“There we go,” my dad said as he brought the Range Rover to a standstill and pulled his keys out of the ignition—a signature phrase he uttered every time we reached our destination after a drive.
I hopped out of my seat and walked around the back of the car to retrieve my backpack from the trunk. As I did so, I couldn’t help but notice the jack and blown tire still in there. It had only been a few days since our roadside vehicle repair adventures, but with all that had happened since then, it felt much longer. Shit happens all the time, and the only way to get through it is by facing it head-on, as my old man showed me over the weekend.
Closing the trunk revealed Riley’s house, with the big tree in the front yard and the 12-ft pole beside it—or at least, Riley’s house for the coming week. Who knows what kind of black hole of loneliness I'll fall into when a new family moves in.
I bet it’s going to be some annoying family with a bunch of young kids—kids who receive way too much attention and love from their parents, becoming horribly spoiled brats who think they can get away with anything. Then my mom will come along and try to pawn me off to that same family as a babysitter. Before you know it, it will be my mom and the couple across the street sipping wine at my house, while I'll be over there with crayons stuck in my hair. And then there's the sound, the horrible sound, the screams that—
“You good, kiddo?”
My dad’s voice boomed, suddenly breaking me out of my trance.
“Thanks for the weekend, Dad,” I said to him, spreading my arms for a hug.
He warmly returned my embrace, and from the corner of my eye, I could see him smile. Moving his hand into my hair, he ruffled it around and responded, “No problem, see you next week.”
I waved him goodbye, and before I knew it, the sputtering engine of his truck started revving up again. He drove in a circle around the cul-de-sac before disappearing into the distance.
While my feet carried me back inside the only home I had ever known, my mind was still racing. It was already 7 PM, and I kind of wanted to talk to Riley before school tomorrow. Because there was no way I could do it at school, and if I didn’t talk to her before seeing her at school, I would probably want to claw my eyes out due to embarrassment. Let’s say I wasn't looking forward to seeing her in class and at lunch in that case.
My time of internal strife was quickly cut short, however, as my mother was already waiting for me in the kitchen, and by the looks of it, she wasn’t in a good mood.
She stood in front of the countertop, looking out the big window that faced our backyard. As I walked in and put down my bag on the kitchen table, she didn’t even turn her head when she said, “How’s your father?”
There were sensations of both disdain and disinterest in her voice, as if she felt obliged to ask the question while actually not caring for the answer in the slightest.
I shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”
Normally, her dark hair would be bound up in a tight bun; even on days when she didn’t have to go out, she always made sure to look very put together. But right now, I could see that her hair was down, and she even wore her glasses instead of the contacts she would normally have in.
“Did you have a good time?”
Her voice grew more stern as she shifted the attention towards me instead of my dad. I felt a certain sense of dread build up as I was unsure where this was going, but something definitely felt off.
“Yes? We watched some movies, hung out at the Irish pub, and just had a nice time in general.”
While she was still facing the window, I could see my mother’s head fall back slightly as she silently shifted her gaze upwards.
“A nice time, huh? You know, normally having a nice time would be something you get as a reward for doing good work.”
I felt my skin crawl and the air around me tighten, for the slightest moment thinking about those imaginary mountain climbers again. I was unsure how to respond, as there wasn’t much of a question in her speech. An awkward silence started to settle in the familiar kitchen, trying to diffuse the situation. I uttered a simple, “I guess?”
“You guess? Is that something you do more often? Guessing?” Her stern voice echoed through the room as she gripped a piece of paper from the kitchen counter in front of her.
Her way of talking had grown more and more rhetorical and was slowly starting to annoy me, slightly replacing the fear that had filled my body for the last minute. I was about to call her out on it, “Could you just—”
“Dear Ms. Jones,” she started reading out loud from whatever note she was holding, still not facing me, however.
