Section I

I

If you knew the end of your life, everything that happened after, would it all still be worth it?

*

            Monday. Another cold dawn. The alarm forces my eyes to spring open, the loud buzz echoes and bounces off the stone walls like a rubber ball. With a tired push, I’m off the bed. The carpet feels wet like the lawn, it doesn’t dew inside, does it? I can smell breakfast downstairs, waffles, just like I love. The maple syrup lingers in my nose, it calls for me to run down the hallway, slide down the bannister, and plop myself onto the dining room chair. However, I’m too tired for that. So, I slowly make my way to the bathroom, and of course the door is locked.

            “Amanda, I need in,” I call out.

            My sister responds, “Hang on!” Hang on means another twenty minutes, at least, before I can get in there. I’m better off eating first.

            Downstairs, mom and dad are in the kitchen talking. I step quietly down each step so I can listen.

            “�"be here by now.” My mother says, unfortunately I didn’t catch the first part.

            “It’ll be here, don’t worry.” My dad reassures her. What is it?

            “But a late one is never good.” I hear the splat of waffle-dough into the iron, it sizzles and crackles and briefly distracts me.

            “Amanda’s was here, what, a week after she turned 16?” Dad said. My foot slips and the stair creeks. S**t.

            “I know, I know�"Arthur, Amanda, you there?” Mom knows. I stomp on the step a few times to make it seem like I’m just now coming down. Then I emerge into the kitchen where the dim, gray light peers through the curtains.

            “Morning.” I say to them. Mom smiles at me, weakly, like when she finds out I’ve broken something. Dad greets me and hands me some coffee.

            “He’s too young to be drinking that,” Mom argues.

            “Coffee is good for you, especially for a growing boy.” I take the cup from my father’s hand and try a sip. I hate it. “Delicious,” I say, forcing the hot, foul liquid down my throat.

            “It’s hot, be careful,” Dad says. He pulls plates out of the cabinet for all of us. Mom checks on the waffles in the waffle iron, and as she opens the lid I can smell the fresh, crispy batter. There’s no better smell.

            “So, got anything planned for tonight, son?” Dad asks, pouring himself another cup of that gross coffee.

            “What?” I ask. What day is it? Is it Friday already? It can’t be.

            “It’s Friday,” he says. Oh.

            “Not really,” I mumble, as I eye the waffle iron.

            “Come on, nothing? No friends, late night video game sessions, nothing?” Dad had always been disappointed that I wasn’t a clone of him, a seed ripped straight from within him. He was the sports star, or at least he said he was, but there weren’t any trophies or medals in the house so maybe he was lying. He always wanted me to do sports, and I did try them for a while, but I just wasn’t good. I didn’t mind soccer, baseball was kind of fun, but I just wasn’t good enough. Good enough for him or me I could never decide.

            “Not really, dad.” I say to him. His eyes stay on me as he sips from his white mug. Mom is unusually silent as she removes the waffles from the iron and drops them onto our plates. She calls once for Amanda and then moves to the refrigerator. Dad sits at the table with me and eventually Amanda joins too.

            “Mornin’,” she said.

            “Is that another piercing?” My mother asked. It was fast, she had seen Amanda for maybe half of a second. Must be a mom thing.

            “Here we go,” Amanda mumbled under her breath. We exchanged the “Here comes a Mom lecture” look.

            “Why do you keep adding piercings? You’re pretty enough without them you know.”

            “Yeah, you do take after your mother after all,” Dad chimes in. Smooth, dad, real smooth.

            “I like my piercings,” Amanda says, chomping at her waffle. I’m becoming so enthralled by my own breakfast that the lecture is beginning to fade out.

            “�"okay with my body,” I think Amanda says. Mom rebuttals. Dad ignores it. Amanda sighs. I’m bored. Typical Crowley family breakfast. Soon enough, everyone is quiet. Thankfully, I scarf down the rest of my breakfast and take my dish to the sink.

            “You need any lunch money or anything?” Mom asks. I shake my head and return to my room. With the bathroom free, I can finally do my morning routine uninterrupted.

*

            At school, time stands still. Or it at least comes to an immediate stop, and then moves slowly like a bug crawling up your arm. I’m sitting in Algebra when I feel someone gently kick the back of my legs.

            “Hey,” Cain whispers, “what’s up?” I keep my eye on the bored but my attention has been lost to Cain’s voice.

            “I’m so f*****g bored,” I tell him, “We’ve gone over this lesson like a hundred times in the last week.” Miss Belina was a new teacher, and while I loved to watch her move, I hated hearing the lessons.

            “I’m texting you something,” Cain said. I creep onto my phone and within a few seconds a text from Cain appears. Wanna cut??

            Sure. Let’s meet at lunch. I reply. Anything to make another wintery day at school go by just a little quicker.

            “Arthur, phone away please,” Miss Belina remarks, staring right at me. God, is she hot. “Yes, ma’am.” I say.

*

            In the cafeteria, I spot Cain standing along the far wall, next to the door to the patio lunch area. He’s wearing his coat and has his ripped up, torn bookbag slung on his shoulder. He’s had that thing for years. I give him a nod and then we wait for the lunch line to fill, it’ll be the perfect cover to sneak out. As the line slowly fills, we wait for our chance. People are giving us quick looks but I don’t imagine anyone will snitch, and if they do, Cain will get his friends on the football team to say something. Well, at least he says he can. Anyway, the line of students is blocking the lunch monitors view of us so with a quiet urgency we walk down the hall to the nearest exit door. No teachers or hall monitors in sight, the perfect chance.

            “Where you a******s sneakin’ off to?” It was Bud, a friend of Cain’s from their old Hockey days. Well, sort of a friend, more of an acquaintance at this point.

            “Just running out to my car real quick,” Cain said, his eyes grinning with treachery. He wasn’t a good liar. Bud looked at Cain, then at me, then back to Cain.

            “You’re ditching, aren’t you?” It was more of an accusation than it was a straight question. “I’m coming too.” He drops a couple of books onto the hallway floor, presumably an assignment given by a study hall teacher, and follows us outside. We walk carefully to Cain’s car, not too fast to catch anyone’s attention, but fast enough that we’re there before I can even catch my breath from the cold. Suddenly we’re piling into Cain’s car, as we demand he turns the heat up. Bud is stretched out in the back, and he practically takes up the whole seat. Cain’s car awakens with a roar and we’re finally backing out of the parking lot. As I warm my hands by the broken vent, I watch the school disappear in the side mirror. Thank God.

Reviews

[neurostar burns]

Good example of tongue in cheek. Good descript Short story though.