Little Victories
The Begining
Peter returned from the piano and sat in the chair next to me.
“That was fun.” He commented.
“Oh.”
“Victor’s skipping again...” He said with an edge of suspicion.
“You say that everyday.”
“Cause it’s true! No wonder he’s failing!”
“He’s not failing-“
“Julie, please.”
“…okay maybe he is, but at least he takes pride in it!” I defended him.
“Pride? What pride?! He’s an emo gay ass conceited mother fucker who looks like a girl and skips like 3 classes a day, doing nothing but smoking in his car!”
I just stared at him.
Damn, he’s good…I though.
He returned my stare with a grin and I knew he saw the defeat in my eyes. I’d hate to admit it but everything he said was true. Except for the looks like a girl part.
“Ok, I got nothing!” I confessed.
“Oh yeah and he failed 6th grade twice!” he kept rubbing the “horrid” facts in my face.
“I know that. What does that have to do with anything now?” I asked.
“He’s 16 going 17. He’s a freshman. We’re practically the same age except I’m graduating this year! Don’t you know how sad that is?”
“Tragic.” I stated sarcastically and rolled my eyes.
“You don’t care at all, do you?”
“Why should I?”
“Good point. Still sucks though.” There was a pause. I suddenly burst out a laugh.
“What?” he asked curiously.
“I swear you guys sound more and more like each other everyday…” I smiled.
“Oh my fucking god, don’t say that!” Peter complained.
“It’s true and you know it!”
I suddenly glanced up and caught site of none other than Victor Morris standing by Mr. Bixby’s desk, a yellow written pass in hand.
“What?” peter caught my distant gaze.
“Fuck!” he yelled and slumped in defeat. I laughed in his bitter defeat.
“Oh my fucking god, that’s bullshit!” I hear him mutter as Victor handed Mr. Bixby the pass.
“How do you know?” I inquired.
“He’s a con artist!” he whispered enviously.
I sighed.
Victor began walking in our direction. He dragged a chair in the process and helped himself to a chat with us.
“Hey, how’s it going?” he asked cheerfully.
“Pretty good.” I replied. Peter just responded with a quiet hey and then immediately stood up and made his way back to the acoustic piano. Victor and I watched him leave.
“Some one’s bitter…” he commented.
“Not to mention smelling like an ashtray?” I hinted unpleasantly.
“It’s only my back pack, chill.” He swatted at me carelessly like a fly.
“Chill my ass. If end up smelling like your car after a chain smoking it’s your fault!”
“Why don’t you just hang with your hoe bag then? I’m sure he’s as sweet as the cheap ass colon he wears.” He propped his feet up next to mind.
“Oh, you are just cold aren’t you…” I sneered at him.
“Icy cold.”
I sighed once again.
“Just for a day, can you two get along so I can hang with my piano buddies together for once?” I pleaded.
“He’s the one with the problem darling, I just respond to his pure jealously and bitterness in my own conceited way.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze. I slipped his black-framed glasses off his face and placed then on mine.
“Goddamn, you’re as blind as Peter.” I examined the room through his medication.
“And he says we have nothing in common!” he remarked, “You see, not even our eyes can have it all.”
“What?” I asked in a snicker.
“You can’t have 20 20 vision with gorgeous eyes like mine…and maybe Peter’s. Everything comes with a price, love.” He explained.
“Now give me my glasses back, I can’t see shit!”
“I see exactly why.” I stared back at him with his square glasses. He snatched then back and placed then on. His bright, wide blue eyes never ceased behind any pair of glasses.
“That was fun.” He commented.
“Oh.”
“Victor’s skipping again...” He said with an edge of suspicion.
“You say that everyday.”
“Cause it’s true! No wonder he’s failing!”
“He’s not failing-“
“Julie, please.”
“…okay maybe he is, but at least he takes pride in it!” I defended him.
“Pride? What pride?! He’s an emo gay ass conceited mother fucker who looks like a girl and skips like 3 classes a day, doing nothing but smoking in his car!”
I just stared at him.
Damn, he’s good…I though.
He returned my stare with a grin and I knew he saw the defeat in my eyes. I’d hate to admit it but everything he said was true. Except for the looks like a girl part.
“Ok, I got nothing!” I confessed.
“Oh yeah and he failed 6th grade twice!” he kept rubbing the “horrid” facts in my face.
“I know that. What does that have to do with anything now?” I asked.
“He’s 16 going 17. He’s a freshman. We’re practically the same age except I’m graduating this year! Don’t you know how sad that is?”
“Tragic.” I stated sarcastically and rolled my eyes.
“You don’t care at all, do you?”
“Why should I?”
“Good point. Still sucks though.” There was a pause. I suddenly burst out a laugh.
“What?” he asked curiously.
“I swear you guys sound more and more like each other everyday…” I smiled.
“Oh my fucking god, don’t say that!” Peter complained.
“It’s true and you know it!”
I suddenly glanced up and caught site of none other than Victor Morris standing by Mr. Bixby’s desk, a yellow written pass in hand.
“What?” peter caught my distant gaze.
“Fuck!” he yelled and slumped in defeat. I laughed in his bitter defeat.
“Oh my fucking god, that’s bullshit!” I hear him mutter as Victor handed Mr. Bixby the pass.
“How do you know?” I inquired.
“He’s a con artist!” he whispered enviously.
I sighed.
Victor began walking in our direction. He dragged a chair in the process and helped himself to a chat with us.
“Hey, how’s it going?” he asked cheerfully.
“Pretty good.” I replied. Peter just responded with a quiet hey and then immediately stood up and made his way back to the acoustic piano. Victor and I watched him leave.
“Some one’s bitter…” he commented.
“Not to mention smelling like an ashtray?” I hinted unpleasantly.
“It’s only my back pack, chill.” He swatted at me carelessly like a fly.
“Chill my ass. If end up smelling like your car after a chain smoking it’s your fault!”
“Why don’t you just hang with your hoe bag then? I’m sure he’s as sweet as the cheap ass colon he wears.” He propped his feet up next to mind.
“Oh, you are just cold aren’t you…” I sneered at him.
“Icy cold.”
I sighed once again.
“Just for a day, can you two get along so I can hang with my piano buddies together for once?” I pleaded.
“He’s the one with the problem darling, I just respond to his pure jealously and bitterness in my own conceited way.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze. I slipped his black-framed glasses off his face and placed then on mine.
“Goddamn, you’re as blind as Peter.” I examined the room through his medication.
“And he says we have nothing in common!” he remarked, “You see, not even our eyes can have it all.”
“What?” I asked in a snicker.
“You can’t have 20 20 vision with gorgeous eyes like mine…and maybe Peter’s. Everything comes with a price, love.” He explained.
“Now give me my glasses back, I can’t see shit!”
“I see exactly why.” I stared back at him with his square glasses. He snatched then back and placed then on. His bright, wide blue eyes never ceased behind any pair of glasses.