by Nella Tyler
Besides the obvious, that I had no interest in having children in the first place, even if I did, I would be terrified that I would end up as judgmental and thankless as my worthless father.
While he might be dripping with worldly possessions and able to literally bathe in his wealth, he was penniless when measured by affection and gratitude.
My father was and always would be a terrible man. His wealth consumed him until his decisions, both personal, as well as professional, were weighed merely by their weight in gold.
I was confident, familial ties be damned; the only reason I was still with my father’s company was because my talent shined. I had made him billions, but that meant nothing to my father. Unless I continued to produce, my past achievements would only work minimally toward my severance package. There was no doubt in my mind that if I lost the wrong deal or caught my father on a wrong day, I would be fired on the spot. In fact, I knew that my name would be struck off the company’s payroll faster than a lot of the other employees who had learned to yield to his tirades.
I didn’t conform, and he hated that.
Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for me to realize that I possessed a lot of the same qualities as my father. While recognizing my selfishness and greed wasn’t exactly cleansing, it did provide me the ability to take preventative measures.
I might be selfish, but I am not mean. I genuinely felt that subjecting a child to what my father had subjected me to growing up and throughout my career would be cruel. I hated it, and I was certain that any spawn of mine would be no different. Thus, I had decided a long time ago that reproduction was not something that would suit me or my lifestyle.
“Hey, dude!” Garrett called as though he had an epiphany, pulling me out of my thoughts and concentration.
“What?”
“Since I know you’ve got this, do you want to go out and have a little early celebration?”
Aggravated and pumping with adrenaline from the workout, I wanted to give a smart-ass answer about how the celebration would be premature, but getting drunk sounded pretty damn good too.
“Sure. Why the hell not?” I insisted and knew from the grin on Garrett’s face that tonight was going to be something that we would either laugh over or never speak of again.
Garrett was eager to get started and so, as soon as we had finished our workout routine and hit the showers, he was searching his phone for what he decided would be the best good time.
In all the years I had known him, it seemed that Garrett had a knack for knowing where a good party was going to be, even with no concrete prior knowledge.
Granted, there was generally a fine line between fun and trouble, so the two were often synonymous, but I still had to hand it to the guy: he had a knack for finding whatever it was he was looking for.
Garrett left his car at the twenty-four-hour gym, in his spot, and we headed toward my car.
With the top down, the black Porsche that I had bought with my last bonus was sleek and sexy: the perfect car for making memories we likely will never remember and getting laid.
Damn, was it great for getting laid.
Women loved the car, other men glared at the machine, as well as the tits it attracted, in envy, and I couldn’t get enough.
After listening to Garrett deliberate about which hole in the wall we should start at for a few minutes, he eventually settled on a local bar that was a personal favorite. The atmosphere was down-home, and the clientele was easy; especially when I was in the mood to dazzle someone of the female persuasion and tonight, I was down for anything.
I was pissed at my father, but that wasn’t new. Although now, I was also pissed at myself for not being able to come through with the proposal the first time around and incredibly enraged that I didn’t see the problem before my father pointed it out.
I hated when he caught things that I didn’t because instead of using it as a teaching moment, he always found a way to consider whether he still needed my services.
We both knew that he did, or he would be losing out on a shitload of money, so I felt secure. Yet, after all these years, still having to prove my worth in addition to excelling at my job was tiresome.
So, I needed a good night to let loose and get stupid.
I pulled into the bar and Garrett was practically to the entrance before the car even stopped.
“If I didn’t know better, I would think that you needed this way more than I do,” I responded as I casually caught up with him.
Garrett ignored me and headed straight for the bar.
We started with our regular: Fireball.
I could afford anything on the shelf, but there was something about Fireball to start the night, or midday, as it were, that started us off right.
After a few hours of playing pool, drinking, and talking to a few of the people at the bar, either that we knew or got to know with our liquid courage, Garrett started eyeing a girl at the end of the bar.
I knew I was quickly becoming his wingman and was okay with that since I hadn’t seen anyone that was particularly alluring, and the woman Garrett was eyeing seemed to be alone.
Unfortunately for Garrett, and subsequently me, after a few moments, a man came up to the woman and stood next to her. They talked for a while and seemed comfortably intimate, but Garrett had decided that she was worth a shot and when he settled on his stance, he was not easily deterred.
“I’m gonna go talk to her,” Garrett told me as soon as the man she was with got up and walked away.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? She looks pretty taken to me,” I answered, trying to grab his bulging arm as he passed but he shrugged me off.
“Shut up, pussy! It’s worth a shot,” he beamed, “Maybe that woman is only with him because she doesn’t know she has better options.”
“Meaning you?” I quipped.
“Hell yeah, me!” Garrett hissed, sounding slightly insulted before he took off in the direction of the woman.
I sat back and watched. Garrett was a real ass when he was drinking, and even for his size, he had downed a lot in the time we had spent here.
