Scottish Orange

The quiet around him settled like a dense layer of sediment. Malachai felt stuffy and cramped. He briskly walked past shelves and shelves of non-fiction books. He turned the next right corner and ducked into the children’s fiction section. He spied the rear exit door and increased his pace.

“Out,” he thought, “I need to get out.” Malachai never hated people, be he surely did not look forward to interacting with them. He lost hope in humanity’s ability to be compassionate after his mother passed away in a car accident seven years ago.

Malachai’s heart still ached. He longed for something more, something that would take the place of his mother’s love that was now gone, something to fill his dark soul. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his black pea coat and slipped out the heavy beige exit door.

From the back of the library, Malachai could see the rolling green hills of Transcariell’s countryside draped in fog. The gray misty clouds that hovered just above the surface of the ground gave him a sense of eeriness. He thought about what was beyond that fog, beyond the high hills that surrounded Transcariell. He wished he could just leave, and walk as far as his legs would take him. But his little hamlet of a hometown, which was tucked discreetly away from the rest of England’s population, had some kind of magical barrier around it. He felt, even if his life depended on it, that he could not leave this place.

Dusk was pressing down on the town as Malachai made his way home. He glanced into lit windows of the houses that he passed, seeing happy families settling down for supper. He envied them. He knew all that waited for him was a dark house filled with anger. Either his father would be home, drunk and angry, or he would be gone; he might even be facedown in a sewage drain somewhere. Malachai always prayed that his father was gone when he made it home.

Before he knew it, he was standing on the edge of the sidewalk that led to the front door of his compact little house. He took a deep breath, letting it out with a large exaggerated sigh, then he cracked the door open. Inside it was silent; the house, excluding the silver rectangles of light that filtered through the windows to the floor of his living room, was pitch-black inside. Malachai’s prayers were answered as he moved through the house, noticing that it was cleaner than ususal. His father was indeed gone, but Malachai did not bother worrying about where he might be. He trudged to his bedroom and turned the knob, slipping inside quietly like the mice inside his walls. Feeling sweaty and achy, he stripped of his clothes. He placed his shoes neatly under his bed, and balanced his coat on the hook that hung behind his door. He laid his head on his large cloud-like pillow, and soon passed into an intense sleep.

Malachai woke to his father ransacking through his things. The foot of his bed was littered with his belongings.

“What are you doing? What are you doing in my bedroom?!” Malachai yelled as he sat erect in his bed.

“Where is it at? Huh? Where is my watch? The one your mother gave me! Where is it? Did you sell it for drug money?! Where is it?” His father shook his dresser, knocking all of his mother’s photos to the floor.

“What? Why would I- What?! What watch?” Malachai pushed himself out of his bed scooping everything that was on his bed to the floor as his father moved to his closet. Malachai walked over to the dresser, pushed the drawers back in, and then collected his mother’s photographs. His father began to rip the clothes off of the hangers and shook each piece of clothing out as he did so.

“You’re sure as bloody hell not gonna find it in there! Please? Just stop! Dad?!” Malachai reached for his father’s shoulder, stopping just inches away. He was drunk again, Malachai realized, and there was nothing that could sway his father’s angry drunken fit.

“Do not tell me what I will or will not do!” His father shouted as he turned from the closet and stomped towards him. He pushed his face forcefully into Malachai’s and Malachai could smell the liquor on his breath. His father raised his fist, and Malachai squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of the pain.

His father’s knuckles struck him in the chin, sending shooting arrows of pain throughout his teeth. He could feel his gums and cheek pulsating as he raised his hands to push his father away from him. His father raised his hand again but hesitated. Malachai’s instincts kicked in then, telling him to run for the door, to get out while he still could.

From then on he saw everything in slow motion. His saw his father’s fist fly past his nose, his own hands coming up around his father’s neck. He watched as he pushed his father’s head downward, and kneed him in the gut. Then he watched, for maybe milliseconds, as his father writhed in pain on the ground. Then he ran.

