Everyday he comes home to his slum. It’s a run down house, on the corner of Gratiot and 4th street. The front yard is sunburnt, the grass is yellow, and patches of dirt are intertwined within the yard. A white picket fence creates a border around the yard, it’s paint chipping. The windows are mostly intact, except for the one that leads to the living room. The glass has long since been smashed out. The flower beds are empty, except for a few sparse weeds that litter the mulch.  He walks up to the house, opens the door. It creaks with the most unpleasant of sounds. He walks in, only to be met by no-one. 

 An empty fifth of jack sits motionless on the chipped counter, its contents long since drained. Dad must of been up to it again. He always said he would go to his meetings, but each time he came home from work, the thought of meetings was always thrown out. A brown bag would always be tucked under his arm, he’d always hurry into the house as if someone was chasing him. The whole time, his precious bottle was tucked underneath his arm. Before dad would say anything, he’d rush down the hall to his back bedroom. After about an hour he came back out of his room. Stumbling, slurring and swaying, he’d come back down the hall and into the living room. It was then that he’d finally greet him, he was always put second. The greeting was always sub par, a simple “Hey Bryce,” was all he got. Then came the cigarettes. When Bryce first got home, the smell would long since be faded. He was the most thankful for this time, he couldn’t stand the horrendous smell. But once his dad had finished his scheduled drinking, the smell would come back. Dad would sit, and smoke, cigarette after cigarette. Until the whole entire house was clutched in that horrible smell. The smell coddled everything in the house, and as Bryce tried to study, he simply couldn’t. It was too much, the smell would slither in his nostrils and coat his lungs. Overbearing was the only word for it. It’d get to the point where he’d have to leave the house. He’d sit out on the porch, and with teary eyes, he would weep. He couldn’t stand it anymore, he hated his home, he hated his dad, he hated his school work. After about twenty minutes, he was able to work up the strength to dry his eyes, and walk back into the home. He hadn’t finished his homework, but he decided he needed to get to bed. 

“Good night dad, I love you.”

His goodnight was met with silence, his dad laid limp on the couch, lifeless. He felt the tears start to come again, he held them back and slowly slumped down the hallway. He opened the door to his room, and got ready to sleep. His room was plain, the essentials, a mattress with only one blanket, a single pillow, a chair, a desk, and a lamp. He kept his clothes in a plastic tub in the corner of the room. He crawled into bed. The blank white walls were something he found comfort in. They were his, this room was his safe haven. Where he could get away.

He awoke in the morning, the alarm buzzing at 5 a.m. He crawled out of bed, and was able to muster up the motivation to walk over to his tub in the corner, and grab the first pair of clothes he could find. All of his clothes looked the same, and we all some varying shades of black, grey and white. He then lifted up his mattress to find his jar of change. He took out eight quarters and slipped them into the pocket of his grey shorts. After he had gathered his things, he then made his way out the door, his bike was in an old shed in the backyard. Unlike the house, the shed was well kept, with unchipped paint, and windows still intact. It seemed to be the only thing on the property to which one could look at and not wince from damage. It was the only place he never saw his father.

He arrived to school at 6 a.m. and fastened his bike on the bike rack. He couldn’t afford a bike lock, so he always tried to get to school early to get a spot in the bike rack in front of the main office for the fear of his bike being stolen. Everyday once Bryce got to school, he’d always go to the library to work from 6:15 a.m. till 7:30 a.m. when school started. It was in this slot of time when he could manage to get most of his school work done. The library was usually uninhabited during this period of the day, until around 7:15 a.m. when other students would start to appear to take care of their own affairs at the libraries front desk. 

This was the cycle most days, and most of the time, each and every person that walked into the library in this time that Bryce was present always walked past him, without any sort of recognition. He began to count the number of people that would walk past him each day, and he even tried sitting closer to the entrance just to see if anyone would talk to him. Above the entrance there was a quote. In big gold letters it reads “The Golden Rule: do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” He thought to himself about the hypocrisy in this, the quote that all of his peers walked under, that seemed to define the schools culture, but yet their behavior contradicted it. He suddenly felt this overwhelming urge. He began to feel tears boil, as his anger regarding his treatment by others entangled him. He quickly gathered his things, and hurried to the bathroom. Running into the stall door, Bryce couldn’t contain it anymore. His heaving cries carried presence throughout the bathroom, he simply didn’t care if anyone heard him or not. Bryce felt as if life was meaningless, no one ever interacted with him, acknowledged him. Tears continued to poor, and cries continued to bellow. He heard the door open, but he couldn’t silence he outcry in time.

“Hey, uh, Bryce?” called an unfamiliar voice.

“Yes?” Bryce answered in a soft, quivering voice.

“I found your Geometry test in the library, I was returning my book and I saw you rush out of the library, you must have forgotten to grab it. I was looking everywhere for you. ”

Bryce quickly composed himself, and slowly exited the stall.

“Uhh yeah that’s mine.”

Surely it was his, his name was clearly written on it, with a C- written on top. The unfamiliar face offred the paper to him, and Bryce took it.

“Hey, I don’t mean to be nosy, but I see that you look to be struggling with geometry. If you’d like, I could meet up with you after school tomorrow, and I could give you a hand. Also, I forgot to introduce myself, but I’m David.”

David offered out his hand, and Bryce with uncertainty shook it.

“Um, yeah, I’d really appreciate your help”

“Alright, meet me in the library after school tomorrow”

“Sounds good Bryce, I’ll see you around”

David proceeded to walk out of the bathroom, and Bryce was left speechless. He thought it was a miracle. Someone finally realized that he was there.

Bryce continued throughout his day, and eventually it was time for him to go home. As he went out to the bike rack, and got on his bike. He thought back to his encounter with David. It was surreal, all his life he had been left in the dark. In his mind, he was a ghost among the living. These thoughts dominated his mind all the way back home. Eventually he arrived, and he went in the backyard to put his bike away.

As he walked around the side of the house to the front yard, something stood out to him. In the flower beds it stood tall, a single flower. He didn’t know what kind, but it’s orange petals stuck out amidst the entanglement of weeds that surrounded it. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it as he walked up to the front door. Then, without even consciously trying, he realized he was smiling. As he walked in the house, he couldn’t wait for the next afternoon. David had given Bryce something he never had before.