By GWHARGIS
You know the day it dawns on you, the possibility that your parents existed before you were born? It's like you're sitting there and it hits you. Your mom or dad, possibly both, were once your age.
After you've warmed up to the idea, your mind starts to wander. Was he or she just killing time until your birth? Did they have any idea how lucky they would be when they had a kid like you?
It's almost like the stages of any emotion. First stage...denial. Second stage...wonder. Third stage...questioning.
Then there's the final stage. And that my friend, is the really important one.
It's the stage where you start to nose around in the past. Ask questions that can bring answers you may or may not be ready for.
That's where I am right now. My name is Rory French. My dad is Dean French and he's not like any other dad out there. I'd put money on that.
Sometimes he's a complete stranger, hiding secrets that he'd rather I not know. But family shouldn't keep secrets. I just can't convince my dad to open up. He's hiding something and I have made it my mission to find out what he's hiding and why.
Up until I was in the first grade, I bought the whole stork thing. My dad told me that he'd been sitting on the porch on a really hot night in July when the stork brought me.
He was a pretty convincing liar as I recall. He started building up the story with idle details.
"Where'd I come from? How come I don't got no mom?"
"You just don't," he'd said. He cast a look over at me, like he was wondering if he could tell me something top secret. "Okay, Rory, sit."
He patted the porch step beside him and pointed to the skyline just above the trees. There's a creek that runs behind our house and my dad spends a lot of time looking at it. Maybe it helps him think, I don't really know.
But back to my original story. He looked at the sky and nodded his head slightly.
"It was July 17th, hot as hell and I was sitting out here drinking some lemonade," he said. "I was about to go inside, it being close to my bedtime, but I can see something up in the sky. Didn't look like any bird I'd ever seen before. Well, I watched it get closer and that's when I saw it had something hanging from its beak."
Daddy looked down at me and paused, making sure I was keeping pace with his story.
"This bird is flying lower and lower. It just barely clears those trees across the creek."
"What'd you think it was, Daddy?" I asked.
Daddy rubbed the back of his neck and looked at me with those dark eyes of his. The scar on his face gave him a mysterious air.
"You know I don't believe in aliens from outer space, but God as my witness, my first thought was a UFO."
My green eyes were probably as big as silver dollars, hearing my dad admit to that.
"Anyway, this bird keeps flying and now it appears to be aiming for me. Kid you not, I'd move a step or two to the right, the bird would curve to the right. I'd move to the left and that bird would follow suit. It was just about over me when it lets out this squawk and the thing hanging from his beak comes out. Now, Rory, I had no idea what he was dropping, so count yourself lucky that I didn't dive for cover. I just threw out my arms and there you were."
And that was the story of my birth. I believed it right up until first grade when some fifth grader on the bus listened to my story. Without so much as blinking this wise ten year old said, "Your old man's full of shit. Babies come out of a girl's cootchie."
I had no idea what a cootchie was, but I made the decision to have a man to man talk with Dad when I got home from school.
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By GWHARGIS
Saturday is the only day that is meant for sleeping in. Monday through Friday are for work or school, and Sunday is for church, football, or family. But Saturday is the day to turn off the alarm clock, pull the covers up over your head and do nothing.
"Ror, get up," Dad says after he throws open my bedroom door. "She'll be here at eleven."
I'm not good with words first thing in the morning. So all I can do is hold up my index finger. Sometimes it means one more minute, be right there, or I got your back. Today my dad takes it as an obscene gesture.
"Rory! Get up now."
My feet hit the floor before he gets to the end of the statement.
"Take a quick shower, then come out to the living room. We have to clean up."
I have never understood why I even have to be here when she comes by. She doesn't even notice me. All she does is stare at my dad with those big green eyes of hers while he fidgets nervously.
She is Kathleen Gedes, the woman who gave birth to me. I would say she is my mother, but nothing could be further from the truth.
"How long do you think she'll be here?"
Dad pauses at the door. There's a look in his eyes that I've seen before. It's the look of a condemned man.
"Couple of hours, I don't know."
"Well, I'm not gonna sit here for two hours while she moons over you."
Dad cuts his eyes at me in warning.
"You'll sit there until I tell you otherwise. Now go take your shower."
Two frozen waffles are in the toaster oven by the time I get into the kitchen. "Eat up, then wash the dish."
A few seconds later I hear the sound of the vacuum. Now my dad isn't cleaning the house to impress Kathleen. He's burning off nervous energy. Later, after she leaves, he'll walk down to the creek and toss rocks in the water. Like I said, nervous energy.
I forgo the plate and smear peanut butter on both, then press them together and eat it like a sandwich.
I tap his shoulder and he turns off the vacuum.
"Dad, what was Kathleen like before I was born?" He starts wrapping the cord around the hooks and doesn't answer me right away.
When he does finally answer he looks me in the eye and gives me the saddest smile I've ever seen.
"Same as she is now. A mannequin, an empty, beautiful mannequin."
Most fathers would try to sugar coat the truth, not Dean, not my dad.
My dad says there is no favor in sugar coating anything. He says that sweetening the truth may let it go in easier, but it will still leave a bad taste in your mouth.
Today is going to be uncomfortable. Not just for me, but for my dad as well.
My dad's hands shake all the time. Some days a little. I mean you wouldn't even notice unless you knew what to look for. Today his hands are going crazy.
Dad's an alcoholic. He says it's like having the devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. The problem is the angel keeps flying away, leaving the devil to whisper in your ear.
His father was an alcoholic and from the few stories I've heard, he made my dad's childhood miserable.
My granddad doesn't strike me as a bully, but I saw some pictures of Dad when he was younger. There was always some bandage or cast on him. He had a sorrowful look on his face in each picture.
It makes me sad that my daddy doesn't know Granddad like I do. I bet if he did, he'd really like him.
"Rory, go sweep the porch off, will you?"
I leave him, knowing that the answer I just got, is the most information I'm going to get.
I'd no sooner swept the bottom step when I see a sports car leading a trail of dust towards the house.
"Kathleen's here," I call over my shoulder.
Out of the darkened interior I hear my dad answer flatly. "Yippee."
| Author Notes | Feedback welcome. Thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
My daddy never withheld any information about Kathleen. When I first started asking about her, I had this odd notion that she was a mystical princess. I told myself that she was under a spell and she just didn't recognize me.
That was a long time ago. I now see her for what she is...not right in the head.
"Hey, Rory, your daddy inside?" she says as she walks up the steps. She pats my shoulder like I'm the gardener who's done an acceptable job.
"Go on in, Kathleen."
Despite knowing she isn't right in the head, her response to me is like a little pinch.
Her sister, Cecilly, comes up the steps after her. Cecilly likes me. She'll occasionally send me a birthday card, slip a fifty in a Christmas card and forge Kathleen's signature on it.
"Rory, you get taller every time I see you."
"Hey, Cecilly. How are you doing?"
"I'm good, still working, thank God."
Discussing work with Cecilly is awkward. Work for her consists of a G-string and a pole. If you aren't paying attention, it means she's a stripper. She works in D.C. at a gentlemens' club. She has a special act that draws a huge crowd. It's a sister act, and don't bother answering when I ask if you can guess who the other dancer is.
"That's good."
Cecilly laughs and ruffles my hair.
I lean on the broom and then reach for the door. Cecilly peeks inside, sees my dad and steps back. "I'll wait in the car."
She hates my dad and he returns the favor.
"Kathleen, I'm not coming to see you," Dad says as he sits on the edge of the couch. He looks my way for help. "Rory, tell her about basketball."
"You should have been a basketball player, Dean," she says, not so much as looking my way.
He rolls his eyes. "I need to go in the other room for a minute, Kathleen. Here's an idea, talk to your son."
I wait, leaning against the wall in an awkward limbo. At last she looks at me.
"So, Rory, your daddy seeing anybody?"
"Nope."
Her face lights up. "I got men asking me out all the time. I always say no, cause my heart still belongs to Dean."
"He'll be glad to hear that," I mutter then glance at the kitchen clock. Fifteen minutes down, one hour and forty-five minutes to go.
Like I said, it's going to be a long afternoon.
Dad decides we can go to town for pizza after Kathleen leaves.
He stood down by the creek for over an hour, hurling rocks into the dirty brown water. Kathleen's visits, though they are few and far between, are very traumatic for both of us.
"I know you don't want to talk about her, but why does Cecilly hate you so much?"
"Because I was never one to kiss her ass."
He offers nothing more, so I know it's time to push. "What does that mean?"
He waits until the waitress puts our drinks down and walks away before he continues to speak.
"Women like Cecilly use their looks and their bodies to get things. Money, cars, attention. And your Aunt Cecilly used to be quite a looker. Men fell all over themselves when she was around. I never did."
"Dad, come on, Uncle Albie and Miss Denise said you put the move on anything with a pulse."
He glares. He hates it when I get my information from them. Albie ain't blood kin but he's the closest thing I have to an uncle.
"I never said she didn't get my attention, all I said was that I didn't kiss her rear."
Just in case you haven't figured it out, my dad is a smart ass. I say it with the ultimate respect.
For as long as I can remember I have dealt with teachers at school who get this look of fear or disgust when they find out Dean French is my father. I used to ask him what it was that he did to make most teachers hate him, but he'd always shrug off my question.
"Sometimes all you have to do is be yourself, Rory. That pisses people off when they want you to fit into a certain category."
Maybe that meant something to him, but I got absolutely nothing out of it. A smart ass, Dean is, a philosopher he ain't.
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By GWHARGIS
There is one slice of pizza and my dad pushes it towards me. "It's all yours."
"Thanks," I say and as I'm reaching for the piece, I see a girl from school walking in.
Not just any girl, no sir. This is THE GIRL from school. Her name is Cassie Willows and she is the most beautiful girl alive. She must feel me staring at her because she looks over and waves at me.
Of course, my dad catches it and he gives her a creepy once over.
He turns to me and grins. "Close your mouth, Rory. You're drooling."
"Hush."
"So, who is she?"
I sigh. Just thinking about her makes me feel weird. "Cassie. Cassie Willows."
He won't stop looking over at her. "Who's that she's with?"
For the first time I notice the others who are with her at the table. A lady with a n orange tan and weird colored hair is wedged in the booth. She is actually oozing out of her shirt. The man is balding and looks grumpy.
"I guess it's her mom and dad."
My dad is frowning and won't quit looking over at Cassie's table. "Damned if she doesn't look familiar," he says more to himself than to me.
"Dad!" I hiss.
Cassie looks over and sees my dad staring so she gets up and starts heading to our table.
"Stop staring, Dad," I whisper, hunching down so she won't see me talking to him. I sit up just before she gets to us. I try to feign surprise but know she isn't buying it.
"Oh, hey, Cassie, how's it gong?"
"Fine," she says. She's so pretty with this thick dark hair that is shinier than anything I've ever seen. I sit right behind her in Biology and every time she moves I get this whiff of her perfume. "Is this your dad?"
"Uh, yes," I say, shooting him with a warning glance that says 'don't embarrass me'. "Dad, this is Cassie Willows."
"Nice to meet you, Cassie." He nods and for some odd reason, he doesn't seem as impressed with her as he should be. He looks past her and studies her parents again. "Those your folks?"
"Yes sir."
"They look familiar. What are their names?"
Cassie smiles with her impossibly white teeth and I feel my knees go weak. "Heather and Dolan."
"Heather. She a local girl?"
Cassie smiles. "Born and raised here in Patterson. Her dad used to own Fuller's Drug Store."
I don't know if Cassie saw it, but I sure did. My dad's eyes went wide for a split second, then the surprise was replaced by a troublesome gleam. "Heather Fuller is your momma?"
What happens next is abrupt. He digs out his wallet, slaps two twenties on the table and stands up. "Time to go, Rory."
He smiles a Cassie and inclines his head toward her curious parents. He does this horrible whistle thing to get the waitress's attention.
"I guess we're leaving," I say.
"That's too bad. I was hoping to go see a movie and my parents don't want to go."
Is she asking me out? Oh my gosh, I think she's asking me out. Cassie Willows wants to go to the movies and she wants to go with me. I don't know what's playing, nor do I give a crap. The thought of sitting in the dark theater with her is unreal.
"Rory, grab your jacket."
"But I'm not finished." How could he not have heard that little exchange between Cassie and me.
"Too much cheese will make you constipated," he snaps.
Cassie bites her lip and gets this little pouty look on her face. Her thick hair all slides forward.
Dad nods impatiently toward the door.
"See you at school, Rory," she says, then walks back to her table.
I fume in silence all the way to the truck. When Dad doesn't take notice I decide to clue him in.
"Are you kidding me, Dad?"
"What?"
"She was asking me out."
He unlocks the truck and slips behind the wheel. "Maybe next time."
I have to keep myself from slamming my head against the dashboard. He couldn't be that thick, could he? Did he not see her? Girls like Cassie are rare. Did he have any idea how many times I came close to reaching out with my unworthy fingertips to touch her hair?
"This was the girl of my dreams, Dad."
He starts the truck and puts it in reverse. "I thought the same thing about her mother."
When the image of the woman at Cassie's table finally materializes in my mind I wonder just how desperate my dad was.
| Author Notes | Feedback welcome. Thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
His words usually don't shock me. I've grown up hearing the raw truth from Dad for as long as I can remember. And when he wasn't telling me the raw truth, he'd tell me point blank, it wasn't my concern. But to hear him tell me that he used to have a crush on that, squishy looking lady, about made me sick.
"Her mother, really?"
All that comes to mind is a teen aged version of the squishy lady. "Gross."
"Shit, Rory, she didn't look like that when we were in school. As a matter of fact, she was prettier than little Miss Cassie."
That was hard to believe, the lady I was thinking of looked like she would have exploded if you stuck a pin in her. "Seriously?"
"Yes, believe it or not, she was hot."
"So, did you like her or something?"
"Or something, sure. But she was stuck up. As you well know, having the last name French usually closes more doors than it opens."
I feel a little sorry for him. "So, she wouldn't give you the time of day, is that it?"
Without skipping a beat, Dad grins. "She gave me a whole lot more than the time of day. But I didn't want a girlfriend and she didn't want to be seen in public with a redneck."
This is sick to admit, but I picture my dad and Cassie's mom for a brief but agonizing second. I can picture my dad younger, because we have pictures around the house, but all I can manage to see is the bronze jello-like lady who was wedged into the booth back at the pizza place.
"Don't even go there," Dad says. My guess is that he knew what I was thinking about when he saw the disturbed look on my face. "She didn't look like she does now."
"I'll take your word for it," I say, settling back into the seat. I look over at him. He was only eighteen when I was born. Now he's thirty-three, but he's really kind of old manish. Grandma says he has always been like a reclusive old man. But it doesn't go with his image at all. He's pretty good looking, at least that's what he tells me. But I'm guessing there's some truth in it, because women are always falling all over themselves when he comes around. It's like he doesn't like girls or maybe he's afraid of them. He says it's because they like to play silly games.
He doesn't date, not really. He hangs around Albie and Denise, and his sponsor, Charla. I like her. She's sharp and when I was littler she was the closest thing to a momma I had. But when I'd tell my dad that he would remind me that Charla was a good friend to us, but she wasn't my mom.
To further give you an example of how old man-like my dad is I'll tell you what I saw when I came home from school the other day. There he was sitting on the porch whittling.
"Dad, what the devil are you doing?" I asked him.
He held up this wonky looking bird and turned it around slowly for me to see. Then he looked me in the eye and said this. "Rory, I need to keep these hands busy and I can only think of one other thing that would interest me," he said, then his lip curled up into his trademark smirk. "And I can't very well do that out here, now can I?"
Remember how I said my dad isn't like other dads? Well, there's your proof.
| Author Notes | Feedback welcome |
By GWHARGIS
My dad doesn't smile much. At least not in the traditional sense of the word. He grins, he smirks, he gets 'cheeky', as my grandma says. And his smirk is just a lopsided grin. My dad could pass for one of those Hollyweird bad boys. You know the kind that do every bad and illegal thing possible, yet they still end up with the girl.
Even his name sounds cool. Dean. It sounds lawless. Say it and what comes to mind? Attitude and swagger.
Say my name. Rory. What comes to mind? Tall, goofy, and bug eyed.
I got Kathleen's eyes, big and green. What works on a woman, doesn't always transfer to a guy.
People in school tease me about my eyes. That and my hair which is wavy and looks like it's highlighted. I haven't...ever. My dad isn't too keen on the whole metrosexual thing.
Guess what Rory means? Red haired man. Isn't that the most pathetic meaning for a name ever?
My mom and my dad were both pretty set in the looks department. So what happened to me? I'm six foot tall, still growing, as far as I can tell. Can't get my weight to catch up to my height yet. Have bouncy hair and eyes that look like they belong on traffic lights. Life isn't fair.
Dad tells me to relax.
"You're only fifteen. It's true, you may never look as good as your old man, but you'll get close." He winks as he says this. But suppose he's wrong? Suppose I look like this for the rest of my life?
The only positive thing about being tall is playing basketball. I love to play B-ball. I was going to try out last year but Taylor made me doubt myself so I chickened out after the first day of tryouts.
Basketball is tough. The workouts and practices are hard. But I have learned a lot. One of those things is that I'm pretty good down low.
I go into my room and stretch out on my bed. If I really push it and straighten out my fingers and extend my feet, I can almost touch the opposite walls. That should tell you how small my room is.
I never noticed how tiny it is, until one of my friends came over to spend the night. We were getting ready for bed when he looks at me and says, "How come your dad makes you sleep in the closet?"
My dad thought it was hilarious, but he doesn't understand the hierarchy of the whole high school social ranking.
Monday morning I see Cassie Willows and her flock of followers, in the hall at school. She has this green sweater and some black pants on. Her pants are tucked into these shiny black leather boots that come way up over her knees.
She looks good. I mean she looks some kind of good, and she knows this.
I look over at her and smile, hoping she'll feel a little of that connection from Saturday night.
I hate to admit this, but I'm not seeing anything even remotely resembling Saturday night. Instead, what I am seeing is her giggling and pointing over to me. She covers her mouth with her hand and says something else, then the whole group of girls burst out laughing.
I try to see her looking like her mother. I do my best to see a chubby version of Cassie, spray on tan and ill fitting stretchy clothes. But I can't. I can only see the pretty girl she is right now. I see this pretty girl and imagine her telling her friends about how stupid Rory French was hanging on her every word. She has probably added in details about my dad freaking out and rushing us out of there.
Cassie is part of the elite level in the dog eat dog world of high school. I'm not really sure what level I'm on, but I do know that today, I, Rory French, am on the menu.
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By GWHARGIS
Taylor Welch sits next to me in Biology. He's pretty smart, except when it comes to keeping a low profile.
Sometimes you can look at a teacher and tell just what kind of mood they are in. But unfortunately, Taylor loves to argue and he has the tendency to argue with people, teachers included, over things he doesn't even understand.
Today, for instance, he argues with the teacher about cell mutation. He says it is caused by human contamination. He's so adamant about his opinion, that the teacher finally announces we now have a project. The teacher says that we have to prove one of two theories about cell mutation. Either cell mutation is caused by human contamination or that it is evolution.
She splits us into groups of five. My group consists of Taylor, Alicia Dumbrowski, Cassie, Reid Willoughby, and me. In other words, a loud mouth, a snotty girl, a beauty queen, a mean kid, and me. There isn't a smart kid in the mix.
I feel like wringing Taylor's neck, but he doesn't have a clue he did anything wrong.
"Nice going, asshole," Reid mouths. He isn't a big kid, but the odds aren't in your favor if you piss him off.
"This'll be a piece of cake," Taylor says as he leans back in his seat, arms folded across his chest.
My dad says you can tell a lot about people if you pay attention to their body language. He calls it posturing.
For instance, when I put my hands in my pockets while he's ragging on me, he says he knows I'm guilty of the crime.
Taylor's body language tells me one thing- he doesn't think he's going to be doing much of the work.
"How about this? We meet at Willoughby's house Thursday night, do some research and knock this thing out," Taylor says.
"I don't want you people at my house," Reid says. He has this scowl on his face that lets me know he ain't sugar coating it.
"For God's sake, Willoughby, you have the biggest house. Ergo, there'll be enough room for us to split into sub groups," he says, eyeing Alicia coolly.
"Ergo, eat shit, Welch. You're not coming to my house."
I hold up my hand and look from one face to another. "Why not meet at the library. They have the books, computers, everything we need."
Everyone with the exception of Taylor seems satisfied with that. It would be perfect for our research, but with the way he's looking at Alicia, I don't think he's too concerned with the project.
Mrs. Wilton starts writing the requirements on the board and Cassie turns to look over her shoulder at me.
"And Rory French saves the day," she says, then tosses all that shiny hair onto my desk.
Man, I love Biology class.
My dad works all week at the lumber yard, and on Thursday nights, he does simple maintenance at the power plant. He loves the lumber yard, because he is outside most of the time. The power plant he hates. He says it's run by idiot monkeys but the pay is good.
I'm a lot like my dad. I have never been an inside kind of guy. I don't really enjoy video games and we don't even have a television. I know, people think I'm lying about that, but it's true.
He leaves for the power plant in an hour so I suggest we take the row boat out on the creek.
"You don't have time for fishing, do you?" I ask.
He grabs his jacket and shakes his head. "You go on and grab a jacket. It's chilly out on the water."
He lifts the old boat and starts to drag it down the bank to the water. "How's school?" he asks.
"Good. Taylor opened his big mouth and now we have to do a science report, but other than that, it's all good."
I see him struggle with the boat and quickly grab hold of the edge. "Let me carry it," I say.
He brushes the dirt off of his hands on the sides of his navy blue work pants.
"Fine with me."
We push off from the shore and pull up the oars. "How old is this boat, Dad?"
He squints. "I remember my Pap finishing it when I was eight or nine."
"How come you never bought a new one?"
"Now, why would I do that? There ain't nothing wrong with it."
I can't believe I have to point out the obvious. "It's old."
He laughs. "So's your grandma. Want to toss her out too?"
I hate when he tries to make me feel foolish. "Well, how come you won't, at least, paint it?"