He ran past the church, to the library, turning left as he reached the alley beside it. He ran through the alley and into the fog beyond the town. He ran faster than he knew he could, and he ran until he couldn’t run any more. After about four hours he slowed to a quick walking pace. He didn’t think his father would follow him, but he had to be certain. Within the thick fog, he found a grove of orange trees. There he hid and waited until the fog became so thick that he couldn’t see past his nose. He huddled next to the tree, and closed his eyes.

A quick tapping sensation on his forehead woke him. He opened his eyes to a hand hovering inches away from his nose. It shook twice, then he heard a voice.

“Oi! Yeh alright man? Yeh took a long bit of a nap I’d say! Yeh was asleep for ‘bout three hours. I been watchin’ yeh. Saw yeh stumble into these trees ‘ere. Yeh ok?” The person belonging to the voice leaned forward and smiled widely. Malachai was astonished by what he saw. He thought maybe he was still asleep, dreaming.

The girl had long soft red hair, and bright blue eyes. She had freckles that lightly dotted the space under her eyes, and her full face was smooth, almost flawless. Her heavy Scottish accent lied about the body it was connected to.

“A fair maiden?” Malachai whispered under his breath as he leaned up with aid of her hands.

“Eh there lad, take it ehhsy.” She smiled again, and patted him on the knee. “Meh name’s Rose. I promise I ent stalkin’ yeh. I saw yeh runnin’, thought yeh was in trouble. Mehby I can elp, yeh?” She had a puzzled look on her face. Malachai was speechless.

“Uhh, I guess, yeah. I need a place to stay. Where am I?” He touched his chin, and rubbed his temple. He had a terrible headache.

The fog that laced the grove had lifted, and the sun was shining bright through the trees that surrounded them. Suddenly Malachai felt like she might be too good to be true. Like this girl was a figment of his imagination, or that there was some sinister force at work behind her.

“Jus north of Carlisle I’d say. Wher’d yeh come from eh?” Rose looked confused again and raised her left eyebrow.

