Eugene Riddley could’ve been invisible if he weren’t so big.  6’0, 250 lbs of 17-year-old boy could barely squeeze through the crowded hallways of the high school in Nowhere Town, USA.

“Tardy, tardy, tardy.”  Eugene’s teacher slashes marks across her clipboard as indifferent faces stroll into the room.

“Mr…  Riddley?”  She had trouble remembering Eugene’s name; almost all his teachers did. Quiet students with a C average weren’t very memorable.  Eugene has a voice, but it likes to hide away a lot. He still remembers the sweet, melodic sound of it. Every now and then he catches it, a taste of honey in the back of his throat; but it never stays for long.  He supposes it’s lost somewhere; he imagines a red lockbox. Eugene crammed himself into his desk, beads of sweat and oil escaping the corners of his forehead. 

He feels alone that night, the night sky the only one keeping him company. Tears boil in the backs of his eyes, but they never come.  The feeling seeps into the back of his sandpaper throat. His ceiling is pitch black but it feels intense, fiery. His eyes are heating up, staring, staring, staring.  His heart is heating up, thumping, thumping. He catches a bitter feeling, the color of a bright tomato. Home always kind of felt this way.  

 Summer heat sizzled in the air.  Mom was the only one that came to Eugene’s high school graduation ceremony.

“Oh Eugene, darling, you’re just a doll!”  Mom adjusted his tacky bowtie and thin, wire-frame lenses that were too small for his head. 

“I’m so proud of you!” Mom’s voice liked to stick around.  It was shrill, sour and dry.  

“Ok.”  Proud felt overrated.  How could someone be proud of Eugene when Eugene isn’t even proud of himself?  The only reason Mom came is to take pictures for her Facebook… she simply can’t be genuine.  

Eugene goes to rest with eyes wide open.  His thoughts racing like an Olympic gold medalist.  His mind is going, going, going….

Mom’s there.  He recognizes her loose red curls dancing atop her head and into the apartment.  He had always thought that Mom’s hair was fake; his own dull, dark hair could have never come from Mom’s fiery head.  They’re sitting rocks. The silence stings Eugene’s ears, he feels as if he’s drowning. There’s no water, but the feeling is gushing into his throat, crawling into his lungs.   He tries calling out for help, but he’s never really had a voice.

Mom has a tendency to drift through Eugene’s head while he’s sleeping.  Although, the voice is never as loud as it used to be in his dreams. Mom’s voice stays in bed a lot nowadays, which is probably for the best:  Eugene doesn’t want to get in its way. He still remembers her blazing locks and loud mouth bursting through the 2:00 AM shape of the doorframe.  He knows he shouldn’t feel good about her not being able to do much now, but he secretly likes the peace.    

It’s easy for voices to get lost in a place called Nowhere Town.  Eugene supposes that’s what happened to Mom’s. The casket sits there, bright white, screaming.  The voice is lost. Its cries are muffled by its descent.  Lost.  The shrieks are compressed by layers of earth.  Eugene hopes it stays down there. 

They’re there again:  two blown out candles in the apartment.  Mom’s hair is gone. She holds up an old report card. 

YOU HAVE A D, EUGENE? He imagines telling her to stop, but nothing comes out.

SHUT UP! THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE.  His jaw is an iron clamp, wired shut.  Mom’s blaring criticisms continue, but now blurred.  Mom’s casket swallows Eugene, but this time it’s the color of hot metal.

The apartment is a museum when Eugene arrives, its interior an untouched portrait.  Eugene gazes deep into the portrait. He paces around the sofa, the scratchy television, artifacts of his childhood.  I can almost hear Mom’s voice.  Of course, he can’t really. He ventures deeper into the painting, looking around just in case.  He sees himself drawn into a ball, grasping onto the corner of his bed. Mom likes this; so he won’t bother her.  

STOP BEING A BABY AND LEAVE ME ALONE EUGENE!

Bright red sounds dance around him. 

I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU RIGHT NOW.

Anger swells in Eugene’s chest, pulsing through his body.   

ONE KID AND YOU’RE MORE USELESS THAN YOUR FATHER! AND HE'S GONE!

A bellow erupts from the bottom of Eugene’s belly, his voice no longer engulfed in flames.  Mom’s voice isn’t lost, because if it were, it would have found its way home by now. Mom’s voice left with her.

“What breed is he?”

“Oh, we’re not sure sir, we just rescued him off the streets this morning.  Poor thing was hanging on for dear life.”

“Great, I’ll take him.”  Eugene expresses his gratitude to the man at the shelter, his hum carrying him out of the building.  His voice sings to Red the whole way home.