"I'm writing to inform you about recent developments regarding your son, Jason's, academic performance. Over the past two weeks, his focus has severely waned; he has been frequently distracted by his phone, daydreaming, or even napping during class. While I have always known him as a diligent student who puts much effort into his academic endeavors, I regret to inform you that this side of him has recently disappeared from my classes. He has neglected his homework, failed to deliver my last note to you, and exhibited truancy today, which has raised concerns for his well-being and academic progress. Therefore, I have taken the initiative to email you personally to ensure that you are aware of these recent developments. Perhaps some parental guidance could help him regain his focus. Warm regards, Ms. Shepard, Shamesburry High Physics Teacher."
A deafening silence filled the kitchen as she finished reading the letter. Although I couldn't see her face, I was certain it wasn't friendly. My knees trembled, barely supporting me on my shaky legs. For almost ten seconds, all I could hear was my heart beating in my chest, realizing I was expected to make the first move.
"I can—"
"What the hell were you thinking!" My mother suddenly turned around, her face redder than blood. "Did you really think you could get away with this?" she yelled, spittle spraying around the room.
"I'm sor—"
"You have all the opportunities in the world! A brain that most people could only dream of having, so much potential. And instead of using it for the better, you don't even bother showing up! What possible reason could you even have? Going to school and doing your best is literally the only thing I'm asking from you, and you can't even do that apparently!"
"It's not what you think, I felt—"
"I can't believe you care so little about your future. Do you want to end up like your father?"
"What? What does he have to do with this?" I yelled back.
Seemingly surprised by my interruption, she stomped on the ground with her right foot while crumpling the note she held. "It's not me who is the source of your complete lack of ambition," she scowled.
Initially, I was just afraid, afraid of the barrage of negative energy and pure vitriol she directed at me. But mentioning my dad as some sort of figure representing ultimate failure caused another feeling to bubble up. I started to match her anger, not for myself, but for my dad. He needed to be defended from these cowardly attacks on his character.
"At least he actually cares about his kid instead of just his kid's grades."
I saw my mother curl her lips inward as she clenched her fists. "To your room, now," she said almost devoid of any emotion.
"Gladly." Taking giant steps, I made my way up the stairs and slammed the door behind me. As the loud bang echoed through the house's wooden skeleton, I felt my heart beating in my throat again. A quick glance through my room revealed that my computer was gone. The monitors, mouse, keyboard, and everything else were still there, but someone had taken the computer case itself.
Without turning around, I raised my voice to yell throughout the entire house. "Where is my computer?"
"Right beside your discipline!" my mother responded sarcastically, likely still standing in the kitchen.
What came next was an ocean of emotions, shifting between constant ebb and flood. Initially, there was a flood of anger and aggression washing over me. I wanted nothing more than to grab one of the many plushies neatly arranged on a shelf above my bed and rip its head off, imagining it was my mother.
Soon, I tightly gripped the neck of the brown Eevee plush, squashing its face with all my strength. Together with my aggression, my strength flowed out, only to be replaced by intense sadness.
I fell onto my bed, feeling my body shiver with coldness overtaking it. Waves of misery washed over me as tears streamed down my face. Using the Eevee plush I was about to destroy, I now held it tightly to my face as if it could ward off my melancholy. But my mother's face and words entered my mind once again, causing my rage to return.
Enraged to the degree that I silently started punching my pillow, tears rolling down my face, I tired myself out during this flood of fury. Then the sorrowful ebb returned, and the pattern repeated over and over again.
Why? Why was I cursed with this horrible life? Why couldn't I have normal parents who cared for me? Why couldn't I just be a normal person without uprooting my entire sense of self? Why couldn't I get along with my friends without making everything a mess? Why did disaster strike every time there was a glimmer of hope? Why me?
My tear ducts were empty, yet I was still crying. My face contorted with each sob. It was like some awful emotional dry heaving.
Rolling onto my stomach to bury my face in my pillow, I felt my phone fall out of my pocket onto my bed. As I grabbed it, intending to place it on my nightstand, the screen lit up, and a lock screen appeared, revealing a picture.
It was a picture of six girls holding a giant plaque that spelled out "Losers!" with cartoon bombs drawn across it. Instead of being sad, they were laughing and smiling. Their arms draped over each other's shoulders, forming a united group. Finally, my focus shifted to the girl standing all the way on the left—me. And I was happy. I could be happy, but not alone.