“Transcariell. Where are you from?”
“Backpackin’ from Scotland, makin meh way down tuh Transcariell, fact. You runnin aweh from sumthin?” She took her hand and put it on Malachai’s shoulder, patting it twice.
“Well. Yes, I suppose. You’re really beautiful.” Malachai chuckled nervously, and tipped his head downward. Rose began to blush.
“Well thank yeh! I ent inclined to thinkin so mehself. But eh, yeh think so, so thank yeh.” Rose stood up and extended her hand for Malachai to grab. He took it and she lifted him off of the ground. They stood staring at each other for a moment, then Malachai opened his mouth to say something. But he could not think of anything to say. Rose filled in the blanks, asking if she could go with him wherever he was going.
“Sure I suppose. I’m not going anywhere, really. I just need to leave this place. Would you be so inclined to go to Liverpool with me?” Malachai shrugged his shoulders and looked away from Rose. For some reason he was having a hard time interacting with her. He never cared about girls like this, not after his ex-girlfriend, Naomi, broke his heart. He was twelve, and he decided he had had enough of girls. However, he could not shake this feeling of her. He wanted to help her, he wanted to save her, and she wasn’t even in trouble.
“Liverpool sounds great! I’d like tah go there. I ent ever been. Let’s get a move on, I have tah make a stop on tha way there. My aunt lives in Transcariell. I ent gonna go by there an not stop by my aunt’s.” Rose bumped his elbow and smiled big. Her teeth were perfect and straight, but that wasn’t why Malachai couldn’t stop staring. He was almost entranced by her. She was more beautiful than a glistening leaf on a dewy morning. She was more beautiful than all the diamonds in the world put together. He promised himself that he wouldn’t leave her side, and he knew he would keep that promise. She was almost magnetic.
“Do a lot of buggers follow you around? You must get compliments from everybody!” Malachai said as they walked out of the grove of orange trees.
“Not really, no. I ent that pretty yeh silly lad. Yeh sure yeh didn’t hit yeh head er sumthin’?” Rose asked, laughing as Malachai stumbled over the clods of dirt beneath his feet.
“No.” Malachai shut his eyes for a moment, embarrassed.
They continued walking for what seemed like hours in complete silence. Finally they reached the edge of Workington, a small city just fifty miles away from Transcariell. They walked to a train station and slipped into the back of the caboose. Malachai had never stowed away on a train before, but Rose looked like she knew what she was doing. After a twenty minute train ride, and two evasions from the ticket master, they reached a tiny train station outside of Transcariell. Rose and Malachai walked through Transcariell behind the buildings. Dark alleys hid Malachai as he moved along the streets, hoping not to encounter his father. They stopped at a small convenience store down the street from the library where Malachai spent all of his time. He knew this street well, but he had never noticed the convenience store before. Rose opened the door and motioned Malachai inside. As he walked in he smiled at the sight of a small round red-headed woman cleaning a counter perpendicular to the entrance.
“Ello! Meh name’s Elsey! How are yeh?” Elsey’s Scottish accent was just as thick as her nieces, and it made Malachai chuckle.
“Malachai ma’am, I’m alright now.” Malachai stepped out of Rose’s way as she walked past him and into to convenience store.
Just then Malachai’s father strode up to the store. At first Malachai did not see him, but as he turned to gaze out the window, he spied him from the corner of his eye. His father turned towards the door, and reached to open it. Malachai dove behind the counter next to the door, and Elsey gave him a puzzled look. He shook his head, and put his finger to his chin. Then he raised the finger to his lips and pursed them as if to say, “shhh”. Elsey nodded, and turned towards his father.
“Ello lad! How are yeh? Can I get yeh anythin’?”
“No. I just wanted to see what kind of booze ya got. Ent nothin’ worth buyin’.” His father looked out the door and then stepped back.
“Have a nice day.” He said, with his eyes fixed outside. He turned and left, walking at a fast pace. Malachai climbed out from behind the counter. Rose looked puzzled, and pointed at Malachai.
“Yeh, explain!” She shook her head and smiled.
“My dad, he gave me this, and.. I can’t let him see me.” Malachai looked at Rose with begging eyes.
Rose nodded and looked outside. “It’s safe tah go. I’ll take yeh as far as Blackpool, but yeh on yeh own after that. I ent gonna get involved with trouble.”
Malachai nodded. “I’m sorry Rose.”
“Yah, it’s nuthin’.” Rose closed her eyes and swallowed hard.
They left Elsey’s with warm goodbyes. Rose and Malachai boarded a train from Transcariell that went all the way to Blackpool. The ride, three hours long, was a quiet one. They didn’t talk much, but Rose kept glancing at Malachai when he wasn’t looking.
They got off the train in Blackpool and Malachai looked at Rose with a question lingering in his eyes.
“You really are beautiful.” He said, “really beautiful. Are you sure you won’t come?”
“Eh, I can’t. I got people tah see. Things tah do. Maybe I’ll see yeh sometime later. If yeh hang around here I’ll probably run inta yeh.”
Malachai closed his eyes and shook his head. “I really am sorry.” He said.
“I know. I promise, no hard feelins’. I gotta go. Maybe I will see yeh. Yeh know where my aunt works. I’m there uh lot. Goodbye Malachai.”
Rose began to turn and walk out into the street. She didn’t see the car racing past the train station in a hurry. The car sped by, clipping her side and throwing her down the street. Malachai shouted curse words to the car that hit her as her ran to her lifeless body on the ground. He picked her up and pressed his hand to her forehead. She was going cold. She blinked once at him and smiled slightly. He started to cry, forcing himself to keep his eyes open, so he could see her face.
“I’m sorry Rose. So sorry. You’re so beautiful.” he said through his sobs.
She smiled at him and he closed his eyes once. She reached up and touched his face. He sobbed harder into her hand. He leaned down and looked into her eyes one last time, as she began to slip away. Before she closed her eyes, he pressed his lips to hers. He closed his eyes and pressed his mouth to hers harder. He frantically kissed her, thinking that she was his fairytale. He closed his eyes as he kissed her, and his heart dropped. When he opened them, her hand had gone from his face. He skin was fading, floating from her silhouette like ashes blown from a fire. She was disintegrating, and he was losing her. He looked into the place that used to be Rose, and he found nothing. He sobbed harder, and slumped his head into his lap.
Malachai looked into the sky, the tears on his skin. He looked into the sky and yelled, “I love you!”