Abigail-a Short Story

Abigail strides past the gates of the school grounds. Deep in the recesses of her mind, she hardly notices the swarm of students buzzing around her. It’s been a long day, and night. She spent half of it alone in her room, studying for a science exam. She almost always retreats there, away from her mother. Her mother is an alcoholic, unemployed, and constantly in trouble with the police. She hates her. She hates the fact that her mother drove her father away. She loved him, and she hasn’t seen him for years.

She, her mother and father lived together in the small town called Greymouth in the South Island of New Zealand. Their life there was serene, her mother happy. They had money, everything! Her mother left her father, an impulsive decision with no thought for the wellbeing of her child. Her mother moved them both up to Auckland and she hasn’t heard from her father since. While she was only eight at the time, her memory is vague, but it is all she can think as she begins the walk home. From every angle, ever way she looks at it, it’s her mothers fault. Why would her mother give up everything? Why would her mother, take her father away from her? Why would she exchange a perfect house, a perfect life and friends for this dingy old apartment? Abigail resents this, and every step she takes toward that disgusting bottom floor space her mother calls a dwelling, reminds her of the fact that she has no choice but to return. At fifteen, she can’t leave, as a minor, she is obliged to stay with her ‘guardian’, her mother.

***

 A few blocks away, she passes the car repair shop. There in the parking lot, under the shade of an oak tree, is Michael leaning against the bonnet of his beaten up old red jeep smoking a cigarette. Michael left school about a year ago. He helps his father run the place. Abigail of course longs for the relationship he has with his father. While intensely jealous of the life he and all her peers seem to have, she would never give up her life as an academic. It’s a sad life really, the tragedy of her existence made up for by her genius. Not that anyone would think it to look at her. As always, it is assumed that any successful young girl must come from a good home.

 She strides over. “Hey you.” Hey looks up, smiles. He says “hey,” taking a drag on his cigarette like he’s the coolest kid in town. As Michael goes to take yet another puff of his cigarette, Abigail takes it off him, puts it in her mouth, sucking in the sweet smoke. As she takes it down into her lungs, she looks into his deep, dark warm brown eyes. It dawns on her that it’s not so bad after all. She doesn’t have to go home. She can stay here, with Michael.

“I’m working on another car,” he says, “it’s a Mercedes, once i’ve fixed that up, I could use it instead of that old jeep.” He pauses for a second, then laughs. “So do you want to see it.” Abigail laughs, “of course,” still smiling, “you know I love cars”. She says this sarcastically, they both know it’s a lie. Before she met him, she couldn’t tell you what a Mercedes was. And yet, here she was with him, for him, and for a chance to delay her return home. They walk along the path that runs along the line of trees, their bark peeling away in the heat. Around the corner towards the old concrete building out back. Even before they enter, she can smell the oil, huge black sticky patches of it on the concrete floor. She looks up, car parts all over the floor. She chuckles, “so I see you still have quite a bit of work to do.” He chuckles, “all in good time,” he claims.

***

 Hours later, it occurs to Michael that it’s getting dark, and that despite him not knowing the extent of her problem with her mother, it might not be such a good idea to continue staying out this last without her mother knowing where she is. “Do you wanna ride home?” Abigail looks up, the dread setting in “sure.” It’s always hard to go home, in the midst of his company she’d lost herself in endless conversations about anything and everything.

 Abigail sits in silence next to Michael in his jeep. It smells of smoke and wood. Heading home, the windows are wide open. It’s getting colder now. As they turn into the parking lot outside her apartment on the corner, Abigail notices a police car. Abigail’s gaze locks on with Michaels, he looks alarmed. Abigail is not surprised by this, in fact, she’s annoyed. “God! What has she done this time,” she says this throwing herself back into the seat with frustration. Michael stays calm, “Maybe it’s not your mum this time…maybe they’re here for the neighbours or something.” Abigail’s expression softens a bit, “I hope so…I don’t need this right now.” It’s only when they get out of the car that they hear sirens in the distance. Abigail knows, this is not the siren of a police car, or a fire truck, but an ambulance. The sudden realisation hits her. She recalls threats her mother had made during fights over the pettiest of things. That she would kill herself. Abigail had thought nothing of it at the time, assuming manipulative intent. She slams the door shut, runs towards the apartment. She can hear Michaels foot falls as he runs after her. She ignores him, continuing up the few steps towards the door.

Cautiously, she walks through the apartment, looking through the door to the lounge, she can see a policeman taking notes, looking down on something she can not yet see. As she turns the corner she looks down to find her mother, lying in a pool of her own blood, the gun still in her hand. Abigail looks away. She can’t believe it, she’s in shock! “You wouldn’t happen to be Abigail Young would you…this woman’s daughter?” Abigail looks up to find the man looking at her with extreme sympathy. He looks so concerned that it frightens her. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, “maybe we should go into the other room, at least until the ambulance gets here.”

They sit at the dining room table. Abigail puts her head in her hands. A million miles away she can hear the police man introducing himself as some sort of constable, explaining they were investigating reports of gunshots fired. She’s not quite sure what she should be feeling right now, but the thought consumes her, the last thing she said to her mother before she left this morning. “I hate you!” That feeling in her stomach, she wonders if this is what guilt feels like, or maybe that’s just from the shock of it all. Michael walks in with another policeman. Michael’s looks out of place “I’m sorry,” he says, what else could he say.

***

 Abigail’s mother is dead. There is nothing she can do now, no way she can take back the things she said. She might never know the reasons for what her mother has done, or what lead her to take the actions that subsequently lead to her death. If Abigail had understood the way her mother truely felt, that her mother was living a life so horrible that she would resort to killing herself. If Abigail had known any of this, maybe she would have at least tried to care, despite everything. The police had asked if she had any relatives nearby. Of course she didn’t. Besides her mother, the closest thing she ever had to a family was Michael. The only thing she wanted to do now was to find her father. Surely there was more to her life, her family and her mother.