I was buzzed, myself and knew that it would be wise to call an Uber, but I certainly wasn’t done drinking yet.
Though, as I watched him approach the woman, something told me that this was the beginning of the end of our night.
So, while I sat back and watched the show, I ordered a few more shots and downed them easily, before Garrett even stumbled his way over to his mark.
As I felt the alcohol warm my system, I smirked at him, hoping my intuition was wrong.
I observed the interaction, which hastily turned sour. I couldn’t hear what Garrett was saying, but from the look on the girl’s face, it was clear that she wasn’t buying what he was selling.
Yet, not wanting to be deterred, Garrett continued to lay on what I was sure he genuinely believed was charm.
Though, from the outside looking in, it was blatantly obvious that the girl was trying to let him down easy. I thought about going over there and trying to save Garrett from the train wreck he was spiraling toward, but instead, I decided it would be better to watch him crash and burn. He needed to be knocked down a few pegs, in my humble opinion.
Eventually, after a lengthy, somewhat desperate exchange, the woman grabbed her drink and strutted away.
Red in the face, Garrett turned toward me and glowered as I tried not to burst out laughing.
When he returned to the empty seat next to me, he ordered another round for us both without saying a word about his obvious failure.
“She wasn’t into it?” I offered.
“Shut up,” he hissed as the bartender slid our drinks to us.
Garrett swiped up the drink before it even stopped moving and downed in in one slug.
I bit my lip to keep from howling with the humor that gurgled in the back of my throat long enough to bring the drink up to my lips and wash down the schadenfreude amusement that overcame me.
�
�Shut the fuck up!” Garrett insisted, glowering at me harder as he watched my lips inadvertently curl into a sneer.
“What? I didn’t say anything!” I insisted innocently, though the expression on my face revealed anything but virtue.
“You don’t have to,” he exclaimed and turned to order another drink.
Before it could arrive, however, there was a commotion behind us.
It didn’t take long for me to realize we probably weren’t going to get the chance to enjoy our new round of drinks.
“Hey!” a pissed-off drunk guy called, and I watched Garrett tense as a sly grin crossed his features.
“Yeah?” he demanded as he turned around, narrowly dodging a punch.
Grabbing the guys hand and shoving it out of the way, he sprang to his feet and rushed toward the man.
Instantly, a hush fell over the bar as the patrons gathered to watch what was going on.
“Please tell me you weren’t trying to sucker punch me like a little bitch,” Garrett insisted, now right up in the man’s face as he backed against a high-top table.
“You tried to pick up my girl!” the man insisted, narrowing his eyes defiantly at Garrett.
“Yeah, and she said no. That shoulda been the end of it,” Garrett replied, and I couldn’t tell if he was actually trying to control his anger or if he was simply building up his rage.
Whatever it was Garrett did caused the man to second-guess his decision to take him on, so he raised his hands in surrender.
“Alright. Alright, I don’t want any trouble,” the man decided.
“You shoulda thought about that before you tried to hit me, you son of a bitch!” Garrett screamed, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt and throwing him into the bar.
That seemed to be the breaking point in the mounting tension because as soon as the first initiation into the fight was completed, all hell broke loose.
The men who were accompanying the man recovering from being slammed against the bar snapped into action, fighting to come to the man’s aid.
However, inevitably, one of the moron’s hit the wrong person, and it developed into a chain reaction almost instantaneously.
One moment, the beef was strictly between the boyfriend and Garrett, but as soon as there was any kind of outside instigation, the whole bar ignited in a raging frenzy.
I had always known that at its core, humanity was prone to violence, but seeing it in action was always intriguing to me.
No wonder it is so easy to manipulate people, I thought as I watched the craziness that ensued before me.
After a moment, I decided that I needed to help Garrett. It wasn’t like he needed the help physically, but I did need to show him that I had his back.
So, I slunk off the chair.
When I stood up to help defend my friend, I was hit with the full effects of the alcohol. Instantly, I knew I had consumed far more than I had originally thought.
However, as the fight started and the buzz I felt previously jetted down into outright drunkenness, I was revving to go.
I let out a wild laugh and ran toward Garret, who was easily defending himself against the man and his band of pipsqueak friends who were attempting to protect the girlfriend’s honor.
I grabbed one of the bigger guys by the shoulder, tore him around, and socked him in the mouth. He went down immediately, but my involvement now prompted two others to think they could take me.
Dodging them both easily, I was able to get to a point where I used their momentum against them and banged their heads together, causing the two to stumble backward.
I roared with humor and triumph as I gazed around the bar, looking for someone else to hit when suddenly, everything got quiet.
Everyone in the bar stopped what they were doing and backed away as though they hadn’t let the animalistic need to conquer overtake them.
I turned around to see what authority had prompted the bar patrons’ return to civility and noticed that the police were swarming the bar. By that point, the only people who were left screaming were the policemen, demanding who had started the fight and the bartender, trying to hurriedly explain what happened.
