Shell
Mina Lipets
Nathan went to the store for the third time that week to fetch alcohol for his dad. He always went around the same time, beginning his trip just when it was getting dark out. He ran this time, afraid the consequences from his last trip would repeat itself. Dad should be finishing his last bottle of vodka soon, he worried, and who knows what will happen to me then. Nathan stopped in front of the gas station, taking a moment to appreciate how the neon Shell sign lit up the sidewalk under it. A homeless man slept right outside the entrance, the lights dying his thin, wrinkly skin a fluorescent orange. The boy walked into the store, breathless and sweaty. The Shell was all out of vodka, not a good sign. The nervous boy chose a hefty bottle of gin, hoping that would calm his dad down a bit. Nathan stuffed the bottle down his shirt, and acted calm as he walked past the clerk, just as he had done countless times before. He covered the indentation of the bottle in his clothes with his crossed arms, thinking about the night his dad punished him the worst. A cop had stopped the boy, seeing him walking with a bottle of vodka. Nathan had to spend the night in jail, and his dad was convinced he did it on purpose. Sober for a few hours, his anger was insatiable. So, Nathan sprinted back and busted through the front door of his house. It wasn’t really a house anymore, more of a shed that reeked of alcohol and violence. Nathan’s dad woke up from his slumber, and, seeing the bottle, let out an inhuman growl. “Who said I wanted gin? You spoiled brat, you can’t even care for your own father.” The boy’s dad got up and threw the bottle at his son’s head. His aim was terrible, a consequence of the bottle he downed earlier that day. “Go back. Get me something better. Hurry,” the man said in an exhausted tone. Luckily for the man, the bottle barely cracked, so he was still able to drink some. Nathan was surprised that was his only punishment; he got off lucky. He ran as fast as he could back to the gas station, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Just as he arrived in front of the store, the big neon Shell sign flickered for a few seconds, then shut off. The sign that Nathan saw almost every day for the last ten years of his life. It was actually an ugly sign, but beautiful to him, all white and red and orange. The lightbulbs were broken in some places, so that sometimes it would just say “hell.” That sign was his lifeline, as long as it was on, he would be okay. But the sign was off. The store was closed. What would Nathan do now? He knew he couldn’t go back to his dad; he wouldn’t be spared from his wrath for the second time in one night. So he started running again, in no particular direction, just away from the house. He ran so far he reached the next Shell a few blocks down, and the one after that, until his adrenaline ran out and he chose a welcoming spot under the freeway. No one bothered him there. And Nathan never went back. He didn’t know what happened to his dad, but he didn’t really care. Nathan never got hit again and he was never again scared for his life. To an outsider, it would seem Nathan’s life got worse, sometimes on the street and sometimes in foster homes, but he was the happiest and safest he had ever been. In that moment, the closed gas station seemed a harbinger of death, but it was actually his savior. If the sign had not been off, the cycle would have kept repeating, endless screaming, anger, and beatings. But the cycle did repeat, just in a different generation. Nathan thinks back on these times of his youth from time to time as he sends his son running to the gas station. I hope he one day gets the courage to run away like I did.
My name is Mina Lipets and I am a junior in high school. The hardest part about being at NMMI is I miss my family and my dogs. I enjoy being with those that I love.