The tell tale signs of impatience shows up on his face. "If you think it needs painting, Rory, then by all means have at it."
"Dang it, Dad. Grandma says you don't think anything needs painting or replacing. She said you got all pissy when she replaced the carpet in the house when I was a baby."
I was trying to be as gentle as I could while letting him know he has a problem with change.
"Your Grandma Carolyn talks too much. The sooner you learn that the better off you'll be."
We row out to where the creek opens up and I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He looks out at the water, his eyes taking in the shoreline beyond us. There's an early evening fog that hovers over the grasses and reeds that poke out of the shallows.
"If I won the lottery, I'd buy up all that land over there," he says, pointing at the overgrown landscape.
"Build yourself a big house?"
Dad shakes his head. "I wouldn't build a damn thing on it." He pauses and looks at me, a wicked grin on his lips. "I'd just buy a new rowboat and row out here to look at it."
"Wise investment," I mutter.
He winks at me and grabs an oar. "Come on, I gotta get to work."
I don't understand my dad sometimes. Why would he want to buy a weed lot, when there are so many things out there that could make him happy.
| Author Notes | Feed back welcome. |
By GWHARGIS
I do a little research on the computer before I go to bed. It's all really confusing because one line seems to contradict the next. After writing down several vague notes I go to sign out. But something stops me. I Google Kathleen's name.
Not sure what I expect to see but when I read the headers I wish I hadn't. There are eleven possible choices. Green eyed vixen, show stopper. Dynamic duo - sister act.
I click on show stopper and there she is. All this wild looking auburn hair spilling down, barely covering her naughty bits. She's wearing this tiny bikini thing that evidently is a patriotic nod. The kicker is Nightingale's Gentleman's Club seems really proud of the fact they let military men in for free. My guess is Kathleen thinks she's doing her part by wearing the red, white and blue sequined thong and looking at the camera with a seriously, um, un-patriotic look.
Her picture makes me very uncomfortable. It makes me feel almost guilty. They say that every picture tells a story. One thing I know, I don't want to hear the story that goes along with this picture.
The smell of coffee wakes me. It's still dark outside and I check my alarm clock. It's almost five in the morning. I get up, get dressed and go down the hall. My dad is on the couch, head leaned back and he's still dressed in the clothes he wore to the power plant yesterday. He must have come in awfully late, because I didn't hear him. I feel bad for him having to work two jobs. I know it's only once a week, but it's all he does. He never goes out, not to a movie or a ball game. Nothing. He has no life and it's kind of pitiful.
I take the afghan from the back of the chair and gently lay it over him. As I go to step away, I notice the cup that is wedged between the arm of the couch and the cushion. The smell of pine solvent, or something like it wafts up as I go to move it. But when Dad makes a groaning sound I smell it again. It's his breath.
The cup has little more than an inch in it, but it nearly burns my sinuses when I lift it up to sniff it. Without thinking, I dip my finger down into the cup and wet it. Then I touch my tongue. My tongue goes numb first, then it tingles.
Oh my God, my dad has been drinking.
A million and one questions come rushing into my head like a hurricane. What do I do? Who do I tell? Why would he do this? He made a promise to me when I was born. He's told me that story over and over. I wonder if I should call Grandma Carolyn. But I have a feeling that might make things worse.
What would have made him break his promise?
I don't smell the booze when I get home and the cup is washed and laying in the drying rack when I check. I hear his truck pulling up to the house and try to gather my wits about me. He's going to know I found the cup. Maybe he doesn't care, but I do. I just want to know why he took a drink.
He steps into the house and looks towards the kitchen. "How was school?"
"Good."
"Early practice today?"
I study him. He seems nervous and keeps breaking eye contact. He may think he's the king of body language but I'm a close second. He's hiding something.
"Dad, what was in the cup?"
His shoulders sag and he rubs the back of his neck. "Sit down."
He sits on the couch and stares first at the floor then he looks at me. "I just a had a splash of shine," he says.
"'Shine?" I repeat. That's what he used to call me, his 'shine baby. He says he was drunk on moonshine when I was conceived. So drunk that he doesn't even remember said conception.
"I didn't finish it, Rory. I'm not like I used to be. Don't go getting all bent out of shape over this. Promise me."
I nod, only this time I can't look him in the eye. Maybe because I already know I'm not going to keep it. Maybe that's the French way.
| Author Notes | Feedback welcome. Thanks |
By GWHARGIS
I can still smell the moonshine. Its aggressive scent and sharpness still linger in my mind. How could he drink that? My nose stung after I just smelled it, so how could he drink it? It makes me think that my dad isn't all there, either. I know he says Kathleen is nuts, but if he drank that garbage, then he's the pot calling the kettle black.
I have been warned by my Grandma Carolyn that I have the gene. Like if I was to maybe take a drink, I'd flip some switch and never be able to turn it off. I don't believe that kind of stuff. I think I inherited my height and skinniness from my dad, and my hair and eyes from Kathleen, but I don't buy in to inheriting poor choices as part of the gene pool.
I'm still wrestling with the decision to call my grandma and tell her about dad. But I'll wait and see if he was telling the truth about it being a one time thing.
When I was younger Grandma Carolyn took me to a meeting, Ala-something or other. It was in the back of the Presbyterian church and there were about eight or nine kids ranging from seven to about sixteen. These two men were leading it and I couldn't understand why I was there. Some of the kids were talking about their parents and how they got drunk and did hurtful or dangerous things. Then they all turned to me and waited. But I didn't have anything to say. I had never seen my dad drunk. So, all I could say was. "My dad is a nice guy."
One of the men said it was okay and that no one would judge me. All I could muster was the truth.
"My dad ain't tooken a drink since before I was born. He's a real nice guy."
They all just sort of stared at me, like they were disappointed.
My dad got really mad at Grandma Carolyn when he found out she'd taken me to the meeting. He looked her in the eye and said through clenched teeth, "He doesn't need that crap, Momma."
Later, she took me aside and admitted her mistake. "Maybe that wasn't the right group for you, Rory. I know your daddy's been sober for a long time, and I hope I'm wrong about this, but there will come a day when he'll be weak and you'll see a side of him that you won't like. I've been through this, Rory. I've been through it with both of them, but I didn't have any body to talk to."
I remember feeling like I was betraying him, by even listening to her. I had no reason to doubt my dad or his promise. At least, not until today. Today was a game changer. Grandma was right about one thing, I did need to tell someone.
Etienne Kristopher is my polar opposite. He's short and pudgy, while I'm tall and skinny. He has rosy cheeks and blond curly hair while I have dark auburn hair and olive skin. Still, Etienne is my friend and has been since he was born. He has this infectious laugh that usually ends with a snort. But more importantly, he is Uncle Albie's kid.
Uncle Albie will know, without a doubt, how to handle this. All I have to do is go hang-out over there.
Albie shows up Friday night to take me to their house for a sleepover. While I gather my stuff, Albie sits at the kitchen table with Dad.
"How's work?" he asks.
"So far, we're staying afloat. Most of the locals have stayed pretty loyal. But we'll see how long that lasts. Can't really compete with those big warehouse stores."
"I don't know, neighbor of mine just bought something from that place over in Iverton, said he spent more time trying to find someone to help him than it was worth."
"Did he buy from them?"
"Yes, but said he'd never go back."
Dad lifts his shoulder casually. "Saying and doing are two different things."
I wonder if Dad even realized the irony of his statement. Saying and doing are two different things. Amen.
| Author Notes | Feedback welcome. |
By GWHARGIS
Albie is pulling our pizza out of the oven when I finally gather enough nerve to talk to him.
"What's up, Rory?" he asks as he carries the pizza over to the counter. He's wearing an apron and try as I might, I can't ever picture my dad wearing something like that.
"I made the basketball team."
"Yeah, Etienne said that. Just make sure you tell him when a home game is. Denise and I will come cheer you on."
I shake my head. "I doubt I'll ever get to play."
He smiles and his blue eyes crinkle. "Then we'll chant from the stands. 'Rory! Rory!'"
"I don't think that'll work."
"Well, then I'll get the cheerleaders to start chanting for you."
"That'd be cool."
"Think it'll work?"
"Who cares. I just want to hear them say my name." I laugh.
It's funny, when Albie's around I don't feel so confused about things. He's like this big solid teddy bear. He is easy to talk to and fun to be around, but I know he has my back.
Albie winks and picks up the circular cutter. "You are definitely your daddy's kid."
While Etienne is in the shower, I go sit outside with Albie.
"Miss Denise working?"
Albie nods. "She'll be here around eleven."
There is no easy way to broach this subject. I've never had to deal with it and I'm starting to wonder if I should just let it go. But the more practical side of me, knows things don't go away just because you ignore them.
"Albie, when my daddy was drinking, what was he like?"
"Like a hurricane on two legs."
"He doesn't ever talk about it."
Albie lifts his ice tea and takes a slow sip. I know I've put him in an awkward spot. He probably feels like he's betraying my dad by answering my questions. And I feel like I'm betraying Dad by asking them. But I need to know. I have to know what category hurricane I'm facing.
"Your dad drank to escape. And he made sure he drank enough to forget everything."
"Were things really that bad when he was kid?"
Albie frowns and takes a deep breath. "Things were pretty bad, Rory. I know you love your grandpa, but he wasn't always a nice guy."
"So Granddad is the reason my dad drinks,uh, drank," I say, correcting myself.
"He was a big part." Albie looks over at me, and I know he's starting to sense something.
I'm going to let it go. I'll give my dad the benefit of the doubt. If he breaks his promise again, then I'll tell. He says he's not the same person he once was. I believe him. I can't picture my dad as a walking hurricane.
Albie isn't stupid, he knows these aren't just random questions.
"What's with the questions, Rory?"
"Just wondering, that's all."
I can tell he doesn't believe it. He regards me seriously. I should trust him. He's Dean's best friend, and he'll know what to do.
Swallowing the lump in my throat I finally give it up.
"He's drinkin' 'shine again, Albie."
With just that one sentence, Albie's face crumbles.
"Damn you, Dean," he says quietly.
| Author Notes | Feedback welcome. |
By GWHARGIS
Every time I pass by my dad I sniff him. The smell of the moonshine is something I will never forget, so I know I'll recognize it if I happen upon it again. I think I'm being pretty cool about it, but I guess not, because he yells at me.
"Rory, what in the hell are you sniffing around me for?"
"I- I wasn't. My nose is stopped up, that's all."
He laughs at me as I stand there red faced and stammering for words.
"You are a piss poor liar, Rory."
I look down, shoving my hands in my pockets.
"You were smelling for 'shine. Like I told you before, I'm not like I used to be."
"Grandma Carolyn says, once an alcoholic, always-," I say, but he cuts me off.
"Damn it, Rory. You didn't tell her, did you?" he says, slumping back in his chair like a kid who just found out there was no Santa Claus.
"No...but Albie knows." I say the last part quietly.
He looks even more stricken. "This is nobody's business, son. If I have a sip or two, it is my business - not anyone else's." He pauses then settles a leveling look at me. "Not even yours."
I can't deny his last remark hurt my feelings.
"I'm a grown man. I can handle my demons now. When I was younger I couldn't." He looks at me, his dark eyes full of surprising intensity. "Don't start stirring things up, Rory. You do not want to cross me." Though he says it softly, I feel a chill go down my spine.
"Yes, sir."
"Now, tell me exactly what you said to Albie. I want the truth. Tell me everything."
I settle into the chair facing him and start to tell him everything. When I finish, he nods.
"What did Albie say?"
I look down at my hands. My palms are sweaty and fingertips tingle. I feel like I did when I saw that picture of Kathleen on the computer the other night.
I feel guilty.
"He said, 'Damn you, Dean'."
"That's it?"
I nod.
My dad stands up and walks to the phone. "Go on and do your homework. I gotta try to fix what you messed up."
I skulk off to the safety of my room and turn on my stereo to drown out the sounds of his cursing. He always cusses when he feels trapped. And my dad feeling trapped is about as good as playing fetch with a rabid dog.
Grandma Carolyn comes over later, bringing leftovers for our dinner. She pulls out two plates from the cabinet and wipes them off over the sink like they have something on them. Dad says she does it because she doesn't think two guys can possibly know how to wash a dish.
My grandma is nice, a little peculiar, but then so is my dad. I've grown up with a weird family. Some people would say it's dysfunctional, but it isn't. It's just good old fashioned redneck weird.
Yep, I said it. I'm redneck born and raised. I'm the undisputed heir to the throne.
Dad says he's been called redneck for as long as he can remember. He used to hate it, until he realized there are a lot worse things to be called.
He doesn't hunt, fishes only once in a blue moon, doesn't have a jacked up truck. Doesn't even know what the Confederate flag looks like, I'm guessing. But he's a hard worker and loves the outdoors.
My grandma is the type to say "bless your heart", which could mean exactly that or 'fuck you'. It's a Southern catch all phrase. And she loves to treat my dad like he's helpless.
Now my Granddad is different. He doesn't say much at all. Sometimes when no one else is around, he'll talk to me. But mostly he just watches and smirks.
All of my life I've heard how mean he was, but I just can't picture it. Grandma blames the alcohol, and Dad doesn't like to talk about it at all. There are times when we are all together and it's like being too close to an electric grid. No matter which way I turn, I'm prepared for a shock.
I see something in each one of them that I can identify with, but there isn't one trait that runs deep through my veins.
My dad's tough, my grandma is a busybody, and granddad is a closed book.
If this is all I know, how come I'm so different?
| Author Notes | Feedback welcome |
By GWHARGIS
Cassie Willows grabs my arm as I'm about to walk into Biology. "Hey, French," she says and does a head toss, throwing her thick gorgeous hank of hair over one shoulder. "I think everyone wants to get together tonight."
"That sounds good to me."
"So, you think you can give me a ride to the library?"
This would be a dream come true, if it didn't involve my dad. Because it would be him picking us up and us sitting in the sawdust filled cab of his dirty old truck.
"I don't have my license yet."
"But I thought you were sixteen."
I shake my head. "Not until July 17."
She looks at me like I've popped her balloon. "But you're so tall, I really thought you were old enough to drive."
"No. But that's okay, my dad can take us."
She wrinkles her nose and cuts me off. "No, I'll just find someone else."
"Really, it's no trouble."
She's already surveying the room then scurries over to where Taylor is standing.
That's when Reid Willoughby walks up to me.
"She just blew you off." His words are like the extra dash of salt to the wound in my pride.
"She didn't really. She just wanted a ride."
"She only goes for older boys, you knew that, didn't you?"
"She found out I didn't have a license." My heart sinks as I admit this out loud.
"Don't worry, she'll hit on you again once you start driving."
I don't need a mirror because I can feel my face burning.
Reid pats my shoulder and nudges me towards the door. "No worries, French, she's a bitch."
I try to remember the fact that Reid hates everybody, but I can still feel the burning breeze from where she blew me off.
Albie and Etienne are at the house when I get home after practice. Their car is parked beside my dad's truck, and I can see Etienne sitting on the front porch eating a Swiss cake roll.
"Thank God you're here," he says then offers me the tiny smidgen of the remainder of Swiss cake roll he has left.
"Naw. Thanks though."
He pops it into his mouth and licks his fingers. "It's so boring here. How can you stand it?"
Now, I like Etienne but he can be a little whiny and that sort of thing seriously gets on my nerves.
"You only think it's boring because you can't play video games."
"No shit."
I frown. Since Etienne started middle school two yeas ago, he uses four letter words every chance he gets. "Can't you just say 'no kidding'?"
He shrugs. "Let's take the boat out."
It does sound like fun, but I'm tired and sore. I've been doing suicides and drills since three thirty where as Etienne's most strenuous activity was peeling the wrapper off his snack.
"Let me go change," I say as I move past him to go inside.
I'm just inside the front door when I hear Etienne. "So, your old man is hitting the bottle again, hunh?"
It sounds so harsh that I stop. I can't defend Dad, because it's true. I just don't want to hear Etienne saying it like it's a juicy bit of gossip.
I toy with the idea of rowing out to the middle of the creek and pushing Etienne overboard. I can see myself calmly rowing back to shore where I sit and watch him swim his fat ass back.
"Hey, go see how cold the water is," I say, my diabolical plan already starting to form.
| Author Notes | Feedback welcome |
By GWHARGIS
It seems that no one thought it was funny. And by the time Etienne made it to shore, he looked like he was going to cry.
"What possessed you?" Dad asks as he's sitting cross from me at the kitchen table. He's studying my face like he's never really seen me before.
"He was being all whiny and pissy."
"He's always like that. His daddy's like that sometimes. You don't throw him overboard and make him swim back to shore. You tell him to shut up."
I study my fingernails for a moment in order to halt the feelings of shame that are starting to accumulate. "He was complaining over nothing, so I gave him something to complain about."
Dad shakes his head. "After dinner, you call and apologize."
"No."
"Yes."
Even though I know I'm not going to win, I'm going down swinging. "He said this house was boring. He said he'd die if he had to live here." I lie. He did say it was boring, but I threw in the dying part for the hell of it.
"Rory, you tell me it's boring here all the time. What difference is it that he said it?"
"It just is." I look away, but I have to tell him what else he said. "He said you were hitting the bottle again."
My dad shrugs, but I can tell he's not happy hearing that. "Well, you know where he heard it from, don't you?"
"Yes, your best friend told him."
Dad cocks his eyebrow. "He heard it from you, Ror."
Emphatically, I shake my head. "I never told Etienne. I told Albie, in the strictest of confidence. Etienne was in the shower. I swear."
Again, he doesn't seem more than mildly concerned. "Kid was probably ease dropping on Denise and Albie, that's all."
Now I feel like a jerk. I should never have opened my mouth. I should have trusted my dad.
"Sorry," I mutter.
He sits up straighter and taps the table top. "No harm done. I do have one question though."
I wait.
"How'd you get him out of the boat, I mean, without flipping it?"
A wicked grin creeps onto my face. I may very likely go to hell for this but I'm proud of my resourcefulness. "Hit him in the ass with the paddle when he leaned over."
Dad looks away, trying to contain his laughter. "Go take your shower."
I do call Etienne to apologize, just like my dad wanted me to. He's pretty short and kind of an asshole at first, but eventually he's cool. He even ends up laughing about it.
After I hang up, I go out on the porch to say goodnight to my dad.
He's sitting on the railing, his jacket collar flipped up and his chin down.
"You done all your homework?"
"Most of it." I look up at the sky and I can see nothing but stars. Some are huge and sparkling like diamonds, while others are mere pinpoints, distant and faded.
"Amazing, isn't it?" he says.
"Sure is," I agree with him. I don't get all worked up about it like him but it is pretty awesome to see.
For some reason the thought of Cassie's mom and my dad pops back into my head.
"Hey, when you said you knew Cassie's mom- you didn't mean...you know?"
"Sex?"
"You didn't, did you?"
Dad puts his leg out on the railing, but doesn't look at me. "If I don't answer your question, are you gonna lie awake all night and wonder?"
Not real sure where he's going with this I shake my head. "No."
"Good," he says, then turns to wink at me. "Good night, Rory."
If there is one thing that I hate, it's asking a question then getting an answer without really getting an answer.
| Author Notes | Feedback welcome. |
By GWHARGIS
Coach tells Taylor and me that we just may get some playing time tomorrow night. I didn't play last season, so sitting the bench and staring across the court at the stands will be nerve wracking enough. I get the jelly feeling as I think about stepping on the court to really play.
"Don't get your hopes up, French," Taylor says, as he picks up my clean towel and swipes it underneath his sweaty armpits.
"Man," I mutter, then toss the towel back into my bag.
"You didn't play last year, so you may never ever touch the court."
"Taylor, I just heard him tell us we may play."
"Saying and doing are two different things. Last year he wouldn't put me in unless we had a huge lead and then he'd tell me not to shoot." Taylor leans against the row of lockers and props his foot on the bench beside me. I have to look away because he's wearing loose fitting boxers.
"Geez, move, I don't want to see your rod and tackle box in my face."
He merely keeps talking. "Me, not shooting, are you kidding me? If I'm on the court and I get the ball...it's going in the basket."
I slide down the bench into "ball-free" zone and shake my head. "If Coach tells me not to shoot, I ain't shooting."
"See, that's the difference between you and me, French. You play basketball, and I'm a basketball player."
My eyeballs ignore my brain command and roll upwards.
Cassie Willows grabs my arm as I head down the hall. "Hey, Rory. Have you done any research yet?"
"A little. Like a page."
"I am seriously pissed at Taylor for getting us into this," she says. Her lips are all shiny and pouty and I can't seem to stop looking at them.
"Have you done much?"
"No. I was hoping we could all just meet at the library today after school. If we put in a good hard hour of research we can finish this thing."
Her fingers slip through her hair and I watch as each strand falls.
"I'm fine with it, but I have to be back by 5:00 for late practice."
Taylor's mom lets us pile into her oversized SUV and drops us off.
We all settle down at a long table, removed from the few people who are reading or writing.
"Losers," Reid Willoughby says looking over each person.
"Hey, Reid, lighten up. Maybe some asshole got them in trouble and they have to do a research paper too," I say. Both Reid and I look at Taylor. "Hey, Taylor, go see if the librarian will look up any reference books. I'll tackle the science journals. Make sure you get the names and all that crap for references. Alicia is going to need that for her power point presentation."
Taylor nods and heads to the front desk.
"Hey, Rory, I was wondering if you'd help me. I'm not real good at this kind of stuff," Cassie says, with a little hesitation in her voice.
Just hearing her utter my name sends me into happy land. If she had just asked me for a kidney I would have cut it out myself. "Sure," I say without a second's hesitation.
Cassie smiles and air kisses me. Then she heads over to the magazine rack and picks up a fashion magazine. She returns with it and smiles sweetly at me as she settles into the seat next to me.
Taylor and Reid come back and sit down. Reid keeps looking at his phone and when I confront him about it he thrusts it my way.
"I can access the Internet on this baby. You'd know this if you lived in a house with running water and inside plumbing."
"I have both of those, smart ass. I even got one of them new fangled Computer things," I say as snidely as I can.
The librarian looks up sharply and waits until we get the hint and calm down.