Low and behold, it didn’t take long for everyone in the bar, including the dick who had attempted to throw the first punch, to oust Garrett and me for being the troublemakers.
To be fair, the bartender was trying to tell the story appropriately, but since Garrett scared the hell out of everyone there, it was the two of us that the police decided to take into custody.
“You and you! Come with us!” the lead policeman called as another one grabbed my arm.
Not wanting any trouble with the police, I easily put my hands up and allowed the officer to lead me outside where Garrett and I were handcuffed and read our rights.
“You are being arrested for public intoxication and disorderly conduct,” the police officer explained as we were guided into the squad car.
“Damn…” Garrett insisted when the door slammed shut behind us, “That was fun! I hadn’t had a good brawl like that in years.”
“Yeah…We kicked ass too!” I offered, even though the sobering reality of what we had done started to kick in, before being washed away by another wave of intoxicated giddiness.
“Hell yeah, we did!”
Dammit! My dad cannot know about this! I thought, but in my drunken stupor, knowing that we had won the fight, I knew there was nothing more I could do now, so I might as well sit back and enjoy the ride.
Mazie
I awoke to the sound of my cat, Mittens, purring in my ear. She was a lean kitten, despite her affinity for food, but the way she sat on my stomach made her feel like a weight bearing down in exactly the right area to cause extreme discomfort.
Mittens was a spoiled cat but she was all mine, and I loved her dearly.
However, on this particular morning, I was far too tired to want to get up after working late grading projects of my second-grade class.
I had put off grading until the night before I wanted to hand them back and swore, once again, that I would never do that again.
Sleepily, I swatted my hand toward Mittens, who took it as an invitation to play and caught my fingers.
“No…” I moaned, rolling over and letting out a heavy breath, which incited a hiss of protest from Mittens. “Alright, alright…I’m getting up,” I told her lazily as I felt her swat at my hair and run her long body against me, purring with encouragement.
I grinned and opened my eyes. The cat was only inches from me, staring at me intently.
“Good morning to you too,” I insisted, shaking my head and sitting up.
Sweeping my feet off the side of the bed, I slid into my slippers, grabbed my robe, and fastened the satin belt around my waist before making my bed.
Mittens purred in an aggravated fashion as she strolled back and forth across the covers, swatting them with annoyance and trying to undo everything I was accomplishing while I tried to make it perfect.
I was a stickler for perfection, and perhaps that was a bad thing. I knew that my insistence caused a lot of unneeded stress in my life, but having the ability to make something look nice was a virtue to me.
I huffed, pounding my fists into my sides before grabbing the cat and putting her on the floor.
“Just a minute, Mittens. The quicker I get this done, the quicker we can eat.”
As if she understood what I was saying or, more likely, was tired of waiting for me, she meowed loudly and ran out of the room.
I turned my head to watch her nearly silent form scurry away and shook my head before returning my attention to my still unmade bed.
Once my bedroom was finally back to my satisfaction, I walked into the kitchen.
I grabbed the cat food out of the cabinet, took the measuring cup out of the bag, scooped out the exact amount of her allotted food, and set the bowl down inside its holder.
Mittens nearly attacked the bowl as though I hadn’t fed her in weeks.
I
rolled my eyes and looked at the clock. I was right on time, so I hurried to the laundry room to empty the litter box before starting my coffee and taking a shower.
When I had finished getting dressed, I returned to the kitchen to see that Mittens was already fast asleep in her designated spot by the bay window. Since she was always there when I left as well as when I came back, I figured it was a safe assumption that she sat there waiting for me.
I wasn’t sure if she even moved throughout the day, but it didn’t matter. We had our routine, and it seemed to suit us both.
After watching the news while enjoying my coffee and a blueberry scone, I checked the calendar to make sure I wasn’t missing anything important, returned the television remote to its rightful spot and grabbed my keys off the hook.
“Goodbye, Mittens…I’ll be back later,” I called to the cat as I left the house.
Mittens didn’t seem to care.
It took exactly fifteen minutes to drive from my small house in a quiet, residential development to the school.
I made it there a half hour before classes started and used the time to organize the room, set up for the day’s activities and mentally prepare to be the best educator I can be.
Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to be a teacher. I enjoyed learning myself, and as soon as I was able, I started to tutor others. I loved the ability to help people learn since school came so easily to me and wanted to share the wonder I felt with the world.
After college, I bounced around a few grades, ranging from kindergarten to fifth, but eventually settled on second grade.
That was a few years ago, and I had never once desired to teach anyone else.
Every day I went to work was a positive experience.
I enjoyed the age of the kids as well as the subject matter I taught them. The wonder and exhilaration for learning were inspiring.
The transformation I watched take place in the children, year after year, was amazing and after working with a range of ages, I was sure that I wouldn’t be able to get such satisfaction from trenching any other grade.
After the classroom was settled into what I deemed a satisfactory state, I went to my desk and started to take the projects I had graded out of my satchel.
