My Heart's in Alabama

1 - Matt

"Matt," I hear my dad say. I groan and pull my pillows over my head. It's 6:30 in the morning by the way. Oh, and yeah, I don't have school. It's summer.

"Matt, come on," he says, shaking my shoulder. "Get up."

"No," I say and roll to the edge of the bed, getting as far away from my lunatic father as possible. My dad walks to the other side of my bed and leans over, getting in my face.

"Do you want to play football?"

Dammit. I sigh. Of course I do.

"Yes," I say and mean it.

And he knew it. He had me. But still, he had to drive his point home.

"Do you want to play football more than you want to sleep right now?"

I don't answer. He already knows.

"What do you want more? You wanna sleep or you wanna play football?" I sigh and force myself out of bed, throwing my sheets across my floor.

I look down at myself. I'm weak. Or strong, however, you want to look at it. I'm already in my gym shorts, a t-shirt, hell I even have my sneakers on. Why?

"I want to play football."

My dad smiles and slaps me on the back.

"Good," he says like I'm a dog that needs training. But in a way, I guess I am. And like a good little puppy, I follow my dad downstairs to the kitchen.

"Drink something," my dad says and tosses me a water bottle. I chug half the bottle and leave the rest for when I get back.

Outside, it's sticky and hot even though it's early. Just one of the perks of living in the south. There's no escaping the heat. Not in the morning, not at night, not during the summer. I yawn, stretch my legs, and walk down my porch steps to the middle of the road. I stand there mentally preparing myself for what I'm about to do. No cars come, not even close. I don't have to worry about that. Not at this time, not ever really. Even if a car came down the road, they'd be more likely to stop and ask me how my day is than run me over.

 All right no more stalling. I take my first step. Then my next, right left right left until I gain some speed. I feel like an idiot, making such a big deal out of this. I don't mind running. I actually used to love it when I was younger. Three years ago really, so I wasn't that young. Twelve. That was when my mom left. She had my youngest sister, Marcie and a few months later we woke one morning and she was gone. No big fight, no dramatic falling out, just packed up her stuff in the middle of the night and left. My younger brother, Andrew, was the one who found the note.

My dad and I were in the kitchen. I was pouring myself a bowl of Rice Krispies and my dad was sipping his coffee and reading the sports section of the newspaper. All normal for a Saturday morning. Then we heard my brother crying and my dad went to see what was up.

I sat down at the kitchen table, picking up where my dad left off in the newspaper and didn't think much of it. Why would I? But a couple of minutes went by and my little sister, Carrie, who was five, came into the kitchen. She was crying, too. I still wasn't worried.

"Come on, Care, you know he's fine."

Drew and Carrie were pretty close, still are, and sometimes when Drew got into it, Carrie felt the need to join in. She didn't say anything, just kept crying. I sighed and folded up the newspaper the way I watched my dad do just minutes ago.

"Carrie," I said softly and picked her up and set her in my lap. "Don't worry, he'll be alright."

Carrie sniffled and looked at me with big, watery eyes.