by Allen, Jacob
But almost all of them never slept with me more than twice, and most of them only hooked up with me once. They merely wanted to be “in the circle,” and as soon as that happened, they moved on to Adam. It had gotten to the point where Nick had actually cracked the joke, “you meet them, and Adam greets them.”
I had to admit, this was for the best. If Adam slept with Jackie, the fists currently clenched and the feet currently digging into the ground wouldn’t remain inactive. They’d be flying through the air, seeking Adam’s face and gut out, and laying him out as quickly as they could.
“Jackie would never go for you,” I said as Adam walked by me, to his usual spot where he awaited Emily. “So nice try, but there would never be a meet-and-greet with her.”
“There is no one at this school who wouldn’t go for me,” he said with a cocky laugh. “I’ve just decided I found Miss Perfect, and there’s no reason to look anywhere else.”
What could I say to that that would hit back at him without mocking Emily? I liked Emily; I never had a bad word to say for her. Other than, maybe, she could do better than Adam right now.
But that was not going to happen. She was smitten with him, and if the Adam that treated Emily treated all of us, the school would be a much better place.
Instead, we just had to appreciate that Adam was actually a good guy for at least one person at this school.
Emily came by before I could say anything else, and as they did every moment that a teacher wasn’t leading a lecture, she planted a kiss on his lips. He lifted her up, causing her to giggle loudly enough that every student who wasn’t outside the campus grounds already had turned to her. I looked over my shoulder to see his stepfather and the school principal walking with his head down, trying not to look at his son making out with another student.
At this point, everybody would see me going to my piece of shit Honda Civic. Thanks to Adam’s little stunt, instead of being the first one off campus, I was now going to have to wait until I was the last one. I’d have to go to the library, get some work done, and wait until the sports practices began.
Ah, well. It was probably for the best anyways. Maybe I’d get to see Jackie and confront her about spilling the beans to Emily. Maybe I’d get to get her to ask me to Sadie Hawkins. Who knew? It could go in several directions.
Really, though, I guess I just should have been grateful that my return home would be delayed a little bit longer.
* * *
Even when I was the first one to peel out of the parking lot at Providence Prep, I almost never went straight home.
Most of my school days were spent heading to a Starbucks or a public library close to my home. If I could go someplace that I didn’t have to pay for a drink or food and I wouldn’t be known by my classmates, all the better. As it was, I think that where I was, there was one sophomore girl named Anna who lived in these parts. I think she played soccer, so Emily might have known her, but Emily and I weren’t friends anyways, so it wasn’t really anything I worried that much about.
I kept my home life and my social life as separate as possible. My friends didn’t need to know the shithole that my home was.
Hopefully, when I got home—when the library would close around eight in the evening—my father would already be passed out. I did not want to consider what would happen if he wasn’t. It would be painful enough as it was.
Man, though. It had only been the first day of my last semester in high school, and already, I’d established that Adam could—emphasis on could—be nice, but usually preferred to be a jackass; Emily and Adam did so much together that they might as well have put a ring on it; Jackie was sweet to my face and then spreading our conversation to her friends; and Nick was still moping about his lack of scholarship.
Nick was the only one I had any measure of sympathy for, but that probably had as much to do with his reserved nature as anything else. If he actually was as extroverted as Adam, I suspect I’d hate his fucking guts as much as anyone else.
But none of that paled to what was to come.
When eight o’clock hit, I looked for any excuse I could find to stay out a little longer. My father didn’t care when I got home, so long as when he woke up at 5 a.m., I was in bed, and as long as I kept my grades above a 3.75 GPA. I was going to accomplish the latter, even if I got straight C’s this semester, so the first was the only challenge.
But nothing came.
I texted Nick to ask what he was up to. He advised that he had a basketball game the next day, and he wanted to get a good night’s sleep—anything to try and capture that elusive scholarship that not many of us had the courage to suggest wasn’t coming.
I begrudgingly texted Adam, but he said he and Emily were out on a private date. I wanted to ask him when he wasn’t on a private date with Emily, but since I liked the girl, I just didn’t respond.
I went so far as to text Ryan, Adam’s little brother, but he never responded.
I guess it being the first night of the semester, I was very nervous for what my father might have up his sleeve. He liked to send a message on these nights. It was not a message I enjoyed hearing or feeling.
I actually went to my Civic and read in the parking lot until about 9:30 p.m., advising a security guard that I was not getting high, not meeting a hookup, and not taking shots of booze. The guard couldn’t quite believe that a white, rebellious-looking teenager in a piece of shit car like me would actually want to study, but I never gave him a reason to believe otherwise.
Eventually, though, sleep became a priority. I finished what little schoolwork I had for it being the first day, and if I tried to wait until midnight, maybe I’d increase my chances of avoiding my father in a drunken rage, but I wouldn’t make it through the next day without exploding at someone.
I turned my car on, much to the delight of the security guard coming around for a third pass, and began the slow ride home. I kept my fingers crossed almost the whole way.