Reid waves his phone in Cassie's direction. "How come she's not doing her part?"
"Maybe she has a fancy phone at home, Reid."
"Or maybe she has some idiot bumpkin to do her work," he mutters, but starts scrolling on his phone.
Taylor and I have to walk to the local ladies gym to catch a ride back to school. His mom is working out and her class doesn't end until 4:45. I leave Reid and Cassie at the library. I hope he doesn't say anything to hurt her feelings.
Very rarely do I get to the area known as Old Patterson Proper. It's the town square and the historical part of our county. It's where the first settlement was and there are still several colonial buildings that were built in the early seventeen hundreds. It's a really scenic part of the town, but the areas surrounding it are pretty iffy.
Taylor and I have to walk through most of the bad section. There are pawn shops, Patterson's one and only tattoo parlor and the ABC store. Driving by these places is one thing, but hoofing it through is a whole different experience.
I'm trying to look through the window of the tat shop, because I can see a girl getting ready to get one and part of me wants to see where she's planning to get it.
"Jeez, Rory, you act like you never see girls."
I look up to flip Taylor off when I see it. A marquee that should probably be emblazoned on my family crest is just beyond the block.
Llarado's Gentleman's Club. The stuff legends are made of.
| Author Notes | Feed back welcome. |
By GWHARGIS
Llarado's Gentle Men's Club has been a highly contested fixture in Patterson County since it opened its doors in 1973. My dad said he went into Llarado's once. He wouldn't tell me what he saw, but he did say that some things were best left to the imagination.
Anyway, I realize that Llarado's is just a couple of doors away from the tattoo parlor, and as my eyes adjust to the reflection from the window of the tattoo parlor I can see the marquee.
I look once, blink and look again. A very familiar name in big bold letters across the marquee gets my attention. BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND-CECILLY DIAMONDS featuring Kathleen Gedes.
My brain takes all of those letters in and processes them, but somehow forgets to tell my feet to stop walking. So here I stand, in the middle of the street staring slack jawed at the marquee. I can see the posters behind the Plexiglas frames that are by the door. Even from this far away, I see the poster of Kathleen with the American Flag bikini.
I hear Taylor snickering, "You are one horny son of a bitch."
"No way," I mutter. "You ever talk to anyone who's been in there?"
"My older brother and some of his friends used fake I.D.'s and got in , but somebody narc'd on them so they got thrown out in, like, ten minutes." Taylor stops talking and looks me dead in the eye. "Maybe we should blow off practice and try to sneak in."
I shake my head, but he grabs my sleeve and tugs me towards the club.
"Let's just go find your mom."
"Wait, French, I want to see the chick on the posters."
"Taylor, let's go."
But Taylor isn't the kind of guy who lets something go. He just forges ahead.
"Man, French, could she be any hotter." he says. It isn't a real question, because I don't think I could even try to answer it, if it was. "Look at that hair, I bet she doesn't dye it. It's the good red, not that ginger crap. And those eyes. Man, can you imagine looking down into those eyes. She's got a killer body...those are real. I know those are real." He taps the Plexiglas authoritatively and turns to tell me something else. "I am in love."
I can't answer, all I can do is stare. Taylor has fallen for Kathleen.
The telephone pole is covered in flyers about the dancers. Some were old and worn out flyers dating back to last year, but as luck would have it, Taylor happens upon the one new one, you guessed it, featuring Kathleen Gedes. I watch in horror as he pulls it free, folds it over and slides it into his notebook.
"I'll study this later."
All I want to do is throw up.
Dad can tell something is wrong when I get home after practice. He waits until he pulls the pizza out of the oven before he bothers to ask me about it.
"Something bad happen at school?"
"No. It happened after school," I say, a slightly irritated edge to my words. Even though it's not his fault, I'm angry with him.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
He cocks his eyebrow and I know it's going to be my only warning. "Rory, either tell me what got you in such a pissy mood or don't, but lose the attitude."
After taking a slice of pizza, I sit back in the chair and take a deep breath. "We have this research paper a bunch of us are doing at school. So we decided to go to the library this afternoon before practice. Well, Taylor's mom told us to come get her at some exercise studio, which we did," I pause to make sure he's keeping up. "Anyway, her studio is a few doors down from Llarado's. You know the exercise studio I'm talking about, don't you?"
"Rory, why would I know about a ladies' studio?"
"Well, like I said, it's a few doors down from Llarado's."
Dad smiles and nods his head. "Ah, so I take it the point of your story isn't about the ladies' studio, it's about Llarado's, which is a few doors down from it."
"They have a pretty attention grabbing marquee, did you know that?"
"Never paid much attention to it, to be perfectly honest."
"Well, they do. Guess what the marquee says?"
"Haven't got a clue."
"It says, Back by popular demand, Cecilly Diamonds."
"So, old Cissy's back."
"Featuring Kathleen Gedes," I say cutting him off, and finally getting the reaction I want.
He sets his slice of pizza back on his plate and even his bad eye seems to focus on me. "Son of a bitch, so that's what she meant."
"Oh my God! You knew?"
He gives me a look of warning. "She invited me to a show. I thought she was talking about where she works in D.C."
Now he looks stricken. He's miserable when she's around. He knows she isn't above showing up where he works or here. My anger dissipates when I see the look on his face.
"You really didn't know?"
"Nope."
Neither of us are very hungry now. He slumps back in his chair and I slump back in mine.
"Dad, suppose everyone finds out?"
"That she's your mother?"
I nod. People already think I'm some geeky weirdo from the boonies. This could very well be the final nail in my coffin.
"The people that matter will deal with it. The ones that don't...well, if it ain't Kathleen then it'll be something else."
I'd expect something lame like that from Grandma Carolyn, but not him. It just goes to show how out of touch he is.
| Author Notes | Feed back welcome |
By GWHARGIS
There are times when I think maybe my dad is missing some part of his brain. He had a stroke when I was really little, and both Granddad and Grandma Carolyn say he had a real tough go for a while. He had to relearn a lot of things, simple things. His memory was the worst, but according to him, he got it all back. Even he told me that the only thing that kept him fighting was the fact he wanted to be there for me.
It all sounds good until I go to him with a problem and his answer is "Deal with it, Rory. If it ain't this, it will be something else." Really? My life, as I know it, is about to be screwed up by my - scratch that. I was about to call her my mother, but nothing could be farther from the truth. Kathleen has returned and all Dad can say about it is 'deal with it.'
Thanks, Dad. Thanks for the tidbit of great advice. Back to my original tirade. Anyway, maybe when my dad had his stroke, it fried the part of his brain. Maybe he doesn't have the faculties to empathize and sympathize with those going through catastrophic events.
And I believe Kathleen Gedes returning to Patterson County is a catastrophic event.
He comes to my bedroom later, knocking softly on the partially open door. "Rory, I'm sorry about your mom coming back into town. I know you're freaking out that someone's going to find out, but really, what are the chances?"
"Well, my last name is French, and we all know how lucky that is." I study my fingertips casually. "So, I'd say pretty darned good."
"Well, considering she rarely visits," he checks to see if he hurt my feelings. "Anyhow, Rory, she's only here for a few weeks...hopefully. Just go on with your life. Don't worry about people finding out until it happens."
I pick up the basketball that is beside the bed and start to toss it rhythmically over my head. "And if it does happen, then what?"
"Then you deal with it."
"That was helpful."
"Rory, you're a smart kid. You'll know how to get through this. Now, go to bed."
When he turns to leave I watch as his hands shake. Grandma Carolyn says he was pitiful when he was younger. He only had Albie as a friend and he was too scared to tell Albie much for fear of scaring him off. She says he was closed off from everyone. All I can say is he must have been a basket case. Dad isn't exactly an open book now.
"Night," he says, pulling the door closed behind him.
"Night, Dad."
I close my eyes, letting the ball rest on my chest. The images of the posters come into my head.
Why'd she come back? Why now? Questions start to collide in my brain. All demanding answers that I don't have. Who is Kathleen Gedes? Why doesn't she love me? What was my Dad thinking?
The biggest question comes roaring through the tangle of worry. What the hell am I going to do?
| Author Notes | Feed back welcome |
By GWHARGIS
Alicia finishes the power point part of the assignment just before class starts. Each of us has to give a five minute segment. Luckily, we get a collective A. Personally, Reid and I nailed our parts. Taylor was a bit weak, and true to her word, Cassie sounded like she didn't even understand what she was talking about, but at least she tried.
Taylor nudges me after class.
"I wish I was a chick." Taylor's voice is clipped and tight.
"Not sure I want to hear this, but why do you want to be a chick?"
He cast a disparaging look at Cassie. "She didn't do a lick of work, just stood up there twirling her stupid hair and botching up all the words that were more than one syllable."
The immediate need to defend her swells up in my chest. "She helped."
Taylor studies me. "Really? What part did she do, Rory?"
For a moment I struggle. The truth is Taylor is right. She didn't do anything, but then she warned me she wasn't any good at research papers. I don't think he took into consideration that we may not have gotten an A had she helped.
"Well, I think she helped, about as much as you or I did."
Taylor squints and glances from me to Cassie. "Word of advice, French. You aren't her type."
"Okay, so what is her type?"
"I don't know. I just know you aren't her type. She likes bad boys, guys who break the rules. Not guys who eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and drink whole milk."
He moves around me and leaves me standing. I think people base their opinions of me on the way I look. My Grandma Carolyn says I always look innocent and eternally surprised, because of my big eyes.
I gotta be honest, it pisses me off. I could be just as bad as the next guy. I really could.
I'm just like every other guy in school. I think about girls, what color bra they are wearing, about what goes on in the girls' locker room.
Cassie may not think I'm her type but I'm about to change her mind.
If Cassie is attracted to bad boys, then she's about to meet the new me. Say hello to Rory Bad Ass French.
I wait until after fifth period to start my new image. Mrs. Perkins is an old school teacher so she doesn't put up with anything she considers trifling. Some days she thinks coughing is trifling. And quite frankly, the woman scares me.
Now that I'm free of Mrs. Perkins, I start the French Evolution. (I am quite proud of that little pun.)
I pull at my bangs, trying to get them to hang down over one eye. I squint, doing my best to lose the innocent wide eyed look I usually have. I posture myself like the famous James Dean poster. He had such a care-less way of slouching. His slouch was so different than the one I used to do in the fifth grade when I thought I was too tall. Attitude is everything and I muster up as much attitude as I can.
Alicia Dumbrowski walks by and pauses, studying me.
"What's up?" I ask.
"You look different."
"That so?"
"What's wrong with your eyes?"
I cock my eyebrow, shift a little more in my casual lean and look off to the side. After giving her a moment to absorb the new me, I finally answer. "Ain't nothin' wrong with me."
I am in full James Dean mode now. And Alicia is drinking it all up. She has never spent so much time talking to me. It's working, holy shit, it's working.
"Maybe you should go to the bathroom. You look pretty constipated."
I wait until after she walks away to groan.
| Author Notes | Feed back welcome |
By GWHARGIS
The mirror in the boy's bathroom is lying to me. When I look at my reflection I see cool, or if not cool, then at least the possibility of cool. There are enough parts toughness, lawlessness and boy band member to make me appear interesting. I do not see constipated.
Alicia is a lot like Reid Willoughby. She frowns on others. Actually, she and Reid would be the perfect couple. They could stand in their glass house and throw rocks at everyone else.
I toss my head to the side the way my dad does when his hair is starting to get long. But my hair doesn't whip around like his. Mine bounces, making me look like a dumb Shirley Temple. It just bumps up and down and makes me look stupid.
"Look, Rory," my reflection says. "No matter how hard you try, you will never look tough. It ain't in the cards."
"Maybe not. But I can be cool. I can be a rule breaker. I'm no different than the next guy."
My reflection laughs softly and shakes his head. His stupid curls collide like auburn bumper cars.
"A rule breaker, hunh? What's your plan, tough guy? Let the door close in one of the teacher's faces? Not empty your lunch tray before you put it on the counter?"
There's something very sad about your own inner voice making fun of you. And it's even sadder when you let it provoke you into doing something juvenile and dumb. But provoked I am. A warning look I bestow on my sarcastic reflection, then stalk off. I am determined to show him what I'm made of. The next time I look in the mirror maybe I'll get a little more respect.
Rule breaker? I'll show him who's a rule breaker.
I step out of the restroom and look around. What to do? That's when I see it. Glancing hastily from left to right I head over and reach out to pull it.
The fire alarm sounds, loud and obnoxiously persistent in its ring.
Note to self: next time run.
Maybe I should point out to my dad that this is the first official time I've been in trouble. Fifteen and half years on earth and most of them in school, he's never been called to the principal's office. Not for anything like this anyway. He did have to bring me a change of clothes in kindergarten, cause I peed my pants, but that hardly counts.
But as soon as he comes into the office I forget all of that. He looks pissed. To everyone else, he just looks very serious, but there's a shadow under his eyes and he's chewing the scar that's on the inside of his lip. I know those signs.
"Pulled the fire alarm, hunh?" he says.
"Yes, sir."
"That was pretty dumb."
I look down.
"Well, any particular reason you did it? Maybe you saw smoke?"
He's not being serious, so I'm not falling for his leading questions.
"Didn't you ever do anything dumb, Dad?"
Mistake! Before the last word of my question is out, I realize it is a big no-no to try and even the playing field by exposing any skeletons in his closet.
"How 'bout we talk about the dumb things I did when you get a call from the school and have to leave work to deal with it."
He sure knows how to make me feel like an idiot.
"Whatever," I mutter, and slump down in the chair.
"Word of advice, Rory. Shut the hell up, and shut up fast."
He whispers the advice, but he may as well have used a bull horn.
I don't get suspended, instead I get the lame punishment of writing a five page essay on the dangers of my reckless actions.
Dad says nothing as we drive. He's rarely talkative, but this is too much.
"It wasn't really that bad," I finally say, trying to get everything out into the open.
"It was stupid, son."
"So, I'm stupid," I say, hoping he'll jump to my defense like he used to when I was little.
"Life is hard on stupid people. You might want to chew on that for a while."
Common sense is usually my strong point, but today it is no where to be found.
"You seem to be doing fine," I mumble as I look out the passenger window.
The next sound I hear is the squeal of the tire as my dad slams on brakes.
| Author Notes | Feed back welcome. |
By GWHARGIS
His knuckles are white against the steering wheel. When my dad gets angry it's a seriously scary thing to witness. He transforms from Dean French, laid back redneck to someone who rivals the bad guy in a horror movie. His eyes go real dark, the scar that runs from beside his nose to the edge of his lip gets almost purple.
"What did you just say?" he asks. Though his voice is quiet as he pulls the truck onto the side of Route 17 I can feel the heat in his words.
"Nuthin."
"Come on, Rory. You open your mouth like a big guy, back it up."
"Jeez, just forget it."
"So, you think your old man is stupid, huh?"
"No. I was just mouthing off."
He relaxes his grip on the steering wheel. He turns in his seat to look at me. "I know being fifteen isn't easy. Believe it or not, I still remember."
"That was a hundred years ago. Things are different now. You know that most of my friends have their own cell phones? They even have satellite t.v."
Dad nods. "So, if I buy you a cell phone, all your problems will disappear?"
"It'd be a start."
"Fine. Let's go into town and buy you a cell phone."
This is very un-Dean like. Normally, he'd tell me to tough it out
"Are you serious, or is this another one of your life lessons?"
His trademark smirk returns. "No tricks. If getting you a cell phone is going to cure all your problems, then we'll go right now. But if you get into trouble again, there will be serious repercussions."
He doesn't have the money for a phone. I know he doesn't. Every time the first of the month rolls around, Dad gets out the check book, starts sweating and gets in a foul mood. Since the walls are thin, I know how expensive insurance is, and the highway robbery of the electric bill. I see how much he wants a drink after he starts writing check after check.
"Sometimes I just want to fit in."
"Doing stupid things isn't going to help you fit in, Rory. It's going to earn you the reputation of a dumb ass."
"What did you used to do when you were in high school? You were cool."
Dad laughs, one of those rare totally at ease laughs. "No, I wasn't cool. I was trouble on two legs. Now, Albie, Albie was cool."
I blanch, it's pretty hard to believe Uncle Albie was ever cool. "Really? The guy who wears a collared golf shirt and a powder blue visor out in the boat was cool?"
"Rory, cool isn't about what you wear or whether you have the latest phone."
"Any phone," I correct him.
"Focus," he says sternly.
I know what he's trying to say, but he isn't Rory French. He doesn't have to look in the mirror at this goofy face. He doesn't have to hear the jokes about the big eyes and the stupid hair. I do. And I don't want to go through life like this.
"Forget the phone. Let's just go home." I lean my head against the window as he eases back on to the highway.
"Home? Oh, no sir. You're going back to work with me."
By the time I get home, I have saw dust coming out of my pores. I taste it in the hamburgers we eat, see it filter down on the table when I move.
"Dang it," I complain as I brush a tiny speck off the hamburger bun. "Don't you get sick of this crap all over you?"
"I brush myself off, Rory. I was trying to tell you that when you tore out of the truck and stomped up the steps to hurry inside."
"How come you don't try to get a promotion?"
His shoulders rise and fall and he takes a bite of his burger. He chews slowly, swallows then looks up.
"I like what I do, son."
"All you do is stand outside and cut logs down. It's boring."
"Suits me fine."
"But you could get more money if you had a better job. You're smart. You could get one of those office jobs."
"Rory, those jobs require a skill that doesn't come naturally to me."
"What skills?"
"Kissing asses," he says, smiles and resumes eating.
| Author Notes | Feed back welcome |
By GWHARGIS
No one is all that impressed with my fire alarm stunt. As a matter of fact, most people greet me with endearing names like Loser, Fireman Fred, and my personal favorite, Ass Hole.
Taylor walks toward me as I am tying my shoes in the locker room. He has a decidedly pissed off look on his face. "Hey, French, Coach wants to see all of us in the gym right now."
"What's up?"
He levels me with a pointed gaze. "Gee, I don't know. Something about members of the team doing dumb ass things that endanger the lives of all the students in the school. I'm just guessing, Rory, but I'm thinking it's going to be something along those lines."
"Don't be so dramatic," I say.
"Dramatic?!"
"Yes, Taylor, dramatic. It wasn't a big deal."
Taylor laughs humorlessly. "Unbelievable."
I shovel my gear into my locker and wonder if it could be the last time I do this. Now I am wondering if I am about to get cut from the team. Without another word, I follow Taylor into the gym.
When everyone is gathered, Coach looks around. He looks at each of us in turn, then he puts his clipboard under his arm.
"Gentlemen. Settle down and listen up," he says, even though no one is talking or moving. "Anyone have any idea why I called this little meeting? Any idea at all?"
Taylor nudges my arm roughly then blurts out his answer. "Because some idiot pulled the fire alarm."
Coach smiles and nods. "Because some idiot pulled the fire alarm indeed." He starts to pace, not frantically, but like my dad does when he talks to someone on the phone. "And because this idiot did this, the whole team is going to run suicide drills and shoot free throws this afternoon."
Groans erupt from the team. I raise my hand.
Coach looks up, surprised. "Yes, French, something to add?"
I know every guy on the team hates me right now. The least I can do is take the punishment for them.
"I was the idiot so I should be the one to run suicides. I don't think the rest of the team should have to pay for my mistake."
Coach nods, ever so slightly, and appears to mull it over. Then he stops his pacing and looks around at all of us again. "Did anyone hear what he said?"
Dana Byrum raises his hand enthusiastically. "He said we shouldn't have to run the suicides because of him."
"Close, Byrum. What did he call all of you?"
"Team."
"Exactly. And here's the thing with that word. A team is made up of many parts. Many varied personalities, many varied levels of talent and at times," he pauses and looks at me with a tiny smile, "Varied levels of intelligence. But the word team means something. It means standing together as one. Standing shoulder to shoulder during the good times and the bad times."
"Really, Coach, I'll do the suicides by myself." I offer this one final plea after looking around at the sea of angry faces around me.
He ignores me, then sticks the whistle between his lips and blows it loudly. "Line up gentlemen."
We run, I put an extra amount of effort into it, but even though I am an arms length away from the next guy, somehow he keeps bumping into me.
"Watch it," I hiss. I move a little bit further over and see him do the same.
When the coach finally blows his whistle, he motions for the guy who kept bumping me to come over. "Ellison, step up to the line. 10 free throws. Every miss is a lap for the team."
Now, everybody knows David Ellison can't make 10 free throws, not ten in a row anyhow. We'll be lucky if he makes two out of the ten.
He lines up, his face all sweaty and red. He bounces the ball once, holds it like it's the holy grail and shoots. It connects with the rim and bounces wildly off to the left.
"Lap one," Coach hollers, then blows the whistle.
And so it goes. One miss, two, three, four, five misses, then one drops in perfectly. Everyone sighs with relief, but the next two don't even hit the rim. All in all, he made three baskets.
Now everyone is grumbling and cussing under their breath, but it's not at me. It's Ellison's turn.
The coach is grinning at us as we pass by him. "Faster. For everyone who lags behind, it's two extra laps."
Somehow, I finish second. The coach turns as I walk past to grab a sip of water from my water bottle.
"Good job, French," he says.
Like a ray of sunshine on a blind man, I feel warm and tingly, until he says this, "Anymore dumb ass mistakes and you're off my team - got it?"
"Yes sir,"
Practice goes on and it's grueling. We run more, do push ups and sit ups, then run again.
And it's all because of me.
| Author Notes | I will be out of town next week so I will not be posting. I will be unable to review at all next eek. Don't think I'm ignoring you. I will review and resume posting after Memorial day. Thanks for reading and giving me feed back. |
By GWHARGIS
Very rarely do I take a shower at school but this afternoon everybody takes one. The smell of rank sweat and rotten feet fill the air. Even the guys who are still pissed at me are too tired to bring it up.
Taylor comes out wrapped in a towel, his hair dripping down onto his shoulders and down his back.
"Could have been worse," Taylor says as he shakes the excess water from his hair. The water droplets shoot out for several feet.
"I guess it could have."
"Preston, Joey and Ellison could have done what they were planning to do."
"What's that?"
