I know you, you're a special one; any.

(OOC: Hope this is an OK place to put this! Was looking for west side suburbs :) I've tried to write the post so that a reply could be for Jacks or for Sammy, whichever you prefer. I don't mind which direction to go in!)

Jacks laid her hands briefly on her pre-teen son’s shoulders before slipping them down his back and around his belly, pulling him into a hug. She rested her chin on his head, although only just. The last time she’d held him like this, she was comfortably a head over him. Now she was just starting to crane her neck, and it wouldn’t be long before she had to settle for his shoulder.

Jacks Holt was not a tall woman by the standards of any culture. A little over five foot, she had a delicately heart-shaped face and petite frame which belied a wiry strength. In her spare time, she liked to arm-wrestle the patrons down at the bar where she worked pulling and serving drinks. Or at least, she used to. That life was behind her – or soon would be, once she found a job which offered more family-friendly hours. She’d miss some of the regulars, but her boy needed her, so the rest of the world could go hang.

She hugged him a little tighter. “You want me to come with you? I could be like your bodyguard. I’ll slamdunk those kids if they look at you funny.”

Gone were the days when he used to smile every time she opened her mouth. Now, he turned his gaze downwards, not really responding to her physical touch. His voice was almost unrecognisably quiet.

“If you want to, ma’am.”

Jacks withdrew her arms, stepped around him and placed herself between her son and the mirror. She cupped his face with her hands, her green eyes desperately seeking his.

“No, baby.” She willed herself not to whisk him off into a pillow fort where no one could touch him. “It’s about what you want. And it’s mom, not ma’am. No – ” She added quickly, seeing the look on his face “ – no apologies, Sammy.”

Sammy’s lower lip wobbled, then firmed. “Yes, mom.”

“You want me to come with you?”

“No, mom.”

“Alright then.” Jacks exhaled. Sam gave her the smallest of smiles – his first since he’d come home. “I’m gonna check the mail and then head into town. I’ll catch you later.”

They left the house at the same time, about ten minutes later, but Jacks stopped at the mailbox by the path which led to their house while Sammy carried on down the road. Her heart felt like a lead weight to see him trudging off, head low, hands in his pockets, his clothes as monochromatic as his aura. Jacks had never even seen her usually vibrant son in a grey, patternless shirt and black pants before. She didn’t even know he owned clothes so achingly adult and masculine. She forced herself to turn away and look at the envelopes in her hand instead. All bills. That figured.

Sammy, meanwhile, felt like he was moving through custard. The air felt weighted, as it often did these days, like the world was telling him to turn around and go back to bed. He dropped his hands into his pockets, feeling the comforting jangle of the house keys there, and pushed forward. He could turn around any time he liked and go back home. His mom wouldn’t judge him. She was cool that way.

The park was only around the corner from their house, but it felt alarmingly far. Through the iron railings, he could see old guys playing chess around stone tables, bird watchers with their binoculars skyward and, in the distance, kids clambering over a wooden playground. Sammy hesitated with his hand on the gate. One lap, he told himself, repeating the suggestion his mom had made last night. Recon. Just one lap to scout the place. It had seemed perfectly reasonable when his mom said it, but now he couldn’t make his legs move. The custard-air was back, and thicker than ever.

Round the corner, Jacks shoved the bills unceremoniously in her coat pocket and turned in the opposite direction, repeating a similar mantra in her head. Just one lap of the store windows, see if they’ve got hiring signs up. Then I can see if he’s home yet.