make for a good show – an addicting show – maybe quality enough for my final project in Writing for Television.
But the reality is we’re getting cancelled after the first season, no matter how I write it.
“Make it quick, Dad. I’m busy,” I answer, locking my apartment door behind me. Of course he waits until I’m leaving for the sorority house to call.
“Well hello to you too, Son.”
I roll my eyes, like we’ve ever been the kind for niceties.
“I just wanted to see how things were going. I haven’t heard from you. Are you watching her?”
“I’m going to hang out with her right now. I think I might have her convinced to let me help with tournaments this semester.”
“Perfect. Attaboy,” he says, coughing. I picture him holed up in his office while Mom paints in the foyer, his mind more focused on poker than spending any time with her. “I know I don’t say it often, but I’m proud of you, Son. Putting your old man’s dreams before your own is very admirable.”
I scoff. “I didn’t exactly have a choice, did I?”
He’s silent for a moment before answering. “I just, you know how much this means to me, and whether you agree with it or not I appreciate you doing this for me. If I could do it myself you know I would.”
“I know, Dad.” I sigh, kicking a rock with my shoe as I walk. Dad used to play poker when he was younger, back before he met Mom. After he found out she was pregnant with me, he joined the Army to provide for us, and that became more important to him – or so he says. He never really dropped his dream, and since he couldn’t hold a high position in the Army and gamble, too, he forced me into it. He was convinced his “pride and joy” bouncing baby boy would make him proud.
He taught me from a young age and I tried as hard as I could to impress him, to learn from him, but the truth is I’m just not that great at poker. I wanted to be when I was younger, when I didn’t realize I wanted other things in life, but I failed miserably when placed next to his expectations. I’ve won small tournaments, but I get obliterated when I have to play anyone with real talent. I hate seeing disappointment on my dad’s face when I lose, but not as much as I hate the pleading look he gives me when he asks me to keep trying. This is it, my last chance to show up and be done with this shit forever – to finally do what I want.
Maybe it’s good that he called, maybe this is what I needed to focus tonight.
Dad coughs again, a loud and wet cough. “Okay then,” he says. “Call me when you get everything squared away.” He always ends our phone calls with that, and I never know what he means. It’s military talk for getting things in line, but I can’t tell what exactly he means – when school is in line? When Skyler is in line? When my life is in line? Who knows. He always asks, and I never call – I just wait for him to do it, instead.
We hang up just as I reach the house and ring the doorbell. I hear a scurry of feet before it opens, three bashful girls standing in the opening. I flash a smile. “Good evening, ladies. I’m here to pick up Skyler.”
Two of them look to each other and visibly swoon, which is actually pretty amusing. I’ve never been a bad looking guy, but I wouldn’t exactly say I’m swooned after. Perks of a small school and dating pool, I guess. The third girl, who hasn’t taken her eyes off me, suddenly realizes none of them have said a word and moves aside quickly to let me in. “I’ll go grab her. Do you want a drink or anything while you wait?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” I smile again and she nods, her mouth open slightly, before turning toward the stairs. I stand quietly with the other two for a few minutes, none of us saying anything. I smile at them and they smile back, and then we’re back to just standing and staring.
Awk-ward.
Finally, the girl returns and she and the other two run off to the other room just as Skyler walks
But the reality is we’re getting cancelled after the first season, no matter how I write it.
“Make it quick, Dad. I’m busy,” I answer, locking my apartment door behind me. Of course he waits until I’m leaving for the sorority house to call.
“Well hello to you too, Son.”
I roll my eyes, like we’ve ever been the kind for niceties.
“I just wanted to see how things were going. I haven’t heard from you. Are you watching her?”
“I’m going to hang out with her right now. I think I might have her convinced to let me help with tournaments this semester.”
“Perfect. Attaboy,” he says, coughing. I picture him holed up in his office while Mom paints in the foyer, his mind more focused on poker than spending any time with her. “I know I don’t say it often, but I’m proud of you, Son. Putting your old man’s dreams before your own is very admirable.”
I scoff. “I didn’t exactly have a choice, did I?”
He’s silent for a moment before answering. “I just, you know how much this means to me, and whether you agree with it or not I appreciate you doing this for me. If I could do it myself you know I would.”
“I know, Dad.” I sigh, kicking a rock with my shoe as I walk. Dad used to play poker when he was younger, back before he met Mom. After he found out she was pregnant with me, he joined the Army to provide for us, and that became more important to him – or so he says. He never really dropped his dream, and since he couldn’t hold a high position in the Army and gamble, too, he forced me into it. He was convinced his “pride and joy” bouncing baby boy would make him proud.
He taught me from a young age and I tried as hard as I could to impress him, to learn from him, but the truth is I’m just not that great at poker. I wanted to be when I was younger, when I didn’t realize I wanted other things in life, but I failed miserably when placed next to his expectations. I’ve won small tournaments, but I get obliterated when I have to play anyone with real talent. I hate seeing disappointment on my dad’s face when I lose, but not as much as I hate the pleading look he gives me when he asks me to keep trying. This is it, my last chance to show up and be done with this shit forever – to finally do what I want.
Maybe it’s good that he called, maybe this is what I needed to focus tonight.
Dad coughs again, a loud and wet cough. “Okay then,” he says. “Call me when you get everything squared away.” He always ends our phone calls with that, and I never know what he means. It’s military talk for getting things in line, but I can’t tell what exactly he means – when school is in line? When Skyler is in line? When my life is in line? Who knows. He always asks, and I never call – I just wait for him to do it, instead.
We hang up just as I reach the house and ring the doorbell. I hear a scurry of feet before it opens, three bashful girls standing in the opening. I flash a smile. “Good evening, ladies. I’m here to pick up Skyler.”
Two of them look to each other and visibly swoon, which is actually pretty amusing. I’ve never been a bad looking guy, but I wouldn’t exactly say I’m swooned after. Perks of a small school and dating pool, I guess. The third girl, who hasn’t taken her eyes off me, suddenly realizes none of them have said a word and moves aside quickly to let me in. “I’ll go grab her. Do you want a drink or anything while you wait?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” I smile again and she nods, her mouth open slightly, before turning toward the stairs. I stand quietly with the other two for a few minutes, none of us saying anything. I smile at them and they smile back, and then we’re back to just standing and staring.
Awk-ward.
Finally, the girl returns and she and the other two run off to the other room just as Skyler walks
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