"Give you a swirlie."
Glancing over my shoulder, I don't see any of them. My breath comes out before I realize I was holding it. The locker room continues to thin out and I dress hurriedly.
"French, when you're dressed, stop by my office," Coach says, then walks away talking to a few of the other stragglers who are still dressing.
"You needed to see me?"
"Yeah, your dad isn't going to be picking you up. A lady named Charla is."
I wait. My dad always picks me up. If he doesn't it usually means he's sick or has to work overtime at the mill.
"Do you know why?"
"No French," he says blankly. "Is this someone you aren't supposed to be riding with?"
"No sir. She's a friend of the family."
He sits behind his cluttered desk silently staring at me. When I don't say anything else, he points to the door. "Anything else?"
I leave his office and head towards the door. Something isn't right. I can feel an unsettling wariness oozing up into my head. Charla has never picked me up. I've known her all my life and I'm guessing this isn't a random act of kindness.
I see her standing by her car. She flashes me a smile and I can tell she's trying to look like someone who's happy.
"Where's Dad?"
She motions for me to get in the car. I don't bother to buckle up just turn to look at her.
"Come on, Charla, where is he?"
Charla taps the steering wheel while she tries to come up with an indirect answer. Finally she understands that I just need the truth, plain and simple.
She sighs, it's heavy and full of disappointment. "He had a few drinks, Rory. I wouldn't let him come get you. Albie's with him now."
I don't bother to respond. What can I possibly say that would matter? All I can think about is the fact that when I get home I am going to meet the real Dean French, the legend.
Dean French, the liar.
Albie is sitting on the porch when we pull up. Charla waves at him, then looks past the house. My dad is standing down by the creek. I can't see his face, but I can imagine he's looking down into the dirty water. His thoughts, like minnows, darting to and fro.
"Should I go down there?" I ask.
Charla nods. "He's not drunk, Rory. He was just tempting the gods."
I'm not entirely sure I want to go down there. Dad's always been pretty honest with me. Except silly things like the stork. He's always told me to face life. Stand tall, especially when the odds are against you. No excuses.
I wonder what his excuses will be. Stress, bills, Kathleen being back, they all could have easily pushed him to the brink. But I always thought he was tougher than that.
Carefully, I make my way towards the shore where he's standing.
"Hey, Dad," I say.
He straightens but doesn't turn around. "I guess the pony express told you the news."
"Yes."
"Don't go getting all pissy," he says.
There wasn't a tone in my voice. I had made darned sure there wasn't. I chalk it up to guilt on his part.
"You coming up for dinner or stand here and stare a hole in the creek?"
Finally he turns, his eyes are dark and tired looking, yet there is still a spark in them.
"Fifteen years, I never touched anything. That's pretty good. I know it doesn't impress you, but take my word for it, for someone like me, it's phenomenal."
If he wants a pat on the back, he's talking to the wrong person.
"I screwed up. I thought I could handle a couple of beers with Dewey, after work. But I like that feeling too much."
Never before has my dad sounded so wretchedly weak. I despise hearing him like this. My dad is strong. He's never been weak...until now.
In a hurricane you get a few days to gather supplies. You make sure you have enough water, canned foods and non-perishable foods. You stand with your pal, Confidence and you watch as the first subtle winds start to blow. Then the pine trees are leaning close enough to kiss the roof and the creek is rising over the banks. You look to see if your old pal, Confidence is starting to get nervous, just like you are. But he's flown the coop. It's just you at that window, praying that one of those bending pines doesn't snap.
That's what it feels like right now. I'm standing at the window while Hurricane Dean is gaining strength.
| Author Notes | Feed back. Thank you very much. |
By GWHARGIS
Even seeing Cassie in the hall doesn't bring me out of my funk. Last night with the awkward silences and the heaviness that weighed down the air is still very much on my mind.
Albie stayed until eleven, an hour after I turned in. I stood at the door listening to them talk. Albie is and has always been the only one who can get my dad to talk. He doesn't put up with any bullshit or excuses from Dad.
"Dean, I swear, I can't go down this path with you again. It's not just you who'll suffer this time. You gotta think about Rory."
"You don't think I know that?"
"Well, did it occur to you while you were knocking back Budweiser's with Dewey?"
Silence.
"Goddamn it, man. When you're feeling like this you have got to communicate. Shit, if you don't want to call me, call Charla. Call your dad. Call 911. Jesus, just call someone," Albie says, then his voice is quieter. "What did you say to Rory?"
"Nuthin'."
"He wants an explanation. Hell, Dean, he deserves one."
I hear the creak of the floor boards and can picture my dad pacing.
"It was just this once, Albie."
Despite the tension, I hear Albie laugh softly. "Yep, maybe it was. Look, I gotta get home. I'm sure Denise is going to want the full rundown."
"I know I'm wasting my breath, but tell her not to worry."
When I hear the front door close, I tiptoe over to my bed and crawl under the covers.
Dad pauses by my door and opens it slightly. "Night, son."
I don't answer, just pretend to sleep.
The guys are still pretty pissed with me. I tell myself it'll pass. If I show them I'm serious about basketball, that I will put the team first from now on, it will work itself out.
I pull my books out of my locker and push them haphazardly into my back pack. But as I am, I notice a little slip of pink paper sticking out of one of my notebooks. Unfolding it, I stare in disbelief as I read it.
HI. LUV YA, CASSIE
What's more, she drew a smiling face with the tongue sticking out. Suddenly, I'm on top of the world. Cassie has given me a note. Luv ya. Wow.
"What are you smiling at?" Taylor says as he checks out his biceps in the mirror.
"Cassie slipped a note in my book."
Taylor snorts a quick laugh. "No way. She must have thought it was someone else's notebook. She is way too hot to mess with you. No offense."
"She knew it was mine."
"She is such a stuck up bitch, though. She's just messing with you."
"No she isn't."
"Yeah, well, last summer she got Dalton Wills to take her to the country club pool. Ten minutes after they get there, she has him tossed out. Made some claim that he was getting all handsy and trying to force himself on her. He got fired."
"Maybe he did try to force himself on her."
"We're talking about Dalton, king of the nerds. Turns out she was hot after Brody Blankenship. She hooked up with him that afternoon. That girl's a bitch, Rory. Forget her."
His words hit like icy sleet against my ears. Maybe she did get Dalton thrown out, but there's more to the story. There are always two sides to everything.
"Well, I'm taking it as a sign."
"What? You think she likes you?"
Not quite confident enough to say yes, I shrug. "Sure, why not?"
"Because you are you, Rory. And Cassie is Cassie."
I don't look up at him, just concentrate on getting all of my stuff in my bag. I heave the pack onto my shoulder and walk a few feet away. Without turning around I say the only thing I can come up with.
"She didn't put a note in your book. I'm gonna ask her out."
Taylor laughs, and when I finally do met his gaze he's smiling. It's a mix of admiration and mockery. "You do that, French. And when you figure out that she's everything I said she was, you come to me. I'll be your shoulder to cry on."
Dad is down by the creek when I get home. Taylor's mom was nice enough to give me a ride.
"Dad, what are you doing down here?"
"Thinking about how we never have really good steak."
"Okay."
It was an odd thing to hear but then my dad is a strange character.
"So, what do you say?"
"About?"
"Steaks. Lets go to Fillburns Steak House and have dinner."
Sounds pretty darned good to me. After practice I'm always hungry and the thought of a juicy steak is tantalizing to say the least. "Let me go clean up," I yell as I toss my back pack towards him.
I take the quickest shower I have ever taken and I'm back down the hall meeting him at the front door as I pull my shirt on.
"Damn, boy. You've got a six pack," he laughs.
I lift my shirt enough to see my stomach. "It's from basketball."
"I don't remember having one at fifteen."
"You sure you ever had one?" I tease.
He shakes his head and next thing I know I'm in a headlock. "Keep mouthin' off, junior." He lets me go and ruffles my hair like I'm five years old.
We get in the truck and drive in silence for ten minutes before I finally work up the nerve to speak.
"So, what's the occasion?"
"Occasion?"
"Why Fillburn's on a Monday night? You get a raise?"
Dad shakes his head and his dark hair flutters ever so slightly. A couple of silver strands shimmer to the surface.
"Oh, man, Dad, you've got gray hair."
He glances in the rear view mirror. "I've seen 'em."
Silence again for a few minutes, then I remember he never did answer my question. "So, why are we giong to Fillburn's? And don't say for steak. I know there has to be another reason."
He shifts, leaning against the truck door, one hand on the wheel and the other crooked on the panel beneath the window.
"I guess I figured we needed to talk."
Maybe we do. Maybe he wants to clear the air. Whatever the reason, I am going to use it as a chance to ask him some questions that he won't be able to run away from.
| Author Notes | Feed back. Please and thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
Dad orders the strip steak and a glass of the 'best tea this side of the Mississippi'. He messes with the waitress for a while, peppering her with questions about the stupid tea.
"Who says it's the best?" he asks, seriously.
"Oh, we're known for our sweet tea."
"What happens if I don't think it's the best?"
"Oh, it's real good. You'll like it."
He looks at the menu, biting his lip, then looks at her skeptically. "I don't know."
"Dad," I hiss. I have started to notice the tiny beads of sweat glistening on her forehead. The restaurant isn't busy, but I know she has better things to do than play games with my dad. "Just get the tea."
"Alright, if you are positive it's the best tea this side of the Mississippi, I'll order it."
A frantic smile comes to her lips, and she scribbles his order down on the paper in her hand. She nearly trips as she tries to get away from our table. I'm guessing she wants to put as much distance between herself and us as possible.
"That was embarrassing. Why'd you do that?"
"She knew I was just fooling around."
"She's probably telling the cook to spit in our food right now."
Dad shrugs, "I'm pretty sure they do that anyway."
I sigh and concentrate on my silverware. He has no idea how much of a burden it is to go out in public with him. Every time we go somewhere, he does something to embarrass me.
"Hey, don't go getting all pissy," he says. "If it makes you feel better, I'll apologize to her when she brings our food."
"Do whatever you want."
Dad reaches over and takes a complimentary sweet potato roll out of the basket on the table. He slathers butter on it and takes a bite.
"What are we gonna talk about?" I say.
He groans, continues chewing and looks around. There are a handful of people in here. Most are caught up in their own conversations, some on cell phones and one lady who is sitting alone, checking her watch every couple of minutes.
"About the other day."
"What other day?" I say. I know what he's talking about, but my dad has always told me to man up. Admit what you've done, right or wrong. I just want him to man up and admit it.
"Fine. You want me to jump through those hoops you hold up, I will. Just remember turn about is fair play." He taps the table with his finger. Ragged nails and tiny cuts that never seem to heal catch my attention. He looks up, almost surprised as the waitress brings our food to the table.
"You let me know if you don't like the tea, ya hear?" she says, placing my huge steak burger in front of me, but looking at my dad. After all the crap he's put her through, she's flirting with him.
"I'm sure it's fine," he says. "You didn't get the cook to spit in our food did you?"
She straightens, eyes wide. "No! Oh, no sir."
Dad nods, looks straight at me and says this, "Good, my son, Rory, was afraid you might have."
I continue fixing the lettuce and tomato on my burger and don't look up. I utter the only thing that comes to mind. "Asshole."
I know he heard it, but he lets it go.
"Rory, you need to lighten up and have fun."
"I do know how to have fun, and how was that fun?"
"Forget it," he says, lifting his glass of tea to his mouth and taking a swig. For a second he appears to be thinking about something serious, then he grins. "Damn if this isn't the best sweet tea."
Rolling my eyes, I push my plate away. "Dang it, Dad, what happened?"
"Christ, Rory, if I knew what happened, I'd have avoided it altogether."
"You made a promise!"
"You make promises all the time and break 'em."
"Not those kinds of promises. I don't understand why you'd even consider having a beer."
He doesn't say anything, just cuts a piece off of his steak. After chewing and swallowing it, he finally speaks. "Remember when you were little, I'd tell you not to get too close to the end of the pier?"
I nod.
"Well, it's like that."
His words mean nothing. He acts like my falling into the creek on accident is the same thing.
"Dad, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Every time you did that, Rory, it was because you were seeing how close you could get to the edge of the pier. You didn't mean to fall in, I know that, but you kept stepping closer and closer. Next thing I'd hear a splash." He exhales loudly. "I wanted to see if I could stop with one beer. That was it."
He isn't looking for my pity. He's not that kind of man. Pity is a wasted emotion according to him.
"So, are you gonna stop?"
He reaches for his tea. "I'm sure going to try," he says quietly.
| Author Notes | Feed back. Thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
There is a message on the answering machine when we get home from dinner. I wait until Dad goes upstairs to get ready for bed before I listen to it. Dad never checks the answering machine. Usually its just Grandma Carolyn calling to tell us some gossip about people, and Dad usually fast forwards through those.
I get something of a shock when I hit the replay button.
"Hi, Rory. I hope this is the right number. It's me, Cassie. If you get this message before ten, call my cell." She giggles and then continues. "It's 555-4766. Okay, well, bye."
I check out the clock on the stove and see it's nine fifteen. I have homework in every subject and a science test in two days. I will skip it if it means I can talk to Cassie.
Of course, the only phone in the house is the kitchen phone. If I take it into my room, my dad will hear every word I say. My options are few, so I take it out to the porch and dial her number.
"Hello."
"Oh, hey, Cassie, it's me, Rory."
She does this cute little giggle like the one she left on the answering machine.
"I'm so glad you called me back."
"Yeah, I would have called sooner but my dad made me go out to dinner. I would have stayed home had I known you were going to call." I wince and smack my forehead for that last line. That sounded pathetically desperate. "Anyway, it was just kind of random that dad wanted to go out to dinner."
"Oh, I hate when my parents make me go with them. My mom's such a bitch. She smiles and waves at people, then talks trash about them."
"Yeah, well, my dad doesn't talk much."
She clears her throat and goes quiet. It makes me think that maybe her mom had talked some trash about my dad.
"Did your mom say anything about my dad?"
"Gosh, I don't even remember." There is an evasive sound in her voice that wasn't there a second ago.
"My dad said that your mom was right pretty when they were in school."
She groans playfully. "She'll love hearing that. She just loves to tell me how everybody in Patterson thought she was gorgeous."
Part of me wonders how she got drop dead gorgeous from right pretty, but I let it go.
"Ugh, let's not talk about our parents anymore. How's basketball?"
"It's okay," I say, leaving out the part about the team being pissed off at me. "How's, um...," I let my voice trail off as I realize I know absolutely nothing about what she's into. All I do know is that she's the prettiest girl in school.
"I'm on the yearbook committee, and I do dance."
"Dance, like ballet dancing?"
She giggles again. "No, silly. I do modern dance. "
I am supposing there is a difference between ballet dancing and modern dancing, so my mind wanders to the type of dancing girls do in the late night music videos.
Those girls morph into Kathleen. God, no, she can't do that kind of dancing.
My mind starts to wander even more. I can picture me bringing Cassie to meet my grandparents.
"So, Cassie, our Rory says you're a dancer. What kind of dancing do you do?" Grandma Carolyn would ask.
Then Cassie rips her clothes off in one fluid motion and starts to grind on my granddad's leg. Grandma Carolyn starts to make that tsk-tsk sound and shakes her head sadly. "You are just like your daddy, Rory..."
"Rory!"
I jump. "Huh? Oh, sorry."
"Did you hear anything I was saying?"
"No, I'm sorry. Go ahead."
"Well, I was telling you about my recital. I am the lead dancer in the dance from Chicago."
"You're dancing in Chicago?"
"No, Chicago the musical. Gosh, Rory, we need to introduce you to some culture."
She probably didn't mean it the way I took it. But my dad's words about her mom thinking she was better than him, jumped into my head. Maybe she thinks my dad and I sit on the porch picking banjos and swatting flies. I've been introduced to culture. I've been to the symphony in Raleigh, the ballet in Chesapeake, Virginia. I've done those things and I can honestly say, it ain't my thing.
Culture is for the birds.
"Musicals aren't exactly my favorite," I say.
"So, I guess I shouldn't bother inviting you to come see me," she says, sounding pouty.
"No, shoot, I'd come see you."
"I wouldn't want to force you," she says, still on the pouty side.
"I'll even bring you flowers," I say. I remember at the ballet, some dude in a tuxedo came out with a bouquet of flowers for the main ballerina. I can probably scrape together enough money for a small bunch of flowers from the Food Lion, but I have a feeling the Cassie would expect roses.
"You will?" she says, the former poutiness gone.
"Sure."
The line goes quiet and I wonder what she wants me to say. I certainly hope it's not about dancing or culture. There is only one thing I enjoy watching live and that is wrestling. Sure I know it's fake, but it's fun.
"You like wrestling?"
"What?" she asks, as if I had just asked her about nuclear physics.
"Wrestling. You know, guys in colored tights, tossing each other around a ring."
"Um, let me think...no."
All at once, I see Cassie in next to nothing walking around on these four inch heels, holding up a sign. I realize they only do that in boxing, but it's my fantasy, so I see Cassie walking around a wrestling ring. I watch as she crawls between the ropes and am horrified as Kathleen crawls in.
"Stop it!" I snap.
"Rory, I didn't say anything."
"No, not you, Cassie. It was a bug." I lie. "There is this bug that won't stop flying around me."
"Ew, there's a bug in your house?"
"Actually, I'm outside on the porch."
"Why? Aren't you cold?"
"I'm freezing."
"So, go inside."
I look at the front door. It makes sense to go inside. Any normal person would go inside, especially since it's only about forty degrees out tonight.
"Naw, I like being outside."
She giggles again then she curses softly. "I gotta go, Rory. My mom is coming upstairs. Bye, see you tomorrow."
"Oh, uh, sure, thanks for-." The line is dead.
I set the phone on the railing and draw in one big happy breath.
Life is good.
| Author Notes | Feed back. Please and thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
Kathleen has been back in town for almost two weeks. Has she contacted me? No. Do I want her to? No. I keep thinking that. I tell myself she doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. According to my way of thinking, Kathleen was my portal of entry into the world. That is the sum of it.
So why does it sting? Why do I feel snubbed? Grandma Carolyn says it's natural. Every child wants his or her mother. But I've never known her. She has never fed me, burped me, changed me or held me. There is no connection. The word mother and the name Kathleen have never been used in the same sentence.
Grandma Carolyn says to have a good male-female relationship you draw on the references of your parents. She pauses and I guess my dad comes to mind because she shakes her head and qualifies it. "Most people do, anyhow."
"So what does that mean, I'm SOL?"
"SOL? What is that?"
I try not to laugh as I envision her face if I say shit outta luck. So I amend it. "So outta luck."
"No. You're a smart and sensitive boy. Just don't be afraid to let your feelings show."
"Huh?"
"Tell her she's pretty, fun to be with. Just don't be all macho."
Macho. Who is she kidding? Rory French is definitely not macho. Every fight I have ever been involved with, I have either talked my way out of it, or gone down talking. No, Grandma Carolyn, you can put that thought out of your head.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I think that maybe I should try to get to know Kathleen. Perhaps meeting on neutral ground would be a good start.
Tomorrow I am going to go to Llarado's, talk to Kathleen. With any luck, we can develop a mature relationship.
I kind of lie to Charla and tell her I need to do some more research at the library. She drops me off promising to come back in an hour and a half. She is still frightened of my dad and his falling off the wagon. She calls almost everyday and has been spending a lot of her free time at the house.
After saying goodbye, I watch her round the corner, then I start walking down the road towards Llarado's. This area at night can be pretty sketchy. There seems to be a lot of people who just hang around like they got no better place to be. Being six feet tall helps a little bit. If I was scrawnier I'm sure some of them would have messed with me.
I see the tattoo shop and then the marquee comes into view. If I had a cell phone I would take a picture of it, and then I could show people that half of my DNA is famous.
There are a couple of cars in the parking lot. One of them is Cecilly's.
A big chunk of me is ready to turn and run right back to the library. But I'm nearly a full grown man, I can't hide in the safety of the library. I need to find out once and for all if I can ever have a real relationship with Kathleen. Maybe without my dad around to distract her she'll be able to concentrate on me.
The front door is locked up tight. There is a steel grate pulled down over it and fastened to the ground with a huge lock. I walk around to the side of the building and I see another door. I'm guessing it's how the dancers and bartenders get inside.
Get yourself together, Rory. Just knock and tell whoever answers that you need to speak with Kathleen. Man up. I go over and over this mantra as I walk towards the door.
So I do it. I knock loudly on the door and wait for some big hairy bouncer to come open the door, tell me to hit the bricks and then twist me into a human pretzel when I resist. But instead of a beast on two legs opening the door, a short, strawberry blonde appears. She doesn't look any older than me.
"Oh, hey, we don't open until nine," she says, revealing a gap toothed smile.
"I'm here to speak to Kathleen."
"Who?"
"Kathleen Gedes," I say, trying to look over her head and see down the darkened corridor.
"She's kind of busy."
"I just need to talk to her for a second. I'm Rory."
The girl rolls her eyes and grins. "Hang on, I'll go tell her." She closes the door leaving me out in the cold.
When the door finally opens, I see her standing there. Kathleen has a white robe on and these curlers that are the size of soup cans in her hair. Her big green eyes are full of excitement.
"Hey, Rory. Is your daddy here?"
"No. I came by myself."
She does nothing to hide her disappointment. "What do you want?"
My confidence starts to wane. "I was just wondering if maybe we could talk."
She shakes her head impatiently. "I don't got time for that."
"But I just thought we could get to know each other better. We don't have to do it right now. We could meet for coffee or just take a walk."
She offers nothing. Nothing to take away the desperate feeling that is building in my gut. She just waits until I'm done and then, without missing a beat, she reaches for the door, "I don't want to."
One half of me takes off. The half grown man has vanished, leaving the boy in me to face reality.
| Author Notes | Feedback. Please and thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
Her total dismissal of me, her own flesh and blood, is something that could only be made up in Hollywood. She tries to send me away like I don't matter. Like I'm some casual acquaintance that she just doesn't want to deal with now. I don't matter to her, not one little bit.
"Are you for real?" I stammer.
