Words I Might Have Ate

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“You still unemployed?”

I look up from my plate of lasagna and hesitate before nodding slightly. “Yes.”

“Why’s that?”

He’s a disgusting man. I don’t know how my mother ever married him. I watch him closely as he sips from the crystal glass that was part of my mother’s wedding china. From her first wedding, her marriage to my father and not the pathetic waste of semen I see before me right now.

“Nobody’s hiring I suppose.” I shrug before taking another bite of my food.

“Are you sure you’re looking hard enough?”

The entire room falls oddly silent and I can feel everyone’s stares burning into my head. I finish taking a drink of my water and slowly place the cup back down next to my plate. Oddly enough my movements are fluid and controlled as I carefully and methodically wipe my mouth with the napkin.

“Because I’m willing to bet everything I own that you would have a job by now if you had kept your lazy ass in school instead of dropping out to work on your stupid little garage band.”

“Adam, that was entirely—“

“Mom, save it.” I interject sharply, pushing back from the table quickly. The legs of the chair make a horrible screeching noise against the tile but I hardly register this fact as I glare vehemently down at the man before me. “Go fuck yourself, asshole.”

Mom inhales sharply from across the table and I spare her only a fleeting glance before returning my attention back to my useless stepfather. His face is surprisingly absent of all emotion and I know that he’s just waiting for me to make the next move.

The room is tense and silent. Anna is huddled into herself, her napkin clutched tightly in one hand and her wide green eyes locked on me. I can feel both David and Alan stirring restlessly on either side of me, waiting to spring to my defense if Adam makes a wrong move.

“Billie,” Mom is pleading with me with her eyes to make amends and to sit back down. It is, after all, her birthday dinner and the first time all eight of us have been under the same roof willingly since she got remarried to Jerkwad seven years ago. “Sweetheart, please sit back down and finish your dinner. I have dessert in the kitchen, it’s your favorite.”

“I’m not hungry,” I reply shortly, gathering up my utensils and plate. “I’m going to the kitchen to clean my plate off.”

Before anyone can reply, I’m pushing through the swinging door and walking into the tiny kitchen. As I run the sink water, I begin to scrape my plate clean and strain my ears to hear the beginning of Adam's rant about me at the same time. The one he's said a thousand times before, it's nothing new to any of us. There’s the muffled sound of Adam raising his voice and someone trying to be heard over his booming voice.

The door moves slightly and Hollie slips in, her plate in her hands. She comes to a stop next to me by the sink and silently hands me her used dish. I scrape it clean as she runs the water in the empty sink opposite the one I'm using and plugs the drain before adding soap.

“Are you okay?” She asks finally, concentrating intently on the dish in her hands.

I shrug as I drop another dish into the soapy water. “Yeah I guess so.”

“Is it true?” Her voice is soft and comforting compared to the rising sound of Adam and Mom arguing in the next room. I can’t help the slight twinge of guilt that comes about from ruining Mom’s birthday dinner with yet another argument with Adam.

I look over at her, my eyebrows coming together in a frown. “Is what true?”

“That you can’t get a job,” She elaborates with an absentminded wave of a soapy hand. “I know you’ve been looking for a long time—“

“Seven months,” I answer shortly, the frown on my face deepening. “It’s not like I’m not trying, Hollie. Because I am trying. I’m out every day putting in applications. No one’s hiring. At least, not hiring the likes of me.”

My sister laughs lightly, handing me a clean dish to dry. “Well the blue hair and the nose ring are a bit off putting when you walk in for an interview…”

“Piss off,” I laugh, elbowing her in the ribs. “It’s not my hair; my hair’s fine just the way it is. And it’s just a tiny hoop! You can barely see it.”

“Yeah, if you’re blind,” Hollie pauses in her dish washing and then continues cleaning slowly, her forehead wrinkling up slightly.

“What?” I question, opening a cupboard and putting the clean plate back. “What were you going to say?”

“It was nothing,” She claims, shaking her head firmly. “I was just thinking that maybe Adam had a point. Just a tiny one though,” She adds hastily upon seeing the outraged look on my face. “Billie, you’re a twenty-one year old high school dropout. I get that you want to focus on Green Day. You know I get that. I’ve been supporting you as your number one fan from day one.” Hollie bites down on her lip before continuing just as the kitchen door swings open and both Marci and Anna walk in with armloads of dirty dishes. “But I’m speaking to you now as a concerned big sister and not as your fan. I know Green Day is your life and that music is what you want to do with the rest of your life. But until things start to take off with the band, you need to take responsibility and get a job on the side so you can support yourself properly.”

As Marci and Anna dump the dishes into the bubbles, I stare contemplatively into the sink, chewing on my lower lip thoughtfully.

Hollie touches my arm gently. “Billie, you’re not mad, are you?”

“No,” I reply immediately, snapping my head up. “I’m fine, I promise.” I smile back at her as Mom flings the kitchen door open and heads straight towards me.

