The Quiet of Compazine

“Porter Davidson, where have you been?” my dad asked when I set foot inside the house.

“The library…” I trailed off uncertainly, walking into the kitchen. He was always here at the dining table when he came home from work.

He took off his glasses, putting them down on a stack of bills by his wine glass. “Your principal called. He says you haven’t been at school for the last month.” I swallowed hard, feeling a stream of curse words bubbling up in my brain about to burst forth from my lips. “Porter, what’s going on?”

“I just…don’t…care about school anymore.”I couldn’t believe he just now noticed that I hadn’t been going to school for a month. I knew the teachers had emailed him every week when I didn’t show up. But they weren’t emailing him – they were emailing the fake email I made. I wrote it in when I filled out all my parent contact information for the school. How stupid of me not to put a fake home phone number, too.

“And why the hell not?”

“I don’t really see any point in me going, dad,” I said with a shrug. This was the most honest conversation I’d ever had with him. Then again, this was probably the only conversation I’d ever had with him since mom left. “You know I’m smarter than all the kids that go there.”

“Well,” dad sighed, rubbing his temples. He couldn’t argue with me on that. He used to be proud of how smart I was, how much I read. Then mom left and he stopped caring, too, so why should I? “You need to stay in school,” he concluded lamely.

“I hate school,” I muttered, tossing my basically empty backpack onto the kitchen island. “Dad, the kids are idiots and the teachers are so incompetent and I’m wasting my time there.”

“If you’re not going to school, then you’d better get a job,” he scoffed.

“Alright, I’ll apply somewhere right now.”

My dad sighed loudly. “Stop it, Porter.”

I gritted my teeth and folded my arms across my chest. “Would you make up your mind already?”

“Porter, why are you so set on not finishing school? How are you going to get into college?”

“We know you’re not paying for my college, and mom is gone, so, I’m screwed when it comes to tuition. Even if I did get in, I’d have to work for at least a year to get enough tuition money for…maybe a first year at ASU, if I don’t stay on campus.”

My dad was silent, because he knew I was right. “I still want you to finish school. Get yourself on the work study program,” he finally decided, putting his glasses back on.

“May I be excused?” I sighed loudly.

“Aren’t you going to come eat dinner?”

“I already did,” I told him as I ran up the stairs two by two. I lied. I haven’t eaten a thing this week. I just drink a lot of fluids and there’s my daily chai latte. I never have money on me, so I don’t really eat much, and it doesn’t bother me. Everything’s fine.

I got on my laptop and glanced at my social networks – Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook…no notifications, no messages, no new followers, no friend requests, nothing. As usual. And I really didn’t care.

I pulled the poem out of my pocket and flattened it out on my desk, reading it again. It was short, but it was lovely. I wish I knew who wrote it. I pressed the napkin between the pages of one of my favorite books, Thirteen Reasons Why, before gently shutting it and shoving it back onto my shelf.

I got the whole work study program worked out that weekend and got a job at Chick-Fil-A like most every other teenager. I would go to school for half the day before going to work. I really didn’t like how everything seemed to be centered on money these days, but the world is what it is – not much.

It was so weird to go back to school after so long. I hated it. Everyone thought I was new…

I wish I wasn’t alive here.