Bat out of Hell

Bat out of Hell

By Janet Baldey

‘You was such a lovely baby.   Ever’one said so.  Wasn’t just me.’

He stood on the threshold, his hand tightening on the doorknob.   His heart sank as he clocked the empty gin bottle by the side of her chair.   Behind, the night beckoned; escape was still possible but he shook his head and sighed clawing his stringy hair away from his eyes.   It was too late for that and besides, he was hungry.   His stomach growled in agreement.

‘Hi Ma’.

‘So purty’.   His mother stroked the picture, its surface dulled after many such caresses.   She looked up and pointed a finger, yellow-tipped with thickened nail. ‘What went wrong boy?’   Her voice shrilled and there was a mean look in her eyes that shrivelled his core and the huddle of cats in her lap stirred.

Life, he thought, life is what went wrong. 

‘Kids grow up Ma.  They don’t stay rosy-cheeked babes forever’.   He was mumbling but it made no odds, she wasn’t listening – always deaf to stuff she didn’t want to hear.   He lumbered towards the kitchen.   Looked like he’d be getting his own supper tonight.

         He reached for the skillet and cracked in eggs, one by one staring down at them until the yolks hardened and their whites shrivelled to a lacy brown frill.    His appetite had vanished and he scraped the leathery mess into the swill bucket.

         Shoulders hunched, he stood thinking of the good times, vanished forever now.  His mother’s kiss as she tucked him into bed.   Velvet, like a moth’s wing, it brushed his cheek just as he was spiralling into sleep.   When mornin’ came his Ma’d hum softly, combing his hair, holding up one shining strand after another.   ‘Jus like gold….pure gold’.   They had so many photos took.   Just them two, him staring wide-eyed into the lens and her layin’ her cheek against his head.

She’d such plans, he remembered that.   ‘My Jake – he’s going to be a doctor, for sure.   Or a lawyer, maybe.   He’s so sharp.’

         But book larnin’ didn’t come easyand no matter how he tried he was most always bottom of the class.   She took it well at first.   ‘Never mind boy, you keep at it, you’ll get there’.   Later, she swore his teacher had a down on him.   ‘She’s so jealous boy.   It’s ‘cause you’re so beautiful.’

         When he hit puberty the light finally went out of her eyes.  His soft hair dulled to a coarse brown and scarlet zits popped out of his skin.    Worst of all, he stopped growin’.  Kids who’d been smaller sprouted and on the way up they took delight in taunting him.   Soon ‘shorty’ was the kindest thing he was called and he started to eat far too much even though his Ma was no cook.   ‘Lardass’ soon took the place of ‘shorty’ as the insult of choice.

         It was then, his mother got her first cat.   Black as ink, she called it Satan and just as she had Jake’s hair, she brushed its fur morning and evening.   She took down pictures of him and put up pictures of Satan instead. When Jake failed his third interview, she jus’ gave him a look and got another cat. She had six now.   The house smelled but his Ma paid no mind.  Cats didn’t grow fat and ugly. 

         At last he got lucky.    Him and office work didn’t get on but he liked tinkering with cars and got a job, cleaning em. While valeting, he watched the mechanics work and when one quit, he spoke out.  

‘Ah kin do that, Mister Brady.’

         ‘You sure, son?’

 The garage owner barked a laugh and trialled him one week.

 Jake laboured happy as a hog in muck, arriving home black as Ma’s cat.   Of course, she hollered but stopped when he slapped money on the table.

Soon after, he met the love of his life.  Shrouded under a tarpaulin, she sat abandoned but peering underneath, he realized what she was despite her peeling paint and pitted chrome.  A vintage Harley.   Wow! A few dollars and she was his.

 After months of work, her chrome gleamed and her fuselage stole the red from the setting sun.  When he turned the key, her engine growled her power although he never let her have full rein.   Riding her, he felt seven-foot-tall, loving the feel of wind on his cheeks.

Suddenly his dejection vanished; he’d take Lady out for a spin. He turned and strode across the room.  Immediately his mother rose, a black hole appearing in the middle of her face.

‘Useless, lazy good fer nothing.  Why did I bother?  You ruined ma life.   Ah, could have been a singer.’ 

The usual heard so often.   Then, something else.

‘You even killed your Daddy, you piece of shit’.

He froze.   Had he?  She’d voiced his worst nightmare.  He’d loved his Daddy.  A boy of eight rising nine, he’d been kicking a ball in the yard.   The sound of shattered glass and his Daddy came running, face bright red, deepening to purple as he clutched his chest and keeled over.

Hot tears blinded him as he ran through the door and out to the shed where he hurled himself onto Lady and roared into the night onto frostbitten roads shining under a canopy of stars.    Pitting his voice against the wind and the blatting engine, he bawled out the words of his favourite song.

‘The sirens are screaming and the fires are howling way down in the valley tonight……’

He felt bad.  So bad.  He hadn’t meant to kill his Daddy and Lady didn’t deserve what was coming but there was no other way.   Jamming his hands hard on the throttle, like bats out of Hell they screamed down the icy hill.

Copyright Janet Baldey