"Go on home, Rory. Tell Dean I said hello," she says. What kills me is that she's smiling as she says this.
"He doesn't love you, Kathleen. He never has. He's nice to you because he feels guilty. You were his big mistake."
"Shut up," she snarls.
"He thinks you're crazy. He told me that you were a nut case, but I didn't want to believe him. He's right, you are crazy."
This weird shriek comes from her and she lunges for me. Her long red fingernails are splayed out like she aims to impale me or rip my heart out with them.
"Go away, you little bastard."
I stumble backwards as she reaches down and grabs a handful of gravel She hurls it at me. It connects with the side of my face, but I hardly feel it. I should run because God only knows what she'll do next, but I can't. I want her to hurt as bad as I do.
"He loves me, Kathleen. Your Dean cares about me. He couldn't care less if you live or die. I don't care if you live or die. You're a horrible excuse for a human being!"
I take off, because my anger is turning into something else. It's turning into sadness and humiliation. Her incoherent screeches are all that I hear as I run away.
Blood is pounding in my ears. How stupid was I to think I could have a normal relationship with her? She is exactly what my dad said she was. She's empty. Empty of anything good and I hate her.
I'm a good block and a half away when I hear a car horn. The crunch of tires on gravel sounds dangerously close when I hear my name.
"Rory, stop."
I stop in my tracks, ready to turn on her again. Only it isn't her. I should have known it wasn't her. Why would she come after me? I'm not worth the trouble.
Cecilly swerves and pops up on the curb cutting off my escape.
"I hate her," I scream.
"You have every right to be angry and hurt, Rory." Maybe it's her tone or maybe it's the fact she sounds like she's on my side, but whatever it is, it takes all the combustible emotion and neutralizes it.
"How can she not feel anything?"
"Get in, Rory. This area is too dangerous for you to be running around alone and upset."
I get into her car and lay my head against the seat.
"Whoa, she really got you," she says, reaching over to touch my temple and cheek. I feel the slightest sting and wince when she shows me her fingertips smeared with my blood.
"Cissy, what did I do?" I ask. "What did I do wrong?"
Even though Cecilly laughs, it's not a mean one. No, she's never been a hugger or a cheek pincher, but I have no doubt she loves me.
"Let me tell you something, and listen good. You aren't to blame for anything. Your momma and your daddy should never have had you."
"So, I should never have been born."
"No, that's not what I'm saying. You should have been born to someone else. Even so, you weren't, but we had a good family all ready to take you. Your daddy made a selfish decision to keep you."
"He's not so bad, Cissy," I say. I feel the need to defend him. "He's been a good dad."
"I know you love him, Rory. And I know he loves you. But love doesn't pay the bills and no matter how much he loves you, it will never replace the love of a good solid family."
I stare out the window. In the side view mirror I can see my own reflection. There are three or four tiny cuts where the rocks connected with my face. I wait for my reflection to say some smart ass comment, but thankfully it's silent.
My breathing has returned to normal and the bite of the whole Kathleen encounter has dulled enough to where I can think again. "I gotta get back to the library. Thanks, Cecily, for listening to me."
Cecilly ruffles my hair and then does something remarkably un-Cecilly like. She leans over and kisses my cheek.
"You are a good kid, Rory French."
She drops me off at the library and just as she is turning the corner, Charla shows up.
"You get everything done?" Charla asks, as I slip into the front seat.
"Sure did," I say. I feel tired and sluggish now.
"You hungry?"
In truth, all I want to do is go home and crawl under the covers. I just want to pretend this night never happened. But I can tell Charla is in mother-mode and, well, I think I kind of need that right now.
"How about we hit Patterson Deli? I'm in the mood for a Reuben. How 'bout you?"
"Sounds good."
Charla reaches over and pats my arm. With just that one touch I feel better.
First Cecilly and the kiss on the cheek, now Charla and the patting my arm. These are women who could just walk away but don't. The only mark Kathleen leaves on me is from a handful of rocks.
| Author Notes | Feed back. Please and thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
Dad is sitting on the porch when we get home. He looks up when Charla makes me wave the bag from the deli at him.
"Steak and cheese?" he asks, his dark eyes lighting up like a little kid's. He used to wear this black eye patch. Did until I was in second or third grade, anyway. I used to tell the other kids in school that my dad was a pirate. It made him seem more like a legend and less like an ordinary dad. But he always hated wearing it. So, one day I told him if he didn't have to wear it and no one was making him, why not just stop. To look at him now, it's not really all that obvious that one eye is nearly blind.
Charla climbs the steps and hops up on the railing across from my dad. She starts swinging her legs like some little kid. There are times when Charla looks at Dad like she loves him. This is one of those times. I have never understood why nothing has ever developed between those two. She's been around for as long as I can remember. We have pictures of the three of us, his arms wrapped around us. We look like a family, but we're not. Not really, not in the traditional sense of the word. She looks at him like he's superman and he looks at her like she's Lois Lane. But even though every element for the perfect romance and love is there, it isn't there.
There are times when my curiosity overrides my brain and common sense and I blurt out what ever it is that I'm thinking. "So, how come ya'll haven't ever gotten together?"
Dad nearly chokes on his bite of sub, and Charla slips back on the railing. I grab her arm to keep her from falling and see that she's laughing.
"Ask your daddy."
"I'm asking both of you," I say.
Dad clears his throat and heaves a big sigh. "Rory, for the love of God, don't you have a filter in our mouth?"
"Answer him, Dean," Charla teases.
He glares at her, then sets the sub and wrapper on the little rickety table beside his chair. In one quick motion he stands up and grabs Charla off the railing. She squeals and wraps her arms around his neck. When standing she is just about as tall as his armpit. She looks up at him like she adores him.
Kathleen looks up at him like she adores him too. But it's scary and obsessive when she does it. I picture Charla running after Kathleen telling her to stay away from us. I bet if I had told Charla about Kathleen throwing rocks at me, she would have driven back to Llarado's and beat the crap out of her.
Charla reaches out and pulls me into their hug. I feel both of their arms tightly woven around me. It's a brief moment that is ended when my dad gently pushes both of us away. "Enough of the touchy-feely stuff."
He regards my face seriously for a moment then he points to the front door. "Rory, go wash your face. Looks like you're breaking out."
"Night ya'll," I say. They immediately start talking about stuff that isn't important to me, their voices hushed and intimate. This is nice. This makes the night easier to handle. Even if it is a fantasy, it'll help get through the turmoil of the last few hours for now.
We have a game tonight. I probably won't see any playing time, but my dad says he'll be there regardless.
Nobody seems mad at me anymore and in the hour before we hit the court, we're all laughing and joking.
Coach tells us to hit the john, say a prayer, meditate or sing. Just do whatever you need to do to get into game mode. We are making our home court debut. We are standing in the wings, watching the girls' varsity game. They are in overtime and when the other team scores with only seconds left, Taylor hisses a loud "Boo!"
Groaning, I move as far away from him as possible. The coach has a strict code of conduct. He is always preaching how we need to hold ourselves to a higher standard. He says if we can't then we need to get out of his gym.
Coach turns and scans us, but Taylor has gone silent.
Jay Doucet, another sophomore, leans over. "Those girls look pretty good."
"They're okay," Taylor says. "But they wouldn't last five minutes against us."
Jay does a little head toss as he stretches his arms over his head. "You sure about that?"
"Well, most of us would," Taylor says. But Jay ignores him, he just continues to stretch.
Taylor leans over and whispers loudly. "Don't know why he's warming up, his ass ain't going in."
If Jay hears him, he doesn't let on.
I look around, sticking my head just inside the gym and search for Dad. I find him sitting with Denise, Albie and my grandparents. Grandma Carolyn sees me and starts waving wildly at me, like she hasn't seen me in years. I step back as quickly as possible.
I played a total of 37 seconds. I never touched the ball, but when I finally come out of the locker room after our game ends, I can see my grandma smiling excitedly. Since she can't comment on my game she does what grandmas do best. She improvises.
"Rory, you were by far the most handsome young man on the court."
It is up to my dad to bring me down off of could nine. "Way to warm the bench, son," he teases.
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Feed back. Please and thank you.
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By GWHARGIS
Cassie is standing with Reid Willoughby, Alicia D., and a senior, Boyd Hotchkiss. He's bad news. He makes a game of going from one girl to another. He especially likes the younger ones. I don't like him. For one thing, he ruins it for guys like me. He's one of the rich kids, drives a nice truck, lies like a rug, and basically has no redeeming qualities. So why do girls fall all over him? He's rich, drives a nice truck and lies.
As I said, I don't like him. And I, more specifically, don't like the amount of attention he is giving Cassie right now.
"Hey guys," I say, casually moving to get in between Cassie and him.
"Hey, Sticks, you're skinny, but not that skinny," Boyd says, elbowing me out of the way. He puts his hand on the middle of her back then lets it slide down to the small of her back.
"So, Rory, you had an impressive 10 seconds last night," Reid says, raising his hand to high five me.
"Thanks, but it was thirty seven seconds, asshole."
Reid laughs loudly, like it was a killer joke I had just told him.
"Why'd they put you in for such a little bit of time," Cassie asks.
"To give me experience," I say.
Boyd nods, "That and we were up by sixteen points. There was no way he could screw up and lose the game."
"Thank you, Boyd."
"Rory, you wouldn't screw up. You're real good at basketball," Cassie says.
I smile despite my discomfort at Boyd's hand resting just above her butt. Why hasn't she shaken it off? Did she really forget it's there? Maybe she has, but I haven't.
"So, Cassie, can I talk to you for a second?"
For some reason she looks at Boyd, like she's waiting for permission. When he makes no move to stop her, she follows me over to the water fountain a few feet away.
"Remember how you wanted to see a movie the other night? Well, I was thinking we could go catch a movie this weekend."
"I'd have to let you know later. Sometimes my parents make plans and don't bother to tell me about them until the last minute. I could call you when I find out."
"Like when would that be?"
She glances over to where Boyd and Alicia are laughing. "I'm not sure, but I'll call you as soon as possible."
"Sure."
She starts to edge back to Boyd, Reid and Alicia. All I want is a few minutes alone with her. But before I can think of anything riveting to say and hold her attention she looks at me and smiles sadly. "It's a real shame you don't have your license. It's so awkward when parents drive," she says quietly just before she returns to the others.
She looks over at Boyd and waves her fingers. Damn it. She's flirting with him.
I do a brain scramble. "I never said I couldn't drive. I just don't have my license officially. I drive all the time. My dad lets me take his truck out all the time." I stop, willing the lies to stop rolling so easily off my tongue and out of my mouth. The reality is he has let me back the truck up and drive to the end of the driveway. However, he did say I drove like a real pro.
But whatever, it gets her attention.
"So, how does Saturday night sound now?"
She smiles at me, the same flirtatious smile she had just bestowed on Boyd a couple of minutes before.
"Maybe, I'll tell my parents I've already made plans," she says softly.
As I walk away, smiling at my own good fortune and patting myself on the back for quick thinking, something dawns on me. I have just made a conscious decision to steal my dad's truck.
But instead of coming to my senses, I start to plan my crime.
My dad is out on the porch when I get home. He's whittling, only this time it's not a bird. I can't tell what it is.
"Got something for you today at the store."
"What store?" I say.
"Where I work."
This ought to be thrilling. It could either be a screw driver or a two by four. Whoopee.
"It's on the table in the kitchen."
I go inside, sloughing off my book bag and my jacket in one quick motion. The only thing I see is a can of paint. White paint, to be exact.
"How'd you know, Dad. I've been hoping for a can of paint for so long." I call out to him.
"Hold on, smart ass. You said you wanted to paint the Miss Lenore. Well, I got you paint."
I wrinkle my nose. "I also said I wanted a cell phone, didn't happen to pick up one of those, did you?" I mutter.
"What was that?"
"I said thanks. Thanks a lot."
He comes inside and sits on the arm of the couch, propping one foot on the cushion. "So what has you in such a sour mood?"
"I'm tired."
"Go lay down. I'll wake you when dinner is ready."
I take him up on the offer and head down the hall towards my room. "Really, thanks for the paint," I call out tiredly.
His laughter follows me down the hall.
My dad is a pretty good guy. Not perfect but then who is? He's rough around the edges but I'm used to it. People either like him or fear him. There really doesn't seem to be any in between. Why then, am I thinking of ways to get rid of him Saturday night?
For a chance to be with Cassie. If any girl is worth something of this magnitude, it is her.
| Author Notes | Feed back. Please and thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
I wake up to the smell of bacon frying. It helps me shake off the fog that wants to linger from my nap.
"What time is it?" I ask as I wander down the hall to the kitchen. I see my dad standing at the kitchen window, spatula in hand, gazing out. He stares out like he's a prisoner in here.
"Six thirty," he says, then turns away to look me over. "I would have woken you sooner, but by the sound of those logs you were sawing, I figured you needed more time. Feel any better?" he asks.
"I'm still tired."
"How'd the coach think you did last night?"
"He didn't say, but then I really didn't get a chance to do anything."
"Well, in my opinion, not that it means squat, I thought you looked like you knew what you were doing."
"Thanks," I say, stretching to help wake me up further.
"Grandma Carolyn was as impressed as hell. She took pictures the entire time you sat the bench and took even more while you were on the court."
"Oh, crap. Is she going to post them on Facebook?"
"Probably. She posted my five year chip when I got it."
I look over at him, watch as he dips his head slightly. That chip is worthless now. One stupid drink and the whole house of cards came tumbling down. He's right back at the starting gate.
"Do they make you give them back, you know, when you start drinking again?"
Shoulders rise and fall almost unnoticed. The air seems to slowly get sucked out of the room. We eat dinner in silence.
When we go sit out on the porch, the elephant settles between us, and my dad isn't willing to talk around it. The three of us just listen to the night sounds for an hour or so before we eventually wander back inside the confines of the house.
My dad is a lot quieter now. I feel bad for him, but he's not the only one with problems. I have a stupid conscience that's ready to burst like an overripe peach.
"Dad, did you ever do anything wrong because of a girl?"
"Once or twice. But most of the stupid things I did were because of me. Anything special I should be on the lookout for?"
"Oh no, I was just wondering. See, I have this friend who's really hung up on a girl. Every one says he's not her type, but he's got some pretty strong feelings for her."
Dad doesn't bother to look up, just nods, as he rolls something over his knuckles and around his fingers.
"How stupid is this thing your friend is going to do?"
"On a scale of one to ten?"
"Sure, on a scale of one to ten."
"At least a six, maybe even up to an eight."
"And this girl is worth it? For him, I mean. She's worth the risk of burning a bridge?"
"What the heck are you talking about?"
My dad gets mad at Grandma Carolyn for her dumb sayings and yet he does the same thing when he talks to me. He looks away from the object and then to me.
"Every decision you make, Rory, is a bridge that connects you to something or someone. Tell your friend to think about that before he makes any rash decisions."
I stand up and start for my room.
"Oh, and Rory, give your friend some advice. No girl is worth it if you have to change who you are deep down."
Unfortunately, his words fall on deaf ears because there is no other girl like Cassie Willows. She's one of a kind and I want her too badly to care about any bridges.
Dad tosses what he was rolling around his fingers into the air. When he reaches for it, the object grazes his fingertips and falls to the floor. I watch as it rolls across the carpet and lands just a few inches from my feet.
Kneeling down, I lift it up and examine it. It's his sobriety chip.
"Catch," I say, ready to toss it back to him.
Dad shakes his head. "Just drop it in the trash. It's nothing but a piece of plastic now. No sense holding on to a lie, now is it?"
He leans back against the couch and closes his eyes. He looks beaten, ready to give up. He doesn't resemble the 'Dean" of legends.
"Don't worry, Dad. You'll get another one."
He doesn't bother to answer, just smiles and then tells me good night.
I wait until he goes back to his room and I hear a few light snores. Then I sneak out into the living room and carefully take his keys off the table.
I'll just do a test run tonight. Just to see how I handle it.
The truck is dirty and not exactly the vehicle that dreams are made of. But it's my dad's truck. He isn't a sports car guy, or a hybrid guy, he's strictly truck. It's not even a fancy truck with heated seats. Nope, this one has three factory issue hubcaps and is painted a dismal blue that would probably be labeled 'suicide blue' on a paint chip.
But seeing as how this is all I have to work with, I let it roll down the drive way. I wait until I am far enough away to start it without waking Dad.
It bumps and groans down the pothole ridden driveway until I finally see the main road. All I have to do is drive a mile or so, turn around and come home. I'll get in some practice driving time and my dad will be none the wiser.
| Author Notes | Feed back. Please and thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
Four nights in a row I take Dad's truck and quietly ease it down the driveway, careful not to wake him. And to my delighted surprise, he's a sound sleeper.
Funny how different the world is when, as Grandma Carolyn says, 'most respectable people are in bed'. She also likes the saying how there's nothing you can do after midnight that you can't do before, except get into trouble.
One day, when I'm older I'm going to write down all those stupid sayings and prove each one of them wrong. Of course, I probably won't show it to her, 'cause it would likely break her heart. But I'll know. I'll know and that's what matters.
Each test run gets a little longer. By night four I'm riding way down route 17 just enjoying the ride.
Deer are always wandering along the side of the road. It's a nerve racking thing to suddenly see their reflector like eyes in your high beams.
"Shit," I mutter as one takes a step closer to the edge of the road. I swerve, careful not to over do it, then allow myself a sigh of relief as I pass safely by.
Unfortunately, I don't see the small doe who's about to cross from the darkened opposite side. I swerve again and almost make it past when I hear and feel the dull thud as it connects with the back of the truck.
"Oh no," I whisper, my guts knot up and start sending out SOS calls.
I pull to the side of the road, all the while sending up distress prayers. Under normal circumstances, I would pray for the deer, make sure it's unhurt, or a quick end if it is hurt. Right now, the only one I'm praying for is me.
I draw in a deep breath and exit the cab. I scan the side of the truck, and not seeing any visible damage I joyfully run my hand where I assume the deer hit. My palm dips down into a dent.
"NO!" I yell. I get little satisfaction as I hear the deer breaking and scrambling for the woods. All I can think about is how mad Dad is going to be when he sees this. Now I have to drive the twelve miles home. The intensity in the way I am looking at the road allows me to see ants crawling along side it. My only thoughts are of how to get the truck back in the driveway and figure out a way not to get caught.
I douse the cab light and roll her back to where she was parked. Again, I check the side and the dent hasn't vanished nor has it gotten any smaller.
Dad will be up in a couple of hours and I start brain storming. Cosmetics will help. I grab handful of dirt and rub it across the dented spot, smart enough to make sure dirt goes all around the truck. The woods will provide the other accessory I need. I drag a hefty branch from the bushes and lean it against the truck.
Necessity is the mother of invention. Okay, Grandma Carolyn, I will give you that one.
My dad is at the front door when I wake up the next morning.
"Come look at my truck," he says, taking a sip from his coffee mug.
I put on my most inquisitive face and follow him outside. The limb from the tree is laying a few feet away. Dad frowns and folds his arms across his chest.
"Weirdest thing. I didn't hear any wind last night. Did you hear any wind?"
Not trusting myself to look him in the eye, I step closer to investigate the dent. "No, I don't think so. I was so tired last night. I fell asleep pretty soon after I went to bed."
"I don't even see the tree this limb came from. I mean, what are the odds of one limb hitting the truck?"
"Don't know. Hey, I'm gonna head back inside. It's freezing out here."
I get to the stairs but he starts talking again. "Hey, Rory, you don't know anything about this, do you?"
"No sir."
"You sure about that?"
"I'm pretty sure." I pause with my hand on the door knob and the next thing I say is crappy. But even knowing it's reprehensible doesn't stop me from saying it. I defect the blame. "Maybe you did it when you were drinking the last week."
He's staring a hole through me. I can feel it. So I'm not surprised when I turn and see the fire in his eyes.
"Rory, look me in the eye and tell me you didn't have anything to do with this."
Only a fool would confess when given this ultimatum. I summon up the bad boy inside of me and shake my head, eyes fixed on his scar. "No sir, I didn't."
I had just lied to him. Yet, instead of pressing further, he let it go. Maybe I should be proud of my convincing performance. I'm not a piss poor liar.
Maybe I should see this as a good thing. But somewhere in the back of my mind, there is an alarm going off.
I had just crossed a line.
| Author Notes | Feed back. Please and thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
Dad says very little when he gets back inside. I hear him mutter about this being 'one more thing I don't need to deal with', and like any good son, I do my very best to tune him out.
The phone starts to ring and I jump for it. Maybe it's Cassie, stranger things have happened. I clear the couch and nearly catapult the end table to answer.
"Hello," I say, making my voice a tad deeper than it usually is.
"Well, hey there, Rory. That was quite a game the other night. Did you enjoy yourself? Your Granddad and I had a real fun time," Grandma Carolyn says.
"Yeah, it was great."
"You aren't coming down with something, are you? Your voice sounds funny."
"No, ma'am, I just woke up."
"Oh, well, is your daddy around?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Tell him I just need him for a second. I promise I won't keep him long."
I turn to look at him, meet his eyes, because otherwise it would show guilt. "It's Grandma Carolyn. She says it will just take a second."
When my dad has to talk on the phone, to anybody, you'd think it was a big deal. His shoulders slump and he takes a deep calming breath before he answers.
"Perfect," he mutters. Without changing his tone, he takes the phone from my hand and answers. "Hey, Momma. Whatcha need?"
A flicker of something goes across his face, but he says nothing. He just listens and stands there. When he finally does answer her, his tone sounds different.
"What do you need Rory and I to do?"
Great, now he's going to volunteer us to do something without even bothering to check and see if it's cool with me.
"No, Momma-I'll do...Just call me if you need anything. How's Dad?" he asks, turning his back to me and planting his hand on the wall to prop himself up.
"When is it happening?" he asks a few moments later. Rhythmically he kicks the molding at his feet while he listens to her. "Cause I want to take the day off, that's why."
This one sided conversation goes on and on, until I finally figure out I am not going to get any information I can use.
I wander back to my room and flop across the bed. Things used to be so different between Dad and I. It used to be like we were on an adventure every day. I felt really lucky because he spent all his free time with me. Now it's seems like we hardly know each other. I piss him off and he pisses me off.
