There's a moment. A singular, infallible moment of crystalline clearness, where you are at one with the universe and its truths are your truths, and all of the miserable, human existence makes sense...
...and then, the moment is gone.
--
Toby stood on the edge of the precipice, the tallest one on this stretch of coast. He watched the ocean, mesmerized by the waves pounding themselves mercilessly against the cliff side. Sea spray jetted upward, and the angry ocean water roared and crashed and thundered. He stretched his arms out wide and thought about throwing himself off, over the edge. Not that he wanted to die, but he wanted to become one with the beautiful, monstrous sea. He wanted to feel the force of the waves, feel the salt on his skin, be swept up and away by a current.
"Not today, not today," The seagulls seemed to cry out in their keening voices. They wheeled about in the sky, drifting further out to sea before inevitably returning toward land.
No, not today, Toby thought to himself, dropping his arms. He breathed in deep, savoring the cold salt taste of the ocean, then turned and walked away. The ocean calmed him, but he was always forced to return to his true reality. His truck was parked mere feet from his position on the cliff, and he hopped inside, going through the motions to set him on course for home: strapped himself in, put it in reverse, peeled away from the edge, threw it back into drive, and then it was an hour of smooth black asphalt road until he reached the trailer park.
It was dark by the time he returned home, the glowing lights from the various homes were the only illumination besides the moon. They didn't have streetlamps at the park - after all, it wasn't like they had a Home Owners' Association. Turning off his truck, the ugly steel exterior of the trailer seemed so glaringly poor. A slam drew his attention away and he looked up, watched as his mom raced down towards him. There were angry red marks on her face, bruises and welts blossoming. Tears ruined her trashy makeup, leaving smudges on her face, not that Toby cared.
Somehow, his mom always ended up with the same type of guy. The kind of guy who was just like his father. Though his father was six feet under now, Toby had seen it all as a kid. The violence and fighting and screaming. The way his father beat his mom, occasionally half to death. Now, she seemed to only bring back fat men who smelled sour, with beady eyes, and a perpetual beer in their hand. In a year, Toby would be eighteen, and free to leave this shitty life and the shitty men in it. But for now, he had to protect his mom the best he could, so as she ran towards him, he stepped out of the truck and lifted the baseball bat out of the bed.
His mom reached him, hugging him tightly. He clutched one arm around her, shielding her in a sense, and held the baseball bat loose and easy with his free hand.
Paul huffed out the door, bellowing, "Maureen!" before he stopped short. Paul was a man who would never have a prime due to all the drugs and alcohol. Toby, however, was young and fit, with muscles he knew how to use. The sight of the baseball bat in Toby's hand caused the big man to pause and reconsider his options. Toby's thoughts raced, Come on, come on, take your best shot, give me a reason to hurt you.
"Toby," Paul greeted, nodding his head and causing the flab around his jaw to jiggle. Toby's mother continued to sob, and Toby said nothing, simply stared at Paul. "Look, I don't know what your mother's been saying, but I didn't do nothing."
"Idiot," Toby grunted.
"'Scuse me?"
"You didn't do nothing? That means you did not do nothing - it means you did something."
"Christ, kid! So I'm not so good at grammar, cut me some slack. You know what I mean."
"Yeah."
The silence was tense, strained. All around the park, flimsy, cheap curtains had been pulled away from plastic windows in order to better see the action. There was a charge in the air, something that made every second mean more than it already did.
"I'm goin' for the night," Paul rumbled, heading towards his crappy little car with the worthless motor. Toby simply watched, the disdain in his eyes obvious. Once Paul and his car were out of sight, Toby turned his attention back to his mother.
In the course of his conversation with Paul, she had pulled away, now stood with her back facing him. Her arms hung limply at her sides, while her hands balled into fists.
"Mom?"
The slap rang through the entire park, and curtains were abruptly released as residents scurried away from their windows, shocked at what they had seen. The slap had caused Toby's head to snap to the side, and the red mark burned brightly in the dim light.
"Don't ever, ever, again insult someone that way," His mother's voice was deceptively soft, hiding treachery, rage, and deceit. Toby, dumbfounded, simply nodded. For some reason, he was still surprised each time his mother lashed out at him. he should have known it was coming. His mother hated his intelligence, his brain, and his level-head. She hated that people called him bright. She didn't hate Toby, she just hated his mind.
"Alright, Mom," Toby whispered. His mother turned again, walking swiftly back to the trailer, and slammed the door behind her.
Toby stood for five minutes in the night, listening to the silence. He gently placed the baseball bat back in the bed of the truck, and slipped into the driver's seat. With careful ease, he pulled out of the trailer park, and headed back to the ocean.
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