Passing Looks and Disappointed Faces
Long Rides with Mounted Tension
The ride was possibly one of the most boring and tense I had ever been forced to suffer through in my life. My mother would not say a word, obviously disappointed in what I had done. Surprisingly, I barely cared; I did what I did and there were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. So what, anyways? What I did didn't matter and she shouldn't even care. A single stolen carton of cigarettes and everyone was up in arms; it just didn't make any sense to me.
"Why'd you do it, Frank?" Now was when she finally decided to speak to me; she had spent the entire ride in a tight-lipped silence.
"I wanted some smokes," I muttered quietly in response, resting my forehead against the cool pane of glass. The frigidity of the crystal eased the dull throb in my head slightly though it did nothing to relieve the soft ache for a good cigarette.
"Since when did you start smoking?" she suddenly asked, her voice raising an octave. I winced, nearly banging my shoulder against the plastic on the car door.
"I don't know," I shrugged, and it wasn't that far from the truth, "'Couple o' months ago I'd guess." It didn't even matter anymore; the single point was that I was; not how long ago I started. I honestly don't know why my mother asks these questions.
"What could have possibly possessed you to do such a thing?" I knew the explosion was late in coming; I should have expected this to come soon but I still winced, this time hitting my elbow against the plastic, sending what felt like electrical currents up and down my pained arm. Cradling my elbow, I turned my head to glare at her only to find her sending a deadly look straight back at me. I sighed, looking back out the window.
"I didn't think; I'm such an idiot," I muttered, hoping it would appease her; downplaying myself always made her feel even slightly sorry for me which made it easier to escape predicaments such as these; not that I had already almost been arrested for shoplifting.
"You're right you didn't think. You never think. Lately you've been going downhill. All I ever hear is how my son is doing badly; how my son is fucking up everything he's doing. I'm sick and tired of going through embarrassment because of you." Those were all blows to my stomach and heart; blows below the belt. I knew what she was doing; she wanted me to feel remorse. However, I couldn't help but simply be offended and nauseous.
"I know I'm a screw-up. I'm the son you never wanted but got anyway. I'm the son you hate and you know it. Don't think I haven't heard the arguments between you and dad about me. Don't you think that hurts me? Don't you ever even think about anyone but yourself? Goddamn, you only think about what others think of you. You only ever think of the shame you've got. What about my shame? What about having to sit through every single one of your fucking meetings, talking about what a screw-up mistake I became? I-" I was cut off by the force of her hand against my cheek. I have no idea what I do; I honestly don't know why I suddenly went off in that tirade. I just wished I could take it back, if only so I wouldn't have gotten slapped.
My face contorting in anger and from the force of will to not cry, I turned sharply away, letting her words wash over me like crashing waves. The car had slowed to a crawl now as she took her sweet time admonishing me. Glaring still, my gaze focused on someone just outside on the pavement, laughing along with what seemed to be his friends. The car skid to a slow stop but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the scene just outside. The one thought going through my head was: I want to meet that guy.
"Why'd you do it, Frank?" Now was when she finally decided to speak to me; she had spent the entire ride in a tight-lipped silence.
"I wanted some smokes," I muttered quietly in response, resting my forehead against the cool pane of glass. The frigidity of the crystal eased the dull throb in my head slightly though it did nothing to relieve the soft ache for a good cigarette.
"Since when did you start smoking?" she suddenly asked, her voice raising an octave. I winced, nearly banging my shoulder against the plastic on the car door.
"I don't know," I shrugged, and it wasn't that far from the truth, "'Couple o' months ago I'd guess." It didn't even matter anymore; the single point was that I was; not how long ago I started. I honestly don't know why my mother asks these questions.
"What could have possibly possessed you to do such a thing?" I knew the explosion was late in coming; I should have expected this to come soon but I still winced, this time hitting my elbow against the plastic, sending what felt like electrical currents up and down my pained arm. Cradling my elbow, I turned my head to glare at her only to find her sending a deadly look straight back at me. I sighed, looking back out the window.
"I didn't think; I'm such an idiot," I muttered, hoping it would appease her; downplaying myself always made her feel even slightly sorry for me which made it easier to escape predicaments such as these; not that I had already almost been arrested for shoplifting.
"You're right you didn't think. You never think. Lately you've been going downhill. All I ever hear is how my son is doing badly; how my son is fucking up everything he's doing. I'm sick and tired of going through embarrassment because of you." Those were all blows to my stomach and heart; blows below the belt. I knew what she was doing; she wanted me to feel remorse. However, I couldn't help but simply be offended and nauseous.
"I know I'm a screw-up. I'm the son you never wanted but got anyway. I'm the son you hate and you know it. Don't think I haven't heard the arguments between you and dad about me. Don't you think that hurts me? Don't you ever even think about anyone but yourself? Goddamn, you only think about what others think of you. You only ever think of the shame you've got. What about my shame? What about having to sit through every single one of your fucking meetings, talking about what a screw-up mistake I became? I-" I was cut off by the force of her hand against my cheek. I have no idea what I do; I honestly don't know why I suddenly went off in that tirade. I just wished I could take it back, if only so I wouldn't have gotten slapped.
My face contorting in anger and from the force of will to not cry, I turned sharply away, letting her words wash over me like crashing waves. The car had slowed to a crawl now as she took her sweet time admonishing me. Glaring still, my gaze focused on someone just outside on the pavement, laughing along with what seemed to be his friends. The car skid to a slow stop but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the scene just outside. The one thought going through my head was: I want to meet that guy.