He comes by my room after he gets off the phone with Grandma Carolyn.
"Get dressed and get ready to go to your grandparents' house."
"Why?"
"Because I need to run some errands."
"Dad, I'm fifteen years old. In four months I'll be sixteen." I sit up, hoping he'll see that I'm not a little kid anymore. "I don't need to go stay at Grandma's house to be babysat while you go out."
"You haven't been over there in a long while. Just go spend some time with them."
I lie back on the bed, cover my face with my pillow and let go a loud groan. "I just saw them at the game," I say, my voice muffled as it passes through the pillow.
He doesn't say anything, which surprises me. I am very prepared for an argument. Instead, I hear a loud crash and when I whip the pillow off of my face, I see a hole in my wall. There is plaster dust on his knuckles and fingers as he flexes his hand.
"I said get up," he yells. He takes one step into my room.
My dad has never hit me. I don't even remember getting a spanking while growing up. But even though you've never touched hot lava, there is no doubt in your mind, it's hot.
Right now, looking into the smoldering eyes of Dean French, it's like looking down into the fiery opening to a volcano. The only problem is, I have no place to run.
| Author Notes | Sorry it's so short, but this was the only place to cut it off at. Feedback. Please and thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
"Have fun." It's the last thing Dad says as he waves and drives off down the long driveway away from my grandparents' house.
Grandma Carolyn opens the front door and she's still in her nightgown. Which is weird because she's always dressed. Her hair and makeup are always perfect. She's the kind of woman who, ninety per cent of the time, looks like she's going somewhere even if she isn't.
"What got you out of bed so early on a Saturday morning?" she says, smiling like I'm her long lost friend.
"Your stupid son," is what I want to say but I don't. Instead I pretend to sniff the air and grin. "I thought maybe I could talk you into fixing bacon and eggs."
Grandma Carolyn pretends to be put out but she motions for me to come inside, and gives me a little squeeze as I maneuver past her.
"The house is a mess," she says, then starts to go straight back to the kitchen. "Your granddad is upstairs. Go check on him, will you?" She makes a kind of U-turn and cuts me off before I can get to the stairs. She steps up on the bottom step and hollers up. "Marshall, Rory's here."
She seems really hyper today. And on a Saturday morning hyper isn't exactly what I want to deal with. I think this and I understand why my dad gets so annoyed being around her. Of course, then I remember the hole in my wall, and how he made me come over here to deal with it while he chicken shitted his way out by doing errands.
"How's school?" she asks, even though I'm about to head upstairs.
"It's good."
"You got a girlfriend yet?" I answer, then give up and go sit at the table in the kitchen.
I wince. This isn't the type of conversation I want to get into with her. "No, not yet."
She reaches into the refrigerator and pulls out a carton of eggs. After she sets it on the counter she starts going through the fridge again. "Well, I'll be darned," she says, then stands up and puts her hands on her hips. "I'm sorry, Rory, but we must be out of bacon."
She stands there with the door to the refrigerator open and turns slightly to look at me. Her lips are quivering and she looks about to cry.
"Hey, eggs are fine."
She really seems upset about the stupid bacon.
"I swear I thought we had some."
Thankfully, Granddad comes into the kitchen. He looks from me to Grandma Carolyn and frowns.
"What's going on?" he says.
"We're out of bacon," she blurts and her voice is all high pitched and nearing hysteria.
Now, I'm starting to suspect that something else is going on. Maybe it would be nice for someone to let me in on it.
"Grandma Carolyn, it's okay. Really." I look at Granddad and he looks back at me.
Grandma Carolyn lets go a little squeaky cry and high tails it out of the room. I look at Granddad again. "What was that about?"
"Women and their hormones," he says shrugging. "Let's go get something from Hardees and we'll bring it back. She's been acting all loony for a week now."
"Should we leave her alone?"
He rolls his eyes. "Most definitely."
We eat in the car instead of going home.
"Granddad, how'd you know Grandma Carolyn was the one?" I ask as casually as I can.
He chokes and stares at me. "I knew because I had been through a slew of girls. Each one was the love of my life- for about a month or two then I was looking for any excuse to break up with them. I take it you think you're in love?"
"No!" I answer quickly. I can tell by the smirk on his face that he ain't buying it. "I mean, it's just this girl, Cassie, is the most incredibly beautiful girl I've ever seen. I feel all weird when I see her," I say. Never in a million years could I ever say this to my dad. He'd tell me some stupid story and give me some lame advice, but Granddad will understand. He has someone special, my dad doesn't.
"She like you?"
That's a harder one to answer. Sometimes it seems like she's all about me, then it's like we're just good friends.
"It's complicated."
He nods his head as if he understands. "Well, girls are like that," he says, just before taking a sip of his steaming black coffee. "They never change either."
I finish my first sausage and egg biscuit and start to unwrap my second. "Don't tell Dad or Grandma Carolyn, okay?"
"Wouldn't dream of it. But, um, Ror?"
I look up at him.
"Take things slow. Both your daddy and I had to deal with things we weren't ready for, and neither of us was much older than you are now."
I know what he's talking about. But in reality, all I want is a simple date with her. I haven't dared go any further in my day dreaming about her.
Granddad talks about some weird fish he caught the other day and says it looks like something from a horror movie. He said it looked like it had teeth that could shear the flesh off of you. I had a vision of Kathleen, that vicious look on her face.
"I went to see Kathleen last week."
Granddad pauses, then cautiously looks over at me. "How'd that go?"
Without warning my throat tightens and my eyes fill up. All I can manage before I break down is two words.
"Not well."
| Author Notes | Feedback. Please and thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
To say my Granddad was surprised to see me bawling like a baby is putting it mildly.
"Rory, hey," he says, easing the car onto the shoulder of the road. "What the hell happened?"
Angrily, I swipe the back of my hand across my eyes. I feel like a fool for crying over this. It's not like I lost anything. Shit, I never had anything with Kathleen. It was a good day if she remembered my name when she came for one of her sporadic visits.
"I just, I just wanted to talk to her. I lied to Charla, told her to take me to the library. When she dropped me off, I went straight to Llarado's.
"Please, God, tell me you didn't go inside that place," he says.
"No, I just knocked on the door and asked to speak with Kathleen."
He nods. "She must have been surprised to see you standing there," he says, a smile tipping the corners of his mouth.
"So surprised, she threw some rocks at me and called me a little bastard."
He winces. "Well, that's exactly why your daddy never let her have unsupervised visits with you. He didn't trust her."
For the first time it clicks why he was always there when she came over. I understand now why he never let her take me anywhere for ice cream. He was making sure I was safe.
"I told her that Dad didn't love her and that he always said she was crazy."
Granddad pats my shoulder. "Well, we all say things when we're angry, Rory. And I'm guessing you were pretty hurt and angry."
I nod and manage a smile. It feels so good to get it off my chest. It's still lurks in my mind, but it is easier now that I've shared the burden.
"Does your daddy know?"
"No."
"Good, let's not tell him. Not yet, anyway. I don't think he'd be too happy."
"What's new?" I mutter. "Nothing I do or say makes him happy anymore."
Granddad reaches over and musses my hair the way he used to when I was little. "You'll get through all this teen aged bullshit, Rory. I have faith in you."
He starts the car and after checking his rear and side mirrors, he eases back on the road. "Now, let's go check on your grandma. Hopefully she's settled down now."
There's some buzz going around school about a party. Everybody wants to go to Carson Alderson's party. His parents are going away for the weekend and he'll be there in that big over sized house all by his little lonesome. His house is really nice. He has a twelve person hot tub, a pier that goes out into the sound, and a couple of jet skis. That's what I've heard anyway. I've never actually been there myself. Still, it sounds amazing and just the thing to get me out of my rut.
"Hey, Taylor. Are you going to the party?" I ask, after walking over to where Taylor is hanging out in the hallway.
"Maybe. Haven't given it much thought. Why?"
"Have you ever been?"
"To any party or one of Carson's?"
"I guess both."
He nods and leans back against the wall. "Been to a few parties."
I want to ask more questions but something tells me Taylor would have a field day about my lack of experience.
"French, you mean to tell me you've never been to a party before?"
"Yeah, I've been to a couple. Just this - I mean, everybody's talking about it."
"I don't know, French. I don't really see you , how should I put this, um, flourishing at a party like this."
His words have a bite to them. They have a bite because there's a lot of truth to them. But I can't let him see that he struck a chord. Nope. I give him a smile and wink.
"You have no idea what I'm like outside of here."
Taylor laughs. "Okay, French. Easy does it. I'm gonna need hip waders if the B.S. gets any deeper."
When I round the corner after leaving Taylor, I see Cassie and Boyd Hotchkiss. I get that sick in the pit of my stomach feeling. Boyd seems to be always hanging around now. He's such a jerk. I can't believe Cassie doesn't see it.
He reaches over to tug on a lock of her hair, the same hair I have never dared to touch. His knuckles graze her boob, but instead of clocking him, she smiles and pulls back just barely. She smiles up at him. Smiles!
Quickly, I rip a piece of paper off the bulletin board and pretend to be reading it as I walk past.
"Hey, Rory," Cassie says, grabbing my arm as I go by them.
"Oh, hey, Cassie," I say smiling, then in a more sinister tone I acknowledge Boyd. "Oh, Boyd."
"French," he says, then shifts to put his meaty body between Cassie and I. "I swear I have never seen eyes that color before. Later, beautiful."
Right now I'm thinking I just may have to get me a pair of those hip waders that Taylor was talking about. I bet if I asked Boyd, five minutes from now, what color Cassie's eyes are, he couldn't tell me.
| Author Notes | Feedback. Please and thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
My legs are on fire after afternoon practice. Coach didn't like how we were dragging during our last game, so he made us do squats. Not the flat footed kind, oh no, those are easy. We had to do squats while standing on the balls of our feet. And we had to hold our arms out in defensive mode.
I know I saw the coach grinning a couple of times. He's a nice guy, but there are times when he's kind of a jerk. Today being a prime example.
Anyway, as I limp into the house, I see my dad's back as he stands at the sink. His shoulders are slumped and his head is down.
"Hey, I'm gonna go take a shower and I'll probably just have a bowl of cereal for dinner," I say.
He turns around, his eyes are red and his expression drawn. "Sure. I fixed that hole in your wall," he says.
"When'd you do that?" I ask, because when I left for school the hole was still there.
"This morning. I took the day off."
I blink in surprise. "You took the day off? What's the occasion?" I joke.
He doesn't smile, just leans against the sink and crosses his arms against his chest. "Just needed a day, that's all."
"Have you been crying?" I ask, my voice quiet. I'm not sure if I even want him to acknowledge me.
"No, Rory, I haven't been crying," he says, but he doesn't sound angry, just tired.
Neither of us say anything and I start for the hall.
"Hey, Ror, about the other day. Sorry I put a hole in your wall."
"Uh huh."
It dawns on me that my dad is changing. He used to be superman in my eyes. He could do anything. He was always bigger than life. But now he seems scared of something. It's like maybe there is something bigger than him.
"Hey, after my shower, you want to take the boat out?" I ask. It's an olive branch. My way of telling him that the wall thing is behind us.
"Sure, that'd be nice."
It seems that everything around me is changing. I'm still the same Rory, but everything else is different.
Showering quickly and then haphazardly drying off,I put on a flannel shirt and pull on my thickest sweat jacket. Then tug my wool beanie onto my head, my damp curls poking out from the edges.
Dad got some sandwiches, chips and a couple of Dr. Peppers and put them in a bag to take with us out on the creek.
"Hope you didn't have your heart set on cereal," he teases.
Tonight Dad doesn't even try to get the boat down to the water, he lets me do all the work. He grabs the oars as I push us off the shore. Dad rows us out to the middle, and when he pulls the oars in we start to drift.
"So, what made you take a day off?"
"Sometimes life is a lot like being on roller skates. Everything starts out good then you start gaining speed and before you know it, you're out of control. That's when you gotta stop. The world won't end if I take a day for myself. The lumber shop won't fall apart if I'm not there."
"So, can I stay home from school?"
"No sir. What you're going through is different. You're just growing up."
I should have figured he'd come up with something to play down my problems.
"I have another game on Wednesday. You don't have to come or anything."
"Of course, I'm gonna come. Why wouldn't I?"
"I don't know. You don't like sports."
"I never said I didn't like sports. I never played sports, other than a couple of years in Parks and Rec. Then I went and got banned from there for getting into a fight."
"Why'd you get in a fight?"
Dad looks down and pops the top on his soda. "Some tail hole was making fun of me."
"What'd he say?"
"Just thought it was funny that my daddy gave me matching black eyes."
I don't really know what to say. He doesn't want pity. Maybe not saying anything is the way to go. It's how I'm going anyway.
Dad looks up at me. "So, I heard you went and tried to make peace with your mother."
Granddad promised me he wouldn't tell. I guess Dad knew what I was thinking because he says this. "Don't get mad at him, Ror. He was worried about you."
He lifts his drink to his lips and takes a sip. "What made you go see her?"
"I don't understand how she can hate me."
"Rory, she doesn't hate you. She doesn't love or hate. She doesn't know how, I don't think."
"She threw a fistful of rocks at me."
Dad tenses up. "Did she hurt you?"
"Heck yeah, it hurt. They hit me here and here," I say as I turn my face for him to see the tiny scabs on my cheek and temple.
"How come you didn't tell me? Why'd you go to him?"
Now, I could lie and say I thought he'd be really pissed off and I was afraid he'd yell at me. Or I could go with the excuse that he may have laughed at me. But neither of those things are true. He doesn't lecture. He gives me the silent treatment followed by a total of two or three sentences strewn together. That is a Dean lecture.
"I thought you might try to talk me out of going. Then I was afraid you'd tell me I was stupid for going."
"Naw, you weren't stupid for trying to build a relationship with your mom." Dad laughs softly and shakes his head. "You are a damn sight braver than I am."
A strange feeling of pride takes seed in my chest. Braver than Dean. That's a concept that is hard to wrap my head around.
The creek is eerily quiet as we drift and eat. A comfortable silence has enveloped us. I can see the lights from the house. It looks so far away and small. It isn't a big house, but from here it looks like a dollhouse. Dad looks at the water, the earlier look of fatigue has been replaced. It has been replaced with something resembling sadness.
| Author Notes | Feedback. Please and thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
Sitting in the boat my great-grandfather dubbed The Miss Lenore, both Dad and I start to relax. It's not too bad when the wind doesn't blow. It is a bearable cold tonight. The sloshing sound of the water as it rocks the boat is calming. Spending time out here is a relaxing way to end the day, especially after such a crappy week.
"Dad, what is exactly wrong with Kathleen?" I ask.
"I don't know the specifics with Kathleen. My guess is something neurological."
I look at him, surprised that he used such a fancy word. I half expected him to say something like, "She's bat shit crazy."
Dad grins. "Spend any amount of time in a hospital and you'll pick up a big word like that, too."
"Cecilly said something that kind of bothered me. She said I should have been born to someone else."
A soft low chuckle comes from deep in his throat. "That's the only thing she's ever said that I agree with."
I won't lie, his answer smarts.
"If God was a fair one, he'd never have let Kathleen and I be your parents. You would have been born to a good family with a nice house, and you'd get every thing you want."
"I don't want a lot."
"You don't ask for much. But I'm willing to bet you have a nice long list of wants."
He takes his soda can and lets the remnants drizzle out into the creek, then he places it into the bag at his feet.
"I think God gave you to me so that I would have to watch you go through all this crap. Sins of the father, suffer the children. Something like that."
He sounds drunk, talking about crazy stuff, but I know he's sober. Words are coming out in almost quiet whispers, like the slow drip of a faucet. Word by word, the shell around my dad starts to crumble. I don't know what he means, but I know better than to interrupt. He's never been so open, not like this.
"You understand what I'm saying?"
Slowly, I shake my head no.
"You are being punished for my sins."
"What sins, Dad? What did you do that was so horrible?"
He looks away and I catch the glimmering trail running the length of his cheek.
"For hating them. All those years I wished they were dead."
"Who? Who'd you hate, Dad?"
His answer makes my stomach lurch.
"Your granddad and Grandma Carolyn."
I feel like someone has sucker punched me. I knew there was anger. From the little bit I've heard about my dad's life before I was born, I figured it was rough. But never in a million years would I have expected this. This was a bomb shell.
"You didn't really hate them- did you, Dad?"
His voice shakes. "I used to pray that they'd die. Every night I would make deals with God. Take them away and I'll be good. If you make them die, I 'll stop cussing." He lets go a ragged laugh. "Never admitted that to anybody."
As open as he was just a few seconds ago, he goes silent. It is like a door shut, right before I can really see inside.
"Let's go on back." Abruptly he grabs the oars and starts rowing toward the shore. We return to the tiny strip of sand in silence. Superman has just shown me his very vulnerable Clark Kent side. I don't think it was such a great thing to see.
He helps me carry the boat back to the side of house where we stow it behind the oleander bushes. He mounts the stairs with heavy footsteps and I follow a few paces behind him. Once inside we retreat to our own rooms.
His confession still sits in my gut and my head. The horrible poison of it seems to seep into my pores. I now know why the tension is ever present when they are together. Dad is pretending. Maybe Granddad and Grandma Carolyn are pretending as well. That's why nothing has ever felt right.
I curl up on my bed and close my eyes tight. I don't want to think about this. I don't want to think about any of this, but I know that's a lost cause.
Like a rogue storm on a summer day, I hear thunder start to rumble.
All I can say is this, how will I ever be normal coming from such a fucked up family as this one.
| Author Notes | Sorry it's so short. Feed back. Please and thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
Cassie is wearing a green dress made out of a shimmery material. She looks like something out of a fantasy. The material clings in all the right places and it stops me in my tracks. Then Boyd Hotchkiss swoops in and lifts her off the ground.
I hear him telling her she's hot, but coming from him it sounds cheap and dirty. She's a goddess, she needs to be on a pedestal. Sick and tired of Boyd always butting in, I walk directly up to her, wedging myself between the two of them.
"You look really pretty, Cassie," I say.
She blushes and smiles. "Thanks, Rory."
"You look really pretty all the time, but especially in green," I say.
Boyd muscles back in beside her. "You do, Cas. Coincidentally, green is the color of my sheets," he laughs out loud and elbows me.
Even though she's giggling, I glare at him. It was a piggish thing to say.
"Well, I just wanted to tell you I think you look beautiful today," I say, easing away.
She says thanks, then falls right back next to Boyd where his beefy arm lands around her shoulders.
I have to make my move. I'm losing ground. Boyd is pretty popular (God knows why) and for some reason it is a crowning achievement to girls if he hits on them. And another thing is Cassie is falling for him. I can see it in her eyes. If I don't do something, something big and very soon I won't stand a chance.
I wander down the hall and spot Reid Willoughby at the water fountain.
"What's up?" he says, his voice clipped and tight. He always sounds angry even when he's joking around.
"Nuthin'. Man, what is up with Boyd hitting on all the younger girls? Doesn't he have enough good looking girls in his class? Why does he have to invade our girls?"
"Our girls? Shit, French, I'm guessing this is about Willows. Am I right?"
When all I do is sigh he claps his hand on my upper arm and shakes his head. "As my grandpa says, shit or get off the pot."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means, make a move or shut up. If you think Cassie is worth all this effort then, for the love of God, ask her out. Otherwise, shut up."
"She only dates guys who drive."
Reid leans down for another sip of water, then stands and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. "That should tell you something right there."
I glance back down the hall to where Boyd is still draped on Cassie. I really hate that guy. I hate the way he walks, talks, takes up space in the world, but mostly I hate that he is moving in for the kill with the girl of my dreams.
"It does tell me something, Reid. It tells me I need a car."
"Good luck with that. No offence, but I don't see a car in your immediate future, not unless your old man hit the lottery."
"Thanks."
"Sorry, man, but I call 'em like I see 'em." He steps away from the water fountain and turns to watch as Boyd and Cassie walk by. "Later."
It's hard to take offence at something that has been plainly obvious since the first day I entered Patterson County public schools. I always got free lunches, Medicaid. For a while I got these week-end care packages that some churches made. There was enough food for me to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner while I was out of school for the weekend. I can honestly say if there's a program for poverty level children, well, my name has almost certainly been on it.
The thing about Patterson County is that most of the county has been on some sort of subsidy program, be it welfare, food stamps, or unemployment. Why would people tease me when I am just one of many?
Since I won't be receiving a new car for my birthday, I have to come up with something else. And I need to do it fast.
I do have access to a fine set of wheels. It'll be a risk to take it, but if any body's worth it, Cassie Willows is. I won't get permission from Dad, but I can get really creative when I need to and I'm thinking I can pull the whole night off without him knowing. And you know what they say, what you don't know won't hurt you.
My mind is made up. Saturday night I will be cruising down route 17 with Cassie Willows by my side. The only thing to make this fantasy more complete would be to ride by Boyd as he walks along the side of the road. The devil in me takes it a step farther. I put the truck in reverse and run him over. Cassie will turn and look over at me, "What was that?" To which I will reply, "Just a load of trash."
Yep, Saturday night I'm gonna win Cassie's heart, and Boyd will fade into the background.
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By GWHARGIS
Wednesday night we have a game. It's a home game and that means my dad and my grandparents will be there. It's nice that they show up and support me, but I just wish Grandma Carolyn would stop yelling my name out. It's both distracting and embarrassing. She doesn't understand basketball, so she keeps yelling how the other team isn't playing fair when they have just stolen the ball from our point guard. Even though I am no where near the guy, she keeps yelling my name. "Stop him, Rory."
Thankfully, none of the other guys have paid attention to it, because no one is giving me a hard time. The coach is putting me in more than Taylor. Every time I return to the bench Taylor is the only one who won't high five me or even look me in the eye. He's too busy sulking.
"What's up your butt?" I whisper.
"Why isn't he putting me in? Howie Benjamin is making mistake after mistake. Why doesn't coach pull him out and put me in?" Taylor says in a low hiss.
"Ask him."
He looks at me with a sour expression. "Sure, French, I'll do just that," he snarls.