It didn’t do any good. When I made the last turn before our gravel-and-dirt driveway, I saw a light turned on in my father’s house.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath.
Just move quietly. Maybe he’s passed out.
I turned off my high beams and lowered the stereo, which was playing some Disturbed song I didn’t recognize. I parked the car, let it settle for a few seconds, and then opened the door as quietly as I could. So far, so good. My father didn’t sit out on the front porch that often, but when he did, there wasn’t even a point to turning the stereo down. Those were the worst days.
I got to the front door, turned the handle quietly, and shut it behind me. I took off my shoes—
“You’re awfully late tonight.”
The slurred words came from behind me. My back arched in nervousness. I didn’t believe in God, but I sure as hell could have used him right about now.
I turned around, bit my lip, and folded my hands.
“I was studying at the library,” I said. “I was trying to get a jump start—”
“Shut the fuck up!”
I breathed slowly out my nostrils and bowed my head. I didn’t want my father to think that my facial expression meant anything other than total deference.
“You’re a fucking liar,” he growled.
I peeked up to see a bottle of Smirnoff Vodka by the side of his master chair. Shit. The days that he drank liquor always made him more aggressive, more combative.
More violent.
“You think I put all my fucking time into getting you into that school, and that you’re actually gonna work there? I know how you fucking are. You’re a slacker. I’ve seen your grades. We needed a 4.0.”
I didn’t dare correct him that we’d agreed upon a 3.75. Disagreement with him would only make things worse. If he said the sky was red, I not only agreed with him, I rushed to find evidence to support his claim.
“You fucking waste my money and my time,” he said. “So let’s try this again, you piece of shit. What were you doi
ng?”
I kept silent for a couple of seconds. Sometimes, my father would forget what he was talking about, or he’d just outright dismiss me, either out of boredom or some other reason.
“Are you fucking deaf? Is that why your grades suck so much?”
So much for that. It’s going to be a bad night.
“I was studying, I swear!”
“Really,” my father said, snorting. “Tell me what you studied.”
I took a deep breath.
“I was studying James Joyce,” I said. “I was studying calculus review. I was—”
“Uh huh,” my father said.
A long pause came as I waited for my fate. Would he let me go, warning me not to waste his time again—only for him to forget this encounter ever happened in the morning? Or would he knock me around some, taking out his anger on me?
I tried not to guess. I would either seal my fate or jinx it, and neither seemed particularly idea.
“Did you see your friends today?”
That would have been a nice question from any other parent. From my father, it was a goddamn trap. If I said no, then he’d ask me why I was avoiding them. If I said yes, even if it was just at school, that would be justification enough for him to hurt me.
I tried again to go silent for a few seconds, but when my father uttered my name with a rising voice, I gulped.
“In class.”
I felt like it was the safest answer I could give.
“What class?”
“PE.”
“Fucking PE?!?”
Shit. Shit. Shit!
“You signed up for fucking PE?!? Are you out of your goddamn mind? Am I paying for your sorry ass to—”
He stopped to let out a loud belch, but that was a mere speed bump for him.
“To run around in circles like a fucking duck!”
He stood up, and I knew I was screwed. He approached me with a raised hand, even as he staggered forward.
Some days, I really thought of fighting back. I thought of blocking his attacks and hitting him right back. I thought of walking out, telling him I was never coming back, and just figuring life out on my own. Sometimes, hell, I thought of trying to have an honest, come-to-Jesus conversation to try and understand him.
Not today, though.
Today, like most days, I just kept my head bowed, closed my eyes, and waited for it to happen.
His first slap across my face wasn’t actually that hard. He was staggering like a drunken fool, and the swipe actually knocked him to the ground. But I knew this wasn’t over.
“I give you the fucking greatest chance of your life,” he growled. “And you spend it in fucking PE class?!? No wonder your grades suck. You probably want to spend half your class shooting basketballs when you can’t even jump six goddamn inches!”
I tried not to let the tears fall. There was perhaps nothing worse short of fighting back. Tears were the easiest way for my father to call me a pussy, a bitch, a coward—words that all echoed in my head whenever I heard Adam call me “puppy.”
“Fucking Christ,” my father said as he rose. “Get the fuck out of my sight. Get to bed. I’m going to call your goddamn school tomorrow and demand you take something better than PE.”
I only needed to hear him say it once to bolt for my room. I didn’t need to prolong this horrid nightmare any longer than it was already going on. I’d already had a bad day—a day that seemed pretty good in comparison to this.
As soon as I got to the other side, I slammed it shut and locked it. I wasn’t in the clear yet, but since my room was further away than my father’s, he rarely made the trek down. He’d usually just head to his room and pass out.
I was probably safe. My father would forget this conversation by tomorrow. I’d get to stay in PE with Adam and Emily.
