Dirtbag
FAREWELL, MY CHILDREN, FOREVER. I GO TO YOUR FATHER.
Hanson was nineteen when he first met Stephen Trenton. It was a brief encounter.
When Hanson found out about my father’s identity, he freaked out. Even if he was a complete idiot, Hanson had always been into marketing and of all that bullshit. Numbers were his thing. He even purposely failed calculus just so no one would know his dirty little secret.
My dad came home one afternoon. He walked into the living, just as he did eight years ago, and cleared his throat. There was no bike left in the driveway; no mother to make sandwiches. Just me, Hans, and The Man.
“I’m assuming that you have finished your homework,” dad said. He wasn't speaking to me, but at. It was his way of letting me know that I still sucked at life.
“Of course.”
“And who is this?”
“Mr. Trenton, sir,” Hanson fumbled his words as he shakily stood and ran over to my dad, “it is so cool to meet you. I read about Trenton Co. in The Times and your advancement—”
And then, in the middle of Hanson’s sentence, my father said, “Jack, I have to go. I just wanted to affirm that you’re still alive.”
Stephen Trenton, the C.E.O and founder of Trenton Co., turned away, leaving Hanson shocked.
“Did that really just happen?” Hanson asked after a few awkward moments of silence.
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “You just met Stephen Trenton.”
When Hanson found out about my father’s identity, he freaked out. Even if he was a complete idiot, Hanson had always been into marketing and of all that bullshit. Numbers were his thing. He even purposely failed calculus just so no one would know his dirty little secret.
My dad came home one afternoon. He walked into the living, just as he did eight years ago, and cleared his throat. There was no bike left in the driveway; no mother to make sandwiches. Just me, Hans, and The Man.
“I’m assuming that you have finished your homework,” dad said. He wasn't speaking to me, but at. It was his way of letting me know that I still sucked at life.
“Of course.”
“And who is this?”
“Mr. Trenton, sir,” Hanson fumbled his words as he shakily stood and ran over to my dad, “it is so cool to meet you. I read about Trenton Co. in The Times and your advancement—”
And then, in the middle of Hanson’s sentence, my father said, “Jack, I have to go. I just wanted to affirm that you’re still alive.”
Stephen Trenton, the C.E.O and founder of Trenton Co., turned away, leaving Hanson shocked.
“Did that really just happen?” Hanson asked after a few awkward moments of silence.
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “You just met Stephen Trenton.”