"French, you're in. Take over for Carlton," Coach yells from several feet away.
I jump up and go check in at the scorekeeper's table. I would feel bad for Taylor but he hasn't caught on that his attitude is keeping him benched. I know why I'm being put in. I'm one of the tallest players on the team. Taylor is one of the shortest.
Even though half the team hated me at one point in the season, they are starting to pass the ball to me more and more. I have a killer floater, where I jump and shoot while in mid air. Even the coach told me he hasn't seen any sophomore in his twenty-plus years of coaching who could do that.
When the ball lands in my hands just four seconds before the end of the game, I channel the basketball player in my soul and shoot. It hits the backboard with a thud, and drops in. It ain't pretty, but it's three points.
I look over at the bench and everybody is jumping up and down. Coach is standing straight up, arms up in a victory stance. The look of sheer happiness and surprise is priceless.
I scour the stands and see my dad. His usual stoic expression is split ear to ear with a smile. He raises his hand and gives a thumbs up. Grandma Carolyn and Granddad are, I'm sure, bragging to everyone around them that I am their grandson.
I glance at the bench and see Taylor. His sour pus look is unchanged. He's grabbing his warm up jersey and his half empty Gatorade. To look at him, you would never know his team had just won the game. He couldn't have looked any less enthused if he were headed to a funeral.
It really kind of bothers me. I don't understand people like him. Why not be happy for all of us? If he had just scored the winning basket, I'd have hauled ass out on the court and probably picked him up. But he isn't like that. He's the kind of guy who goes through life looking for his own reflection every where he turns.
I start to go back to the bench to collect my stuff, when I hear my name being called.
"Rory!"
I spin around to find Cassie standing just a couple feet away.
"Rory, you were so good out there tonight," she says. She's wearing a thin blue shirt that keeps slipping off of her shoulder. And from what I can tell, she's not wearing a bra. Either that or it is seriously cold in the gym, if you get my meaning.
"Hey, thanks."
"I never knew you could play like that."
"There's probably a lot you don't know about me," I say, then wink like I've seen my dad do.
"Something in your eye?" she asks.
"No. I was- never mind."
She dips her head just enough for that beautiful mane of hair the slide forward. It takes every ounce of resolve not to touch it. "Well, I just wanted to tell you I think you were the best one out there."
She starts to walk away. Panic builds and I know that if I don't do something right this minute, I never will.
"Cassie, wait. What are you doing Saturday night?"
"I was going to-."
I stop her. "You are going out with me."
"But you don't have a license."
I fake a cocky smile and lean in to whisper to her. "Don't you worry about it. Things have changed in the past couple of weeks. I'll pick you up around nine."
This angelic look of confusion settles on her face. "What are we gong to do?"
"Go to the party of the year, what else?" I say, then turn away leaving her staring at me like she's seeing me for the first time.
I gotta say, it's a damned good feeling.
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By GWHARGIS
It's eleven forty when I finally finish my homework and get ready for bed. That's one draw back about being on the basketball team. Even though I'm doing something for the school, I still have to keep up with my classes. The euphoria of knowing I'm going to be alone with Cassie on Saturday night has finally evened out. My stomach is empty of the butterflies.
When I close my eyes I can still see the light blue shirt and the surprised look on her gorgeous face when I asked her, no, told her we were going out. I think about what it will be like to kiss her at the end of the night. Something stirs in me and I roll over.
I'm no different than Boyd. I love how Cassie looks. I'd give my eye teeth to run my fingers through that glossy hair. Her body, that's the stuff dreams are made of, but it's not just about sex. It is so much more than that. I love her. It has got to be love. Why else would I risk everything just to be with her.
Seeing Cassie happy is my ultimate goal. I know I could make her happy, and Saturday night I will show her just that.
But there is a little voice in my head blaring out a warning. It keeps asking questions that I don't want to deal with.
"How are you going to get your dad's truck? You think he's just going to wave goodbye from the porch as you drive off into the sunset?" I guess its the voice of reason tossing these annoying roadblocks up.
The evil voice speaks up.
"Rory, you're a lot smarter than your old man. You'll figure something out. Just use your head."
The evil voice lulls me to sleep promising me that everything will work itself out.
"Go to sleep, Rory, you'll think of something. Cassie's worth it, ain't that right? What's a little lie?"
The evil voice is right. I'm not above lying, not for Cassie. I realize I'm not above a lot of things when it comes to Cassie.
I have this dream that my dad has a date. He comes into my room and he's dressed preppy like. He's wearing a red button down shirt and khakis. He looks better than I've ever seen him, but the really weird thing is he looks comfortable in this get up. I've only ever seen him in jeans or his blue work pants.
But getting back to the dream, I keep asking him who he has a date with. He just smiles at me and shakes his head. "You ought to know. You did all of this."
It's a weird dream, but when I wake up I know my evil voice was right. I did come up with a plan. All I need to do is get my dad a date.
Should be easy, right? Not really, because my dad is a strange guy. I will be hard pressed to find someone who can get past his gruff manner and his inability to handle small talk. It will have to be someone who knows him and likes him despite all this.
Two names come to mind: Kathleen and Charla.
Kathleen is immediately dismissed for all kinds of obvious reasons. But Charla, now I have always suspected she kind of loves my dad. Maybe he just needs a push in the right direction.
My evil voice whispers in my ear. "So, pick up the phone. Call her. She loves you. She'll do anything for the two of you."
I wait until I get home from school, and after Dad leaves for his night job. I lift the phone off the cradle and draw in two deep breaths before I dial. It rings twice before Charla answers the phone.
"Charla," I say.
"Hey, Rory. You need a ride somewhere?"
"No, I need to ask a favor."
I close my eyes, envisioning Cassie in her blue top. I picture her smiling, whispering to me, "Go on, Rory. Do it. Do it for us."
I start telling Charla all of it. Starting with the fire alarm stunt and even our talk in the boat the other night. I leave out the part about Dad wishing Granddad and Grandma Carolyn had died. That is one thing I don't ever want anyone to know about my dad.
"Your dad is a good guy. He loves you."
"I know. I just keep being afraid he'll start drinking again. All he does is work and come home."
She laughs on the other end. It is a soothing laugh. One that lets me know she has seen it all before. "He's always been like that."
I look around the kitchen. It has a sink, a small electric stove and a refrigerator. There are no extras. Dad has this aversion to knick knacks.
"Charla, he needs to get out. Maybe Saturday night you and he-," I stop as she starts to talk.
"Saturday night we could all go see a movie. Ya'll could come over here and have some homemade lasagna," she says, ready to rattle off a whole game plan.
"That sounds great, but he needs a break from me."
"He'll get over being mad, Rory."
I kick the baseboard impatiently. "Charla, please just come get him, take him out, fix him dinner. He needs you, Charla. We both need you."
She's silent on the other end and I can picture her mulling it over. I know she has feelings for Dad. She looks at Dad like I want Cassie to look at me.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, she sighs.
"I guess. What are you going to be doing while I kidnap your daddy?"
"Probably hanging out with a friend," I say. It's not a total lie.
"Does your daddy know you're calling me?"
"Oh, gawd, no. He'd get even madder. Just promise you'll come get him, make him forget everything going on lately."
"Rory, you're such a nice kid. Always looking out for everybody else."
I can't concentrate on anything else she says, 'cause that damned evil voice is laughing his ass off.
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By GWHARGIS
Saturday afternoon Dad is dragging the Miss Lenore down towards the creek. It's wicked cold today, and I can't imagine him lasting too long out there.
"You really taking the boat out?" I yell from the back door. I glance at the clock on the stove.
"Thought I'd give it a shot. You want to come on out with me?"
"No way," I laugh as a gust of frigid air looks like it's going to pull the hair clean out of his head.
He's tall and thin, with not an ounce of fat on him, but he claims he's out of shape. Yet here he is dragging the boat like it weighs no more than a loaf of bread. Dad loves being outside. No matter what the weather is like. There was one time when I caught him standing on the porch when a hurricane was passing through.
I watch him shove off shore then run over to the phone to dial Charla's number.
"Hey, have you talked to my dad?"
"Sure did. I told him I was coming to get him for a long night of fun and food." Charla lets a few seconds go by then she starts talking again. "Rory, is everything okay? I worry about you."
"It's great. I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me. Dad's out in the boat now, I was just wondering what time you were coming by. I want to make sure he's ready."
"I'll be by around seven-thirty. Do you need me to drop you off somewhere?"
Think fast, French. There is no way Dad and Charla will leave you alone if you don't say you have plans. "Nope. My friend, Taylor, is coming over. He won't get here until later. So, how long do you think you and Dad will be out?"
"I hadn't really thought about it. You sure something isn't going on?"
Crap. I've made her suspicious. Desperate times call for desperate measures. So I do what I have learned to do well...I lie.
"I had a dream that you and Dad hit it off. "
She laughs. She has one of those laughs that makes you all warm inside. It sounds like music.
"So, that's what this is about? Heck, Rory, that ship sailed a long time ago. Your daddy and I are just good friends."
"Grandma Carolyn says that being good friends is the most important part of any relationship."
"That's true. But it doesn't mean every friendship is destined for romance."
I study my fingernails as she talks. For the first time in a long time I utter the truth. "Well, it can't keep me from hoping."
"That's the sweetest thing anyone's said to me in a long time," she says.
Dad stays out in the boat for a long time. He doesn't fish or row around, just sits hunched against the cold, staring at the woods across the creek and the water. Sometimes I wonder what he thinks about when he's out there. Maybe it's all the mistakes he made when he was young. Or maybe it's about all the mistakes I've been making lately. Whatever it is he's thinking about, he sure does look lonely doing it.
I meet him at the bank when he finally rows himself back to shore.
"So, how was it?" I ask.
"Cold."
"You shoulda' worn gloves," I say, reaching down to grab the edge of the dingy.
He nods, then tilts his head to the side and looks intently into my eyes. "What are your plans for the night, Rory?"
He catches me off guard. Mentally, I brace myself.
"I think Taylor's coming over."
"Is he that snotty kid?" he asks.
I shake my head quickly. "Oh, no, that's Reid."
"Good, I don't care for that one."
He has something on his mind, but carries the other side of the dingy without saying anything. It's not until we're lifting the boat over the edge of the oleander that he speaks. "Rory, you'd tell me if something was going on, wouldn't you?"
"Sure."
"Good. I don't like being blindsided. A man's word is about all he's got in my book. You've been raised to be upfront."
I nod, careful not to look away or shove my hands in my pockets. Those are my giveaway signs.
"A lot's been going on lately. I don't know what I'd do if I found you were hiding something from me."
I almost tell him. It's the right thing to do. The old Rory would spill his guts. He'd come clean and confess. But I'm trying to be a different guy now. Like a snake who's shedding his old skin, I'll scrape along on my belly until it falls away. Then a new, shinier Rory will appear.
Of all the people who should understand this, Dean should.
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By GWHARGIS
If Dad realizes he's supposed to be getting ready and getting the heck out of here, he's taking his sweet assed time about it. He invites Charla in, and they sit and talk about stuff nobody truly cares about. She tells him about a new patient, and he proceeds to describe how a saw blade snapped and nearly cut Dewey's arm off. Blah, blah, blah. Yes, it's lucky nobody got hurt. Just leave already.
I wonder if B.D. Cooper or Al Capone had this much trouble when planning their escapades. I'm not in their league, but lets be honest, I am planning a minor crime.
At seven-fifty they get up and Dad grabs his coat.
"Alright, Rory, stay out of trouble," Dad says. "Why don't you go check on your grandparents?"
"Why?"
"I don't know, Rory. Maybe 'cause you don't hardly see them anymore."
"Maybe. But no promises."
Charla stands up. She is just shy of his shoulder. She dresses pretty funky for a woman her age. She's wearing a tight black shirt that I can almost see through and some white pants that flair out like the ones the guy on the Cracker Jack box is wearing. Her hair is short and sleek black, like a tight little black cap, only she has some blue shimmering streaks throughout. In my opinion, she looks pretty sharp.
"You look really nice, Charla," I say, then nudge my dad. "Doesn't she?"
He shrugs. "She always looks good."
"But she looks especially good tonight."
Charla starts to laugh but covers her mouth with her hand.
"Let's go," she says and reaches for his hand.
"You call Charla's if you need anything."
"Hello. Almost sixteen, remember?"
Dad frowns ever so slightly. Like a detective who has just found a clue, he studies me for a second longer than need be. But he says nothing, just lets Charla lead him to the front door.
"See ya, Rory," Charla says and waves goodbye. "Have fun with your friend."
Dad reaches for his keys that are on the table beside the door.
"What do you need your keys for?"
"So I can get back in the house."
I snatch them out of his hand and lay them back down. "I'll still be up. I'll bet you're home by eleven o'clock, old man."
He smirks. "Yeah, well, just make sure you are still awake. I'll be mighty pissed if I have to bang on the front door for an hour."
They leave. I watch as her SUV disappears from sight and then I book it into the kitchen to call Cassie.
"I'm just about ready to come pick you up. You ready?"
"Are we still going to the party?" she asks.
"Yes, ma'am."
Her voice sounds decidedly more chipper when I tell her yes. "Good. I think a couple of my friends are going to be there."
I run back to my room and splash some aftershave on. I walk to the door, fighting the build-up of my nerves, and lift the keys off the table.
"This is it, Rory. You are about to go out with the girl of your dreams."
I hear that tiny voice of reason, the one that's tired of fighting me and the evil voice. "Careful what you wish for, Rory. You just may get more than you bargained for."
Even though I've been planning this for a long time, I'm nervous as hell. Never before have I ever done anything like this. I check the clock. At best, I have until eleven before my dad gets home.
Charla and he will shoot the shit, eat, maybe watch a movie, but knowing my dad, that's doubtful. I tried to let her know how important it was to keep him out of the house. Maybe she'll come through for me.
I climb up in to the cab and look around in disgust. There's saw dust everywhere. There's no time to clean it out, so I put the key in and the engine roars to life. I fasten my seat belt and without any more hesitation I slip the truck in to gear.
I get to the end of the driveway. Without warning a huge breath escapes me.
I try to relax as I drive, keep on telling myself how lucky I am. She's going to be sitting right next to me in just a couple of minutes.
I pull up in front of her house and go up the sidewalk and knock on the front door. She opens it, yells to her parents and then grabs my arm and hustles me away. I think I see a look of disappointment when she looks at the truck.
"Everything okay?" I ask.
"What?"
"You just made a face," I say.
She shakes her head and her beautiful hair flutters and glistens under the light at the end of her sidewalk. "Oh, I was just looking at your truck."
I look it over. I know it isn't beautiful, part of that is because of me, but it isn't horrible. It doesn't have to be beautiful, all it has to do is get us to the party.
"What's wrong with the truck?"
She flashes me a brilliant smile and reaches over to take my hand. "Nothing."
Her fingers feel warm. They seem to be the perfect fit as they slip in between mine. She leaves her hand wrapped up with mine until I merge onto the highway, then she pulls her fingers free.
"Rory, you won't mind if I go look for my friends, will you?"
"No, we can look for them," Things are going to be great when we finally get there. It will be so different from school. I try to visualize us, walking hand and hand, weaving through the mass of people. She'll loosen up, I'll loosen up...you can see where this is headed.
"Oh, no. You can go hang out with your friends and I'll hang out with mine."
"But this is a date. Right?"
Her eyes dart back and forth. "I guess I just thought we were going to the party together. That's all."
Even so, wouldn't that mean we could still hang out together? I stare at the windshield, wondering how I got the obvious message so screwed up.
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By GWHARGIS
The road is loaded with cars and trucks. There are only three houses I can see. Each is huge with a manicured lawn and a long cement driveway.
"Man," I say as I let go a low whistle. "Everybody from school must be here."
She giggles. "Let's go."
I hop out of the truck and run around to the other side to open her door, but by the time I get there she's already out and fixing her hair.
"Hey, you look great," I say, hoping she'll understand how amazing I think she is.
"You're so sweet, Rory."
The pulsating beat of music can be heard from where I parked.
"I'm surprised the cops aren't here. The music's pretty loud."
I scan the cars parked on the road and the ones that have been pulled on to the lawn. I don't recognize any of them. As we get closer I reach out to take her hand again, remembering the warm fuzzy feeling from earlier. This time her fingers feel like limp little sticks in my own. She makes no effort to intertwine her fingers with mine. Carefully, I pull my hand away and stick it into my pocket.
"You didn't really want to come here with me, did you?"
Cassie shakes her head. "It's not that I didn't want to come here with you, but I like someone else."
"Boyd," I say. I'm not asking, because I already know.
"He couldn't come to get me. He said his dad didn't like him to have anybody else in the car with him."
"He rides with Mikey Shalley and Nick Carrons everyday. He's feeding you a load of bull crap."
She looks up sharply "Don't be like this, Rory. I came with you, didn't I?"
I have nothing to lose now. I know exactly where I stand with Cassie. I want her to know what Boyd is and how he uses girls. "I don't understand why you like him. He uses girls then throws them aside. Why would you want to be one of them?"
She starts walking faster. Her beautiful hair hitting her shoulders with each angry step.
"Wait, Cassie. I-I really like you. I just don't want you to get hurt."
With that admission she stops. "That's really sweet. What time do we have to leave?"
"Around ten."
Cassie stands on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek. "I forgive you. Come find me at ten." With those final words, she walks quickly into the mass of people who are oozing in and out of the house.
I try like hell not to let it bother me. But Taylor's words keep echoing in my head. "Because you're you, and Cassie is Cassie."
I don't get too far into the throng of people before my presence is noticed. There is mainly upper classmen and some others who don't go to our school, probably Patterson High kids. So if there is enough alcohol consumed, there is bound to be a fight.
"It's Fireman Fred," a voice calls out.
No need to wonder, it's me he's pointing out.
I walk around the back of the house, towards the source of the music. A very expensive stereo is on a metal and glass table. I step onto the flagstone patio and look around. Their outdoor furniture is nicer than anything my dad and I have inside our house. The smell of grilling meat wafts and tickles my nose. I see Ellison, from the basketball team. He's wearing this goofy looking apron with the words 'ask me about my meat', in big bold letters across it.
"Hey, Frenchie," he yells. He's holding a spatula in one hand and a red solo cup in the other. "Grab a beer."
There are dozens of people whom I've never seen before. I walk toward him. Even if he doesn't really like me, at least I know him.
"You want a burger?" he asks, then lifts the grill top to give me a peek. They smell better than they look. There are ten or twelve charred disks smoking on the grates.
I shake my head. "No thanks."
As I stand there, looking around at the sea of laughing and happy faces, I realize I'm out of my element. Most of them are older, and all want to be here. I don't want to be here. The only thing I want is to be here with Cassie.
Ellison eyes my cup, then steps closer to inspect it. "What? You don't drink?"
"Not really."
"You don't know what you're missing," he says, then grins. He stops and swats at a moth with the spatula. The moth dances around his face before flying off to the nearest light. "Get off me, man."
"My dad's an alcoholic."
"Well, now, that sucks, doesn't it?" he sighs. He flips a couple of the burgers and recloses the lid. "But just because your old man is, don't mean you will be."
I shrug. "I made a promise not to drink...ever. I keep my promises."
Ellison sizes me up. "I like you, Rory. You're goofy as hell, pulling the fire alarm. But you're a standup guy." He lifts his cup and then downs whatever is in it. I receive the biggest sloppiest smile I have ever gotten, followed by an impressive burp. I take it as the ultimate compliment.
Other guys from the team come up. Most take my not drinking in stride. Only a couple won't stop offering me drinks. Ellison holds up his hand and once he has their attention he speaks. "My boy, French, doesn't drink. His old man is a drunk and he wants no part of it. Let it go."
Thankfully, they stop. For the first time I feel like one of them. I don't feel like the new guy, or the dumb ass who pulled the fire alarm. I'm not the skinny, awkward guy with the flashlight eyes. I feel accepted.
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By GWHARGIS
Even though it is nice talking and joking with the guys on my team, I keep thinking about her. I haven't seen her since we first got here, and it's after nine.
"Anybody seen Cassie Willows?" I ask.
Ellison shrugs, but I watch as a couple of guys look at each other, then at the house. To be more specific, they look at the upstairs of the house.
"Naw, haven't seen her," came the weak reply.
"Well, we came together, but she disappeared."
One burly senior, Dave Ogburn, puts a brotherly arm across my shoulder. "Word of advice, French. Girls like her ain't worth your while."
"Okay," I say.
"No, man, you need to cut your losses."
I glance up at the second floor of the house. I'm guessing she's up there. I'm guessing she's with Boyd. But ten o'clock is approaching fast, and like Cinderella, I got to get my tail home. "I gotta hit the john," I say.
The house is packed. People are wall to wall. They are on the stairs, the furniture, every where. I squeeze between them, cut through clusters of people, and make my way upstairs. The line for the upstairs hall bathroom is trickling down the steps. As big as this house is, I'm going out on a limb and guess there is another bathroom up here somewhere. Coming around the corner, I see a door, probably leading into the master bedroom. This is something I normally wouldn't do. I try to stay out of parents' bedrooms, but I really have to pee.
The door is shut and the lights are off, so I test the knob. It turns, and I slip inside. Nobody sees me. The sliding glass doors are open and I can hear the deafening and distorted music coming through. I can hear something else, voices, a girl and a guy. She is giggling, "...and he just doesn't have a clue."
I hear him laugh that pompous, selfish laugh. "Thank God, he doesn't. I don't have a way to get you home." It's Boyd.
My heart sinks. They're talking about me. Not just talking about me, they're laughing at me. I've been such a fool. Even as I stood down there with the guys, I was thinking that maybe on the way home, things would work themselves out.
Then his voice changes. It goes deep and husky. "Come here, my sweet little jail bait."
The music stops, at least for me. I can hear nothing but the sounds of them as they stumble back into the room. Their limbs tangle in a drunken, passionate embrace. Neither of them see me as I stand pressed against the door. In the darkness I hear as he fumbles with his zipper and she moans.
I can't stand this. I have to get out. Throwing open the door I run down the hall. The last thing I hear as I take off is Cassie.