Which… may not have been a good thing, although it was the one place where Adam treated me like a normal human being.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
No one treated me nice. I was a poser wherever I went—a piece of shit masquerading as a son at home, and a poor kid portraying a rich confidant at school. There was…
There was only one person who treated me nicely and didn’t try and tear me down at every opportunity.
But I sure as fuck wasn’t good enough for her.
I wasn’t good enough for anyone.
9
Jackie
I wasn’t quite sure what to make of this first day of school.
On the one hand, it had gone off without that much of an incident.
On the other hand, that was some pretty effective whitewash optimism of the day on my part.
It had started with Kevin nearly going the route of the Christmas party all over again before I had to spend it with Adam and Emily staring in some sort of high school love story. Then Adam revealed my conversation. Then Kevin and I nearly came face to face again.
It was here that I made a decision that I regretted, if only because I felt so pushed back by the Broad Street Boys. I could understand that they may not have wanted to be my friend, but for Adam to betray a question I thought was asked in confidence hurt me. So I did the same back.
I told Emily what Kevin had said to me.
As soon as the words left my lips, I regretted it, I really did. I hated that I’d gone tit for tat over something as inconsequential as a question about understanding someone else. I hadn’t asked about Kevin’s greatest fear or his darkest secret. I just wanted to know why he treated me poorly.
And that allowed me to tell Emily about how he reacted so strongly when I said he needed love?
Yeah, it wasn’t the greatest first day of school. It also wasn’t helping me that every time I saw Emily and Adam kissing—so basically every moment I was with her, except in between our last two periods—I became a little jealous. It was petty, yes, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted what she had, and the person I wanted it with also pushed me away.
So when I got home and I finished my schoolwork around 9 p.m., I knew I desperately needed something from my parents.
I needed them to help me meditate to try and calm myself. I didn’t like being upset like this; it hurt my ability to treat others well and wish them a good morning.
My mother already had her rug and her candles set out; her meditating at this hour was a routine, not a response. She always invited me to join; some days, I was willing and eager. Other days, I just had too much work—to which she’d usually respond I needed it more than ever, but I just did my best to smile and thank her. Mom and Dad were wonderful people, but…
Well, I hated to say it, but a day like today made me wonder if their heads might have been a little bit too high in the clouds. I didn’t like to admit that, and I loved my parents, but maybe this was the beginning of my rebellious phase. It’d been kept in check for so long, but maybe every young person had to go through it at some point.
For today, though, what else could I do but try this to help?
I never had to ask my mother for permission to join. There was always enough space on the rug she laid out that both my father and I could join. My father was already quietly walking down the stairs, prepared to set up behind my mother. I sat in front of her, crossed my legs, straightened my back, and put my hands on my knees, palms face-up. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on my breathing.
It didn’t go very well.
I knew what my mother would say—meditation wasn’t something you “tried” to do well. You just did it, and things would get better from there. The fact that the events of the day kept popping into my mind, intruding on my ability to focus on my breathing, was just a part of the process. Of course a day like this would mean I couldn’t perfectly handle my meditation.
Of course, of course, of course.
If only I were as forgiving of myself right now as my mother and my idealized version of myself were. It would make life much easier.
The meditation lasted about fifteen minutes before I finally gave up and attributed
my poor meditating to the bad day. Both of my parents had their eyes closed. I wished I could find the peace that they had, but that was pretty hard when the peace I tried to spread got ignored and thrown back in my face.
Maybe my parents had it wrong. Maybe I needed to spread happiness wherever I went until someone said no, and then respect their wishes. Maybe, ultimately, that would be the thing that would allow them to find happiness on their own terms.
Right?
My father and mother opened their eyes almost at the same time. How they had gotten so good at coming together at the same time was something I could never understand but still admire. I prayed that whomever I married—and the more time that went by, the less clear that answer became—would be as synchronized with me as my parents were.
“I feel good,” my father said, rubbing my mother’s shoulders before me. “I’m going to go smoke upstairs. Would you care to join me, beautiful?”
My mother smiled as she closed her eyes for a few seconds, half relishing in the massage of her hubby, half still probably meditating in some way.
“I will be there momentarily,” she said. “Go ahead. I will join you momentarily.”
“Right on,” he said. “Jackie, you are welcome to join too.”
I smiled and thanked him, even though there was no way I was getting high. Providence Prep drug tested, a fact that my father seemed to forget from time to time. When he did remember, his response was some sort of mini-rant about big schooling wanting to control the youth in ways beyond just the classroom. The easiest thing to do was to just let him go on as long as he could, since fighting back on the topic only produced headaches and felt like running into a brick wall.
He stood, rubbed my mother’s head, and then disappeared upstairs. My mother waited for the sound of the rustling beads, then smiled and took my hand.
“Child, what’s wrong?”
“Hmm?” I said, playing dumb.
“I could sense your disquietude while we meditated and when I opened my eyes,” she said. “Your spirit is stirring and in need of help, but I am not for sure for what. What is happening in your world?”