“Billie Joe,” She begins but trails off when she sees the deep creases on my forehead. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I laugh weakly, trying to put my best face forward. “I’m sorry, Mom, about back in there with Adam. It’s your birthday and I swore that I was going to be on my best behavior—“

Mom brushes my apology aside easily and hugs me tightly. “I know he gets under your skin, Billie. What he did in there was uncalled for and I’ve asked him to apologize. He’s just never adjusted to being the head of such a large family.”

“Don’t make excuses for him, Mom,” David says sharply from somewhere behind us. “He’s had seven years to adjust and if he’s not done it by now, he never will.”

For the first time, I notice how tired and worn-out my mother looks under the bright kitchen lights. There’s gray mixed in with her curly red hair and there are a few more wrinkles apparent around her eyes. She waves a tired hand and turns her attention back to me. “You didn’t ruin my birthday, none of you did. I’m just thankful that we were all able to have such a lovely dinner together.” She squeezes my hand encouragingly and for a moment, I find the familiar sparkle in her hazel eyes.

Quickly, before her festive mood can die off, Marci and Hollie bring out the small handful of presents we all pitched in to buy. Another flash of guilt overwhelms me as I watch her unwrap the basket of shampoos and lotions and yet another twinge when she pulls out a novel she had been wanting to read.

Her presents had cost me the last of my bank account, I had given only twenty dollars to the present fund but that twenty dollars had literally left me penniless. In order to scrap together the last two dollars, I had gone cushion diving and had somehow managed to scrape together enough quarters and dimes. My bank account probably had the proverbial inches of dust and cobwebs dirtying up the place and so I had to regretfully close the account my father had opened on my birthday twenty-one years ago after my last withdrawal.

The knowledge that I was broke and that rent was coming up soon weighed heavily on my mind for the rest of the evening. I somehow manage to paste an automatic smile on my lips and I manage to fool everyone until the clock chimes ten thirty and I am able to make a respectable exit.

Just as I finish with my goodbyes, Hollie stands up and announces she regretfully has to leave as well. With her eyes she begs me to wait for her so I find myself standing on the front stoop, smoking the last cigarette I had bummed from Mike earlier this morning.

Hollie closes the front door behind her and looks up at me with curious eyes. “Where’s your car?”

“Sold it to buy a new amp,” I reply, exhaling deeply. “Mike drove me over earlier but he’s working a double tonight so I’m going to walk home.”

“Need a lift?” Hollie asks, jingling her keys tantalizingly. “I’m heading your way anyway.”

“Sure,” I nod, taking another drag. “Do you mind if I smoke in your car or are you still on that healthy kick?”

“You’re almost done,” Hollie retorts, unlocking her car and climbing in behind the wheel.

I make a face as she’s busy rummaging through her purse and though I was under the impression that she wasn’t able to see me, her response to my childish antics was the middle finger salute. I laugh to myself before taking my final hit and dropping the filter to the ground, crushing it under my Converse heel.

I climb into the passenger seat and close the door behind me before Hollie stares pointedly at me. I dramatically roll my eyes and huff jokingly as I reach behind me and pull the seat belt around my body. “Better, Mom?”

“Very much so,” Hollie grins cheerfully as she reverses out of the driveway and begins the twenty minute drive home. “So when’s the next Green Day show? I know a few people who are anxious to hear my little brother’s band,” Her voice is teasing and I can’t help the proud smile that spreads across my face at the thought of Hollie bragging about Green Day to her friends.

“It’s this Friday and Saturday,” I answer, fiddling with the back of my earring. “At nine o’clock both nights.”

“Gilman’s?” She asks, keeping her eyes on the road.

“Yep,” I reply, leaning forward and switching the radio station. “Where else do we ever play on the weekends?”

“Hey,” She protests. “It sometimes changes.”

“Sometimes but not very often,” I laugh as she pulls into the parking lot of my apartment complex. “Thanks for the ride, Holls.”

“No problem.” Hollie smiles as I undo my seatbelt and open the passenger door. “Hey Bill?”

“Yeah?” I bend over so I can look back into her car.

Hollie leans over the console and hands me a folded over piece of paper. “I’ll see you Friday night, kiddo.”

“What’s this?” I question, my fingers already working to unfold the piece of paper. I scan the paper quickly before looking back down at my older sister but she’s already rolled up her window and is reversing back out into the street. “Hollie!” I call out and her only response is a smile and a wave before her car pulls out into traffic.

I sigh deeply and run my fingers through my hair desperately a few times before glancing back down at the two scraps of paper I now have in my possession.

In one hand is a check made out to me for the sum of two hundred dollars and in the other is a piece of paper with Hollie’s familiar flowy cursive.

‘Nathan Asher, 11:30 AM interview on Friday at Martin’s Pub. Remember to dress to impress, Billie!’