"Who was that?"
Boyd kicks at the door with his foot. "Who cares?"
I've never felt so stupid. Everybody told me to stay away from her. But I didn't listen. Everything she said to me was a lie. I stole my father's truck...for her. I broke a trust with him, for a girl who, I now know, wouldn't spit on me if I was on fire.
Fumbling for my keys, I run out the front door, and hurry to the truck. As I get close, I can see someone's long legs sticking off the back of it. I'm in no mood for this right now.
"Hey, get off my truck," I say, angrily slapping the passenger door with my open palm.
The legs shift but whoever is sitting there doesn't jump up like I they thought they would.
"Hey! I said get the hell off my truck." I stalk back there, ready to confront them.
But when I get back there, it's my father's eyes I'm staring into.
"Keys," he says. His voice is controlled, but I can see the lava behind his eyes.
"How'd you know-."
"Keys!" he shouts.
I hand them over.
"Get your lying ass in the cab."
White hot panic is gurgling in my throat. "Dad, can I explain?"
"No!"
He'll calm down, I tell myself. By the time we get to the house, he'll have calmed down. But even as I assure myself of this, I remember who my father is. I have always lived with the understanding that there is a line you don't cross with Dean French.
Now as I stand on the other side of the line, I know things have changed forever between he and I.
| Author Notes | Feed back. Please and thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
Two days have come and gone since I got caught with Dad's truck. Oddly enough, he hasn't brought it up. But despite that, the crime is ever present between us. I tread carefully and quietly around him. He's not a talkative man, but now his silence is deafening.
On Tuesday morning I wake up early. I can hear him puttering around in the kitchen. I have to talk to him. He's gonna yell but I don't even care about that anymore. I can't go on like this.
I pull on the clothes I was wearing yesterday and head out of my room.
"Dad?"
He looks up.
"We need to talk."
He sits back in the kitchen chair and regards me silently. Slowly, he lifts his coffee mug up to his mouth.
"Okay?"
A slight tilt of his head is the only indication he is listening.
"I was wrong to take your truck."
Silence.
"I was wrong to lie to you."
He looks about as unimpressed as possible.
"You lied to me, Charla, who else, Rory?"
"Nobody."
He nods and sets the coffee mug down in front of him. "You know what a liar is, Ror?"
"Someone who doesn't tell the truth."
"That's just the tip of the iceberg, boy. A liar is someone who's afraid to let people see the real them. You've been lying a lot lately. You afraid the world is going to see the real you?"
"No sir."
"I don't believe you."
I struggle not to get defensive. He has no idea what he's talking about. I'm not afraid for people to see the real me. I let them see it every day.
"How would you know? You couldn't possibly know what I go through," I say.
"I don't know what you go through. You got me there. Only you know what you have to face every day. Shit, Rory, we all have parts of our lives that suck. I sure as hell did."
"Your mom loves you," I yell. "My mom fucking hates me!"
My outburst doesn't even make him raise an eyebrow.
"She threw rocks at me."
"I know."
"It hurts knowing my own mother doesn't care if I live or die. You know how that feels?"
His eyes flicker and I think about his confession in the boat that night.
"Rory, sit down."
I stand my ground, but when he leans forward in his seat and pats the table I finally come over.
"Let me tell you a story about a kid I knew growing up."
"Is this about you?" I ask.
He finally smiles slightly and nods. "It was about me. The old me, the one who thought he could fool the world by acting like a fool and acting like he didn't give a shit. Yeah, it's about me."
He starts to lift the mug, then sets it back down. "My dad wasn't always bad to me. I think the first few years of my life we had a fairly normal relationship."
"What happened?"
He shrugs. "I couldn't tell you. I'd like to blame the moonshine, but it doesn't matter, the demon was there from the start. It was the 'shine that gave him the courage to act on it."
"What did Granddad really do to you?"
When Dad looks up at me, there is a sadness in his eyes. It's like he was remembering something from yesterday, not twenty some years ago.
"He tried to kill me." He runs his fingers along the handle of the cup, and I watch as they shake ever so slightly. His voice is quiet, almost reverent. "Are you sure you want to hear this, because what I tell you will change how you look at him. You sure you want to do that?"
In all honesty, I'm not sure. It seems so surreal. Granddad has always been so good to me. The man who held me on his lap the first time I went fishing, and poked holes in the top of an empty mayonnaise jar so I could collect lightning bugs, could he have been such a monster? All of my life I have felt safe with him. But in order to understand why there is this ever present secretiveness between Dad and Granddad, I have to know.
"Tell me," I say.
And he does. What strikes me as odd, is that there is no anger or resentment in my dad's voice. It's like he's telling me a story about someone else. When he's done telling me about the time Granddad tried to drown him, and the time he beat him with the buckle end of his belt, I see a different man sitting across the table from me.
"Do you hate him?" I whisper, my voice shaky and hesitant.
Dad shakes his head. "No, not anymore."
"How could you forgive him?"
Dad smiles. "Hate will hold you captive if you let it. I learned that when you were born. You are the reason your granddad and I get along now."
"Me?"
"You were the new hope."
"I don't get it."
"I had a reason to be a better person. I had a son and I wanted you to look up to me."
"Why'd that change him, though?"
"Cause he wanted you to look up to him, too. And I guess he wanted me to look up to him as well." His eyes shine with tears but none fall.
His story makes me ashamed of how I've been acting. I have a good life, maybe not perfect, but I know it could be a lot worse. My dad loves me. Even now, after lying to him, and stealing his truck, he still loves me.
"What's my punishment?" I ask, knowing the inevitable can't be avoided any longer.
"No license. Not until December."
"But Dad-."
"No, Rory. Having a license is a privilege. You lost that privilege. What would you have done if you'd crashed and hurt that girl? You claim to be head over heels for her. What you did was stupid and dangerous."
My eyes focus on a stain on my jeans. "She's history."
He doesn't pry, just nods his head.
"Please, Dad, let me get my license."
"Rory, forget about the license for now. We have to talk about something else. I should have told you sooner. I just didn't-," he sighs and looks down.
I wait. The license news is killing me. What could be worse than this?
"Rory, your grandma has breast cancer," he says.
| Author Notes | Feed back. Please and thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
Immediately, I jump to my feet. Grandma Carolyn has cancer. All I want is to blow off school and run through the woods to go check on her. This news explains why she was so emotional the last time I saw her.
"It's not the bad kind of cancer, is it?" I ask.
Dad winces. "There ain't no good kind, Ror."
"You know what I mean. She's not going to die, is she?"
Dad rubs the back of his neck, the way he always does when he's uncomfortable. "I don't know. Hell, the doctors don't know either. She has to go into the hospital for some exploratory surgery."
"When?"
"Next week sometime," he says, standing up and carrying his coffee cup over to the sink. "Tonight, after you get home from practice, we'll go over there together."
I nod, but make no move to get ready for school. "Hey, did you tell them about what happened? You know, taking the truck."
He shakes his head. "They've had enough to worry about."
I look up at him, and though I don't say it, he knows I'm grateful.
It's like I'm sleepwalking through the day. I can answer questions, carry on conversations, but I feel a million miles away emotionally. I feel disconnected.
Practice starts in fifteen minutes and I run back to my locker for a power bar. Someone taps me on the shoulder as I'm digging around for it.
"Hey, Rory." It's Cassie. She's standing behind me, her books pressed against her chest. "What happened to you Saturday night?"
She stands there looking all doe eyed and meek, not at all like the girl who was calling me clueless, and laughing at me. I can't picture this girl making the noises that she and Boyd were making Saturday night. But I know what kind of person she is now. She thrives on being chased. She doesn't care who wins, it's all about the chase.
"I left."
If she's waiting for me to say I'm sorry she's in for a surprise. She's the one who owes me an apology, but I already know I won't collect.
"But why? I told you to come find me when you were ready to leave."
I pull the wrapper back on the power bar and study the colorful packaging. I can't look into her eyes, not yet. If I do I just might fall under her spell again.
"Rory?"
"I did. I came looking for you but Boyd found you first. Didn't he give you a ride home? I would have thought after everything that happened between you two, surely he would have given you a ride."
"He took me to a gas station. I had to call my daddy. I lied for you, Rory. I told my daddy that your truck broke down."
"Well, thanks for lying," I say. She has no clue that I can see through her now. All I see is what a liar she is. But when I look into her eyes, I see another liar in the reflection. Me.
"Cassie, you used me, to go to that party to be with Boyd."
"The party was your idea, Rory."
She was right. The party had been my idea, but I know if I'd taken her bowling, Boyd would have shown up.
"I'm waiting," she says.
"For what? An apology for leaving you at the party or for seeing the real you?"
There is an angry flash in her eyes. "Rory, I'd be careful if I were you. You aren't real popular around here."
"You're right."
Maybe she sees she's not getting anywhere, because she does this hissy fit about face and stomps off down the hall.
You know what I do? I laugh, because I'm no longer under her spell and it feels damned good.
Stepping into the bathroom, I study myself in the mirror.
"You're not real popular," he says.
"I know," I say. "I'm okay with that. How about you?"
I think about the past few months. Pretending to be someone else didn't exactly make me happy. Living a lie, rather, living life as a liar isn't fulfilling.
I stare at the goofy looking kid with the big green eyes, and the wavy hair that seems to have a life of its own, and smile.
"Yep, I'm okay with it."
| Author Notes | Feed back. Please and thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
I beg off school the day Grandma Carolyn is scheduled for surgery. And it's a good thing I do, because neither Granddad nor my dad have enough sense to ask the doctors and nurses any questions.
"So, how is she?" I ask the first nurse in over sized scrubs who comes around the corner.
"She's in recovery right now. We'll let you go back and see her in a little while. Meanwhile, ya'll should run and grab something to eat."
Granddad nods and motions for us to follow him out of the waiting room.
As we wait on the elevator, my dad suddenly pushes the button for the third floor. When it opens, he leads us to the large glass window where we watch eight squirmy little babies lined up in clear plastic tubs.
"You were about that size the first time I laid eyes on you," Dad says quietly as he points to the biggest baby in the nursery. The kid looks like a monster truck in the middle of a bunch of Volkswagens. He is all red faced and there is an awkward beanie sitting on top of his huge head.
"Hope I was cuter than that," I mutter.
Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. "You sure took my breath away."
Something that's been weighing heavily on my mind is suddenly out of my mouth before I have the sense to pull it back.
"I dented the side of your truck," I blab.
He doesn't take his hand off my shoulder, just leans in close enough to whisper in my ear. "No, shit, Rory."
My granddad is walking in front of us as we head back to the elevators. His shoulders are slumped and his eyes are fixed on something far away. He looks lost in his own thoughts and since I'm pretty sure he isn't listening to us I ask Dad another question that has been bothering me.
"How'd you find me Saturday night?"
"I followed you."
"Wait, you left before I did."
Dad smirks. "Every trick you ever pull, I promise you, I have done it. I told you before, Rory, you're a piss poor liar."
It's true. I know it and he knows it.
"Well, I'm done with it, anyhow. It's too hard to keep up with. If people don't like the real Rory French, then screw 'em."
"You're a pretty smart kid. Anybody ever tell you that?"
"Not lately, no."
He laughs and ruffles my hair. As humiliating as it is to have him do that in public, it is really good to see him laughing again.
We get back on the elevator and ride down to the cafeteria. Dad buys our lunches and I slide into the booth next to Granddad. My dad slides into the seat across from us and lifts his cup of coffee. His hands shake, and when he sees that both granddad and I notice, he gives Granddad a knowing look.
"She's going to be okay," I finally say. "They'll get this shit and she'll be alright."
Granddad smiles. I try to see the monster my dad described. I try but I can't, or maybe I just don't want to. I guess I'm afraid if I see Granddad like that, I'll start to see my dad as a victim.
Dad taps the table, a devilish grin on his face. "What do you want to bet, she wakes up and starts telling us some gossip she heard right before she went under."
Granddad smiles but it's weak.
"She'll be fine, Granddad." I say.
He nods. "You're right, Rory. She survived the two of us," he says, and looks at my dad. "I can't imagine something like this taking her out."
She's awake when we get back. Her speech is all slurred and she has a devil of a time keeping her eyes open, but she's still Grandma Carolyn.
"Rory, how come you aren't in school?" she asks.
"I wanted to be here."
"Has the doctor been in yet?" she asks. "Did they get it all?"
"Shush, Carolyn. Stop talking. He'll get here in a few minutes. You know what they say, no news is good news."
She offers a slight smile as we wait for the doctor. She is so pale. There isn't much difference in the color of the sheet and her face.
A new nurse comes in and checks her pulse and the IV bag that's hanging on a hook beside her bed. "Dr. Lawrence is gonna come talk to you in just a few minutes. You need any ice chips, Mrs. French?"
"No, I'm alright," she says. "Did they get it all?"
The nurse pats my grandma's hand and smiles. "He seemed pretty pleased with how things went, Mrs. French."
I wonder how much of what the nurse told her was true. Did they get it or are there still some rogue cancer cells floating around inside of her? Hiding, like the Taliban, waiting to resurface and wreak havoc when nobody's looking.
This past weekend, my biggest fear was being caught by my dad. Right now that barely registers on the scale. Losing my grandma is at the very tip top of the scale.
And I am scared.
I look over at my dad, who is pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed. His hands are stuck deep in his pockets. Just by looking at him, I can tell he's scared, too.
"How do you feel, Mrs. French?" A tall man with furry gray and black streaked mustache says as he comes into the room.
"I'm okay," she says, then tries to pull herself up, only to fall back against the bed weakly.
"Lie back," he says. "I've got some good news."
We all look up, hopeful and ready to take a good long breath.
"We are only going to have to take your right breast."
Nobody moves. Not one word is uttered by anyone for over one full minute. Then Grandma Carolyn sighs and speaks.
"But Dr. Lawrence, that's my favorite one."
She seems so serious and maybe she is. But one by one we all start to laugh.
| Author Notes | Feed back. Please and thank you. |
By GWHARGIS
Within fifteen minutes of the doctor's appearance in Grandma Carolyn's room, we learn what lay ahead for all of us. Grandma Carolyn would have a partial mastectomy, go through chemo and radiation, then optional reconstruction. He told us that she'd likely lose her hair, she'd be tired and lose her appetite. There were going to be days when she would want to lie down and die, and other days when things would be close to normal. He stressed there would be no particular order of those days.
"How long is she going to have to go through this?" Granddad asked.
"Let's just see how the next few weeks go and then I'll have a better picture. We'll get you scheduled for surgery and go from there."
Dad waits until the doctor leaves then waves me over. "She needs to rest, Ror. Let's head on home. I can't afford to miss work tomorrow."
Grandma Carolyn looks over at my dad. "Dean, I have half a lasagna in the fridge."
Dad shakes his head. "Momma, stop. We'll grab something on the way home."
She starts to protest, but Granddad lifts her hand and wraps his big, rough hands around hers. "They're big boys, Carolyn. Once you're back on your feet, you can go back to bossing them around."
Dad nudges me. "Go give your grandma a kiss."
What strikes me is the fact that Dad just stands there, makes no move to go over to her. I give her a hug and a kiss and she stars to reach for something. "Marshall, where is my purse? I want to give Rory some money."
"No, Grandma. I have enough money."
I follow Dad out the door. When we start walking down the hall, I look at him. He's chewing the inside scar on his lip. He's hating being here in the hospital. My guess is he feels trapped. He was in here for a good long stay when I was a baby.
"How come you didn't kiss Grandma Carolyn?"
"Damn, Ror. I'll see her tomorrow."
"Suppose you don't?"
An impatient scowl appears on his face. "Christ almighty, Rory. You heard the doctor."
"Dad, don't you think she needs to know?"
"Know what?"
We are standing in the hallway, a few doors down from Grandma Carolyn's room. He turns to face me, shoulders set and hands on his hips. "What exactly does she need to know?"
I hesitate, unsure how my words will affect him.
"Come on, spit it out."
"She needs to know you forgive her."
My advice hits the wall and misses my dad. He leaves me standing there, as he rounds the corner to the elevator. I would probably feel sorry for him, but I know it's his stupid stubbornness that keeps him from looking back.
"Hey, Dad," I call when I finally catch up to him.
"What now?"
"You told me I was brave for going to see Kathleen. I had to get that bravery from somewhere."
Dad looks towards the end of the hall. Maybe he's reconsidering. But instead of heading back to her room, he pushes the button for the elevator.
"Come on, Dad. She needs to know we're all here for her."
"She knows that. Shit, we're here, aren't we?"
It's like arguing with a coiled snake. They don't have ears, but if you stand there yelling in his face for too long, he's just going to bite you.
"Forget it," I mumble. "Let's just go get some dinner."
There is little talk between us at Patterson Deli. He sips his sweet tea and I scarf down my steak and cheese sub.
"Are you scared?" I ask, after swallowing the last of my dinner.
"Of what?" he asks.
"Grandma Carolyn dying."
"Everybody dies, Rory."
"That's not what I asked you."
He toys with his fries as I talk. He is afraid, whether he wants to admit it or not.
"Maybe a little," he says, finally.
"My coach told me the only thing worse than fear is letting it win."
He lifts the fry to his mouth and takes a small bite.
"He says that you can only conquer fear when you take the first step and face it."
"Rory, I can't keep her from dying."
"But you can tell her you forgive her."
Dad looks around the deli. I don't know if he's looking for the waitress or an escape. Whatever it is he's looking for, I know it's my cue to let it go.
There will be other opportunities to bring it up, but right now, the subject is dead.
| Author Notes | Feed back. Please and thank you. This is the next to last chapter. Let me know what you think. |
By GWHARGIS
One month into chemo and radiation treatments, and Grandma Carolyn has started to lose her hair. I get Charla to give me a buzz cut. After I shower off, I cut through the woods and go see Grandma Carolyn.
She's sitting in my granddad's recliner, an afghan draped across her. She looks pale, her skin appears loose on her face. She has always been considered a pretty woman, with her blond hair and blue eyes.
As I watch her dozing off now, I see the effects of the 'cure'. Seeing her now, is like looking at a faded photograph. Very rarely does she have the energy to put on makeup and what little hair she has left, is mussed and dry looking.
"You can wake her up, Rory," Granddad says as he comes out of the kitchen with a cup of soup.
"She looks tired."
"She always looks tired now. Doctor says that's how chemo does its magic. Goes in and kills the good cells right along with the bad. Go on, wake her up. She needs to eat something."
Gently, I touch her shoulder. "Grandma, wake up. It's lunch time."
She wakes with a little start. "I'm sorry, Rory. I didn't know you were here. I must have..." She squints and touches my temple. "Rory Dean, junior. What did you do to your hair?"
"Cut it."
"But why? Why on earth would you cut that beautiful hair?"
"It's just hair."
"But it was so thick and pretty."
"It'll grow back," I say. "Just like yours will." I reach out and lightly run my hand over her thin strands.
I sit with Grandma Carolyn while Granddad runs to town for some groceries and a couple of other things. She eats most of her soup and then I help her walk out to the yard.
"How's school?" she asks.
"Good. I'm pretty sure I'm getting an A in Chemistry."
"That's good," she says. She shivers in the March wind and I step closer, putting my arm around her.
"You know, Dad isn't real good with words, but he's been worried about you."
She nods her head slightly. "I know."
"He loves you, whether he can say it or not. Just like with Charla. He loves her, but it's like he's afraid or something."
"I've always hoped something would come of those two. He has trust issues with women. I'm suppose I'm the reason behind that."
"He's not angry with you or Granddad anymore."
She looks up at me and then reaches to slide her palm across my cheek. "I know, Rory."
Everybody at school seems to think my new look is pretty cool, especially when I tell them I did it for Grandma Carolyn.
Even Cassie comes up to me in the hall while I'm at my locker swapping out notebooks.
"Your hair looks really good. You look a lot older now," she says. She leans against the locker next to mine. Her black t-shirt is tight and she flips her hair letting me get a whiff of her shampoo.
I could lose myself in the smell, but then I remember our ill-fated date and the aroma fades.
"I may look older, but I'm still fifteen and I still don't have a license."
"I'm sorry about what happened. I just really thought Boyd liked me."
"Here's the thing. You knew I liked you. You just made a choice."
She starts looking at me with big doe eyes. It would have worked a couple of months ago. I would have melted and followed her around like a puppy dog. Not anymore.
She playfully runs her hand across the top of my head. I should pull away, but I don't. Honestly, it feels good and I like her fawning over me for a change. But even so, it doesn't change the fact I'm not hung up on her now.
"I gotta go," I say.
"Rory, is there any way we can start over?" she asks.
"Uh, no. You had a chance to date me. You chose Boyd. You made the wrong choice."
I walk away, smiling as I imagine the stunned look on her face.
"Rory," she yells. "You're making a big mistake."
I don't bother to turn around.
"I don't think so," I call back over my shoulder. "As a matter of fact, this is one of the smartest things I've done in a long time."
I've been spending all my free time with Grandma Carolyn. She has her good days and her bad days. On the bad days, she cries and sleeps, intermittently.
The good days I have come to treasure. She tells me about her life when she was a young girl. She told me how she met Granddad, when he drove through her line at the bank. She's even told me about the 'hell years' when Granddad drank and hurt my daddy and Carole Ann ran away.
I've learned a lot about where I come from... who I come from. I've come to terms with my doomed relationship with Kathleen. Besides I have enough mothers, what with Grandma Carolyn, Charla, and Miss Denise. They all love me and I am truly blessed.
The French name has never been good in this county. But I aim to change that.
All in all, I uncovered my roots. And I'll be the first to admit they are dirty. Maybe that's okay. Roots aren't supposed to be pretty. That's why they stay underground. They do their part, and it's the bloom that shines.
I'd like to say I'm pretty proud of my roots. At least now that I know where I come from, I can say I have a better idea where I'm headed.
Oh, and if you're looking for a happy ending, get this. Cassie has been calling me and begging me to go out. I am definitely tempted but I plan on holding out a little longer.
Now, how's that for karma.
THE END
| Author Notes | Feedback. Please and thank you. This is the final installment in Rory's story. Thank you for coming along for the ride. |
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