the color yellow so taking care of us could be more easily organized.

Tennessee was sandwiched between him and Queenie who was hugging her knees and biting her lip.

“Do you think it will be better in New York?”

“It definitely won’t be safer” I said, Kingsley shot me hard glare silently telling me that the truth was not what I should have said. Kingsley was also the only one I would ever let tell me I was wrong without consequence. I rolled my eyes and tried something more comforting, “It’s better this way, both of them will be much happier.” Queenie didn’t seem to be paying attention having gone back to staring outside.

I shot Kingsley a look back asking if he was satisfied. I knew he could tell I was being sarcastic but he chose to ignore it.

I made sure our siblings didn’t somehow disappear or get themselves killed. Kingsley checked on their mental and emotional wellbeing.

I crossed my arms and laid my head against the cushion. When I turned my head to the left I could see Jaques sketching cats in different poses using different circles as the base for its structure. He had headphones in his ears, probably listening to some somber song by an artist I had never heard of.

Ever since our parents announced their divorce he’s been quiet. Kingsley’s been keeping a closer eye on him. When Jaques gets sad he becomes who we call “scary quiet” and he gets lost in his head. Eventually something or someone pulls him out of it, but during it… he sort of goes numb.

I think about tapping his shoulder and asking if he’s ok; but I know that’s a stupid question and talking about feelings is not one of my expertise. That’s why I have Kingsley to do it for me. I turn away and look out the other window having nothing else to do.

Mom opens the car door and we’re off, leaving the only home we’ve ever known behind used. Dad had just stood on the porch stone faced and cold when the car pulled out of the driveway. I hadn’t yet decided how a I felt about the situation. I wondered how much it hurt him to see us go, but if it did hurt why didn’t he fight for us?