He awakened to the stillness.
The boy sat up, ears searching. Silence.
He slipped out of bed, tall for his 11 years, his nude body still slender boy. Almost painfully thin, the only flesh on his body the smooth white buttocks in the pale nightlight. The hallway and stairs were in darkness but light streamed from the kitchen where they had been sitting, drinking and bickering as usual.
He padded barefoot down the steps, slowly, ready to flee in retreat. No. No one. They were gone. But only recently: a half-smoked cigarette smoldered in the ashtray.
He went into the kitchen, his nudity intense in the bright lights. He picked up the cigarette, held it the way his father would, and put it to his lips. The smoke smarted his eyes and he choked as the smoke drew into his mouth. To recover he snatched up one of the glasses still partly full. Jack Daniels. He coughed but downed it all.
He looked through the window. It was snowing softly, no wind, large fluffy flakes floating down like feathers, slowly obliterating the tread marks in the long driveway that stretched through the trees toward the road. His head began to swim.
They've probably gone to the Red Dog again, he thought, and wondered if his mother had checked on him before leaving. The driveway to the road, right turn for a bit until the lake road, then the winding drive to the road house. He'd been there many a Saturday afternoon with them. Nick the bartender was nice to him and would slip him cookies while his parents were playing darts and drinking with the others.
The lake road. He shuddered as he remembered the time they skidded on ice and stopped just before nosing into the lake. He wondered what would happen if they ever went into the lake. What would happen to him if they were hurt? Could he live with granny? The thought made him queasy. His father said she was a holy roller, praying all the time.
He spied his boots in the mudroom just off the kitchen, his heavy socks still hanging out of them. What would he look like with them on and nothing else? He poured some more Jack Daniels into the glass and downed it.
He slipped on the socks and the boots and stood before the darkened window, catching his reflection: a skinny kid wearing nothing but clod hoppers. He laughed and tugged at his penis, small, pink, hairless, scrotum up tight. The penis felt good. It stiffened slightly.
Then he knew he had to go outside.
The falling snow kissed his body as he walked unsteadily into the back yard. The nearest neighbor was a quarter mile away through the woods. He stood out back, his arms outstretched, and opened his mouth to catch the snow. He needed to pee. He looked down and watched in wonder as a stream of urine, at first hesitantly and then forcefully spurted into the snow. Steaming.
The cold shrank his already small penis and scrotum. He pinched his puckered nipples and felt a tingle in his crotch. He touched his penis. It was cold and the tip wet, and he rubbed it gently to see if it would stiffen even in the cold. It did.
He went back into the house and took off the boots. Then he turned off the kitchen lights, leaving the house in total darkness. The living room had a large picture window that faced down the driveway to the distant road. No lights out there. He stood in front of the window and then climbed onto the sill, spread eagle before a silent world. "See me" he demanded, "someone see me."
As if in response he saw headlights preceding a car on the road ahead. It slowed as it reached the driveway and suddenly a spotlight came on searching out their mailbox at the mouth of the drive. The car backed up a bit and then turned into the driveway slowly. He dropped off the sill and stared: the car had a large star painted on the side. It stopped in front of the house and two men came out with flashlights. They were wearing trooper hats. As they approached the front door, the boy fled up the stairs and into his bed.
The doorbell rang.