time
inside of my own head, it can’t be healthy. Really it can’t.
I note that Frank has a can of
Budweiser, so I say, “Underage drinking huh?” and then wish I’d have kept my
mouth shut. What a ridiculous thing to say.
Frank smiles down at me. “No, I’m
not under age actually.”
“Really? H-how old are y....” At
this one of those rare moments hit me. I can’t get the word out, but it’s not
because I’m particularly nervous. It’s just that the pronunciation, or maybe
the way the word sounds, results in me not being able to say it. It generally
happens to me with y’s, s’s and x’s. Normally when this happens I try to think
of a substitute for the word I can’t say, but there isn’t really any other way
of saying “you”.
I breathe a sigh of relief when
Frank finishes for me. “How old am I you mean? I’m nineteen. I was out of
school for nearly two years so I had to re-do the years I missed when I went
back.”
I know that the reason for him
missing school for that long must be personal so I don’t question it. Perhaps
it’s something to do with why he’s living in a foster home now.
“It m-makes sense, I thought you
seemed older.”
“Yeah?” he asks, pleased with the
compliment.
“Yeah, you’re more confident or
something.”
“You think so?”
“Definitely. You can certainly
put Josh in his place. When I tell him to go away he just ignores me.”
Frank looks at me with sincerity
when he replies, “You’ll tell me if he bothers you again, promise?”
“Of course, it’s good when
someone has your back,” I grin.
“And I’ve got yours, beautiful,”
he continues to watch me after he’s said this, maybe to see how I react to the
compliment. All I can do is crease my brow and look away in embarrassment.
A different band has taken to the
stage now. They race straight into a cover version of BYOB by System of
a Down.
Frank laughs, and with a hint of
sarcasm asks, “I don’t suppose you want to dance?” gesturing towards the
violent storm of movement taking place before us.
“I don’t think I’d emerge
unscathed to be honest.”
“You’re probably right,” he
replies with another laugh. Probably not because what I’ve said is particularly
funny, he just seems happy that I’m becoming comfortable and not stammering
with him so much anymore. In fact, I realise that is the case when he
says, “Your speech is improving around me, have you noticed?”
“Yeah, I’m just becoming more
familiar with you is all.”
“You see, I told you it was a
good idea that we get to know each other better.”
“Seemingly,” I reply.
Caroline has moved from standing
beside me with a moody expression and hostile body language, to sitting with
Alex and Layla and the other boys. She seems delighted when Alex calls her over
and offers her his seat.
For some reason, while taking in
the scene around me, I begin to wonder about Dad and what he might be doing
right now. What if he’s taken a ton of drugs and overdosed and nobody’s there
to find him and call an ambulance? Or he could be in a bar and gotten into a
drunken fight with some dodgy character who pulls a knife on him. Why does it
make my chest tighten to think of him dying alone and unloved? He doesn’t
deserve my worry, he never loved me, so why should I care for him and what may
or may not be happening to him now?
He’s never failed to brutalise me
in some way each and every day of my life, and still I can’t help my connection
to him, my inner need to save him from himself. He’d probably love this barn
party; he was always the kind of man who thrived on recklessness and
intoxication.
Caroline is having a debate with
Alex over which one of them would win in a race. I don’t know how they got onto
this topic because I hadn’t been listening to the trajectory of their
conversation. Again, I’m spending far too much time inside my own head. Talking
to
inside of my own head, it can’t be healthy. Really it can’t.
I note that Frank has a can of
Budweiser, so I say, “Underage drinking huh?” and then wish I’d have kept my
mouth shut. What a ridiculous thing to say.
Frank smiles down at me. “No, I’m
not under age actually.”
“Really? H-how old are y....” At
this one of those rare moments hit me. I can’t get the word out, but it’s not
because I’m particularly nervous. It’s just that the pronunciation, or maybe
the way the word sounds, results in me not being able to say it. It generally
happens to me with y’s, s’s and x’s. Normally when this happens I try to think
of a substitute for the word I can’t say, but there isn’t really any other way
of saying “you”.
I breathe a sigh of relief when
Frank finishes for me. “How old am I you mean? I’m nineteen. I was out of
school for nearly two years so I had to re-do the years I missed when I went
back.”
I know that the reason for him
missing school for that long must be personal so I don’t question it. Perhaps
it’s something to do with why he’s living in a foster home now.
“It m-makes sense, I thought you
seemed older.”
“Yeah?” he asks, pleased with the
compliment.
“Yeah, you’re more confident or
something.”
“You think so?”
“Definitely. You can certainly
put Josh in his place. When I tell him to go away he just ignores me.”
Frank looks at me with sincerity
when he replies, “You’ll tell me if he bothers you again, promise?”
“Of course, it’s good when
someone has your back,” I grin.
“And I’ve got yours, beautiful,”
he continues to watch me after he’s said this, maybe to see how I react to the
compliment. All I can do is crease my brow and look away in embarrassment.
A different band has taken to the
stage now. They race straight into a cover version of BYOB by System of
a Down.
Frank laughs, and with a hint of
sarcasm asks, “I don’t suppose you want to dance?” gesturing towards the
violent storm of movement taking place before us.
“I don’t think I’d emerge
unscathed to be honest.”
“You’re probably right,” he
replies with another laugh. Probably not because what I’ve said is particularly
funny, he just seems happy that I’m becoming comfortable and not stammering
with him so much anymore. In fact, I realise that is the case when he
says, “Your speech is improving around me, have you noticed?”
“Yeah, I’m just becoming more
familiar with you is all.”
“You see, I told you it was a
good idea that we get to know each other better.”
“Seemingly,” I reply.
Caroline has moved from standing
beside me with a moody expression and hostile body language, to sitting with
Alex and Layla and the other boys. She seems delighted when Alex calls her over
and offers her his seat.
For some reason, while taking in
the scene around me, I begin to wonder about Dad and what he might be doing
right now. What if he’s taken a ton of drugs and overdosed and nobody’s there
to find him and call an ambulance? Or he could be in a bar and gotten into a
drunken fight with some dodgy character who pulls a knife on him. Why does it
make my chest tighten to think of him dying alone and unloved? He doesn’t
deserve my worry, he never loved me, so why should I care for him and what may
or may not be happening to him now?
He’s never failed to brutalise me
in some way each and every day of my life, and still I can’t help my connection
to him, my inner need to save him from himself. He’d probably love this barn
party; he was always the kind of man who thrived on recklessness and
intoxication.
Caroline is having a debate with
Alex over which one of them would win in a race. I don’t know how they got onto
this topic because I hadn’t been listening to the trajectory of their
conversation. Again, I’m spending far too much time inside my own head. Talking
to
Similar Books
