Human Nature

“Sit down son, please,” My mother said in her teary voice.

“No.”

“Zane, please.”

“No.”

“Honey, it’s for your own good. You want to be successful and happy in life, don’t you?”
This is bullshit for, ‘you don’t want your father to kill you, right?’

“No.”

“Zane…”

“Why can’t you just let me live my own life? I’ll be 18 in a few months and then I’ll be completely out of your hair!” I practically screamed.

“Because we love you Zane, and we want you to live a good life. You can’t have a good life unless you have money, you get money when you get a job, you get a job when you”-

“- Go to college, right mom? I have to go to college so I can run Dads firm and uphold the family name of cheapskate lawyer, right?” I swear to god, I thought she was going to slap me. Her face turned an ugly puce color and she opened her mouth several times but no sound came out.

“That’s right mom. Do you also know about all the other women Dad has been seeing for the last 12 years? Oh, and how about all of the times Dad has smacked me around? You must be so content with sitting around and watching Mom, letting the world fly past you,” By the time I was done with my rant, she was sitting stock still, her mouth hanging wide open at my audacity. She would have to be a complete idiot not to know all of these things.

“My answer still stands Mom. You can’t make me sign those papers, and in less than 6 months, you won’t be able to make me do anything ever again,” I stood up from the long mahogany table, taking the college applications with me. I stopped in front of the trashcan and ripped each of the applications in half.

“So there goes Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Syracuse, Dartmouth, and Cornell” I muttered and slammed the lid back down. I walked slowly up the stairs to my bedroom and slammed the door so hard I heard the chandelier in the parlor rattle and a few of the precious crystal pieces come loose and shatter on the Brazilian marble floors.

I practiced breathing slowly to control my anger and flipped on the TV. A hideous plane crash picture was being shown, and this more than anything made me feel better. This was physical proof that some people’s lives were currently worse than mine. I turned the volume up and listened smugly.

“….. Crash right outside of Minneapolis earlier today involving twelve people. Six of those people were the band Blood Stains. The other six were close friends and fans. Three people have been escorted to the hospital in critical condition. Two of these people were reported as fans; the other is the band manager Michael Higgins.”

I was vaguely aware of the remote dropping onto my bed from my sweaty palm. My breathing was shallow and my vision swam. It felt like I couldn’t quite get enough air.

“Funeral for the band will most likely be held in their hometown, Boston, Massachusetts,” The annoying news lady said in a bored voice.

“No fucking WAY!!” I yelled angrily, my hands clenched themselves into fists and I turned the TV off. I threw the remote at my pillow and inwardly suppressed a scream. It was almost as if something did want me to become a lawyer, taking away one of my true inspirations. Their music was what made me want to become a guitarist, and Jasper Howell, the lead singer, was the one who inspired me to get myself out there and take singing lessons.

And now they were gone. I took another deep breath but only succeeded on choking on a sob. What am I living for? What am I doing here? What would my life be like if I just got out, and started over?

I’m pretty sure it was then it hit me. Then again, that last season of CSI hadn’t helped either. All the ideas hitting me in a rush I scrambled around my room to meet their needs. Only flashes of color and smell really caught my attention.

I quickly gathered up all of my stuff and threw it on the ground. I was extremely tidy for a seventeen year old boy, something my parents never cared to notice. I dug a duffel bag out of my closet. I grabbed the small safe I kept all my money in and opened it, dumping all of the money into the bag. I grabbed a few articles of clothing I might need and shoved them in there. I opened my window and grabbed my guitar off of the ledge below my parent’s balcony upstairs.

I opened the cabinets to the storage space under the bathroom sink and dug out a gallon of bleach. I unscrewed the lid and the sharp smell made me cough. I dumped it all over my room and yanked open a drawer, sending its contents flying all over the room. I spotted the matches and before I lit one, remembered what we had gone over in chemistry.
The hotter the burn the greater the damage.

I raced into the hall way and into the maid’s stash of cleaning supplies. I found the oven cleaner and grinned as I saw the warning label. Perfect. I crept back to my room and sprayed it all over the walls, floors, and even the ceiling. Hey, the bottle was pretty full, and I wanted to be thorough.

I grabbed my bag and my guitar in its own case and threw them out of the bathroom window onto the ledge about ten feet below. I got my shoes on and put my warm woolen jacket on top of my sweater.

I picked the match up and gazed into the mirror. I saw an excited kid and a determined man, flashing back and forth. Long black hair framing my angular face, a face that had lost its roundness entirely. Gray eyes that reflected my determination, I stared a long time into my own eyes, willing myself to do this, to change myself and begin a new life.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and struck the match. I watched the little flame, how fast it attacked up the bit of wood keeping it alive, and tossed it on the floor before it decided to attack me too.

The effect that little bit of fire was instantaneous. I had to stop myself from throwing myself out of the bathroom window in order to escape the oncoming blaze. I climbed out onto the windowsill and jumped onto the ledge, praying that it would hold my weight.

Thankfully it did. I grabbed my bag and guitar and pulled my gloves out of my jacket pocket, shoving them on partially because of the cold, partially because I needed to open the gate to get out of my yard. See, this is what CSI does to your brain. Without fingerprints, I was a free man. The stars winked at me like old friends and I breathed in the frigid night air. Once I was out of the yard, I was running. When I was a safe distance away from my house I began walking. When I came to a payphone I called Jeremy, my closest friend.

“Hello?”

“Hey Jer, its Zane, can you do me a huge favor?”

“Depends, what is it?”

“I need you to buy me a plane ticket to Boston. I’ll pay you back.”

“OooooooKkkkkkkkkk…..What am I missing? Did you finally kill your parents?” He asked me I heard him chuckle softly.

“Not quite, can you keep a secret? Like a tell no one or I will go to jail secret?”

“Sure.”

“I just faked my own suicide,” I whispered into the phone. There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds, then:

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Now can you buy me that plane ticket?” I asked, a huge smile on my face now.

“Sure man, no problem.”

“And Jer?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you come pick me up?”

I was free.