entertaining as having a front-row seat to a quitter going through personal hell.
Yet, those were not my intentions. Not tonight.
Bret wasn’t a quitter; confused—full of assumptions and of himself—and utterly void of hope, but never a quitter. Not until now.
His rose-colored glasses, once rosier than any mortal’s to date, were now cracked, discarded, forgotten in the debilitating accusations thrust on him by his once beloved parents. Parents, whom Bret had chosen to forgo his senior year in high school to help support. Parents who once adored their beautiful child, now proclaimed to abhor him, simply for who he was.
No, I wasn’t going anywhere, not if I could rekindle one flicker of the hope that Bret once clung to like a lifeline. Hope enough for even the most jaded to catch a glimpse.
If only I were allowed to answer his most troubling questions. I’m sure plenty haunted his mind as he stood defiant on that ledge.
Parents. Papa knew it would sure make things a helluva lot easier.
Of course, making anything easy was never Big Papa’s style. His sadistic tendencies often clashed with his benevolence. Many times I wondered exactly which side he played for. Don’t say much, simply encourage—don’t supply definite answers, only hints—above all else, never ever touch… His list of rules went on for eternity. Typical.
Watching as Bret teetered, helpless to the young man’s stubbornness, for the first time in almost two decades I regretted taking him as my ward. Though I knew him and his needs better than anyone, including the Big Cheese in all his stinking glory—figuratively speaking, my hands were tied. I hated my job, my esteemed position, this right?
Right.
Thanks to his wonderful parents, Bret battled the worst of two demons—rejection and loneliness. If asked, I’d tell him—rejection’s a rip-your-heart-out-and-force-feed-it-to-you-cold bitch. And loneliness? Well, that’s just a neck-deep wade in that bitch’s cesspool. Believe me, with all my knowledge, most of which I considered useless by the way, I knew.
I had known the sting of loneliness more often and more intimately than any mere mortal. Losing family and friends to bigoted misunderstandings, losing hope to irrational judgments.
Stronger men had survived her wrath too but—I glanced Bret’s direction, scanned his form—not tonight. Too inexperienced, he’d been too sheltered from the, more oftentimes than not, harsh realities of life. No, he would not be one of the stronger. Not without my intervention.
I’d been privy to his deepest workings. While his outward appearance screamed don’t-mess-with-me tough, his heart—his motivations—his dreams…well, he was a romanticist. Life was meant to go a certain way, relationships meant to follow a certain path.
Common sense dictated differently, of course.
But then that argument never fared well. Not even for me. I chuckled to myself. In reality, Bret wasn’t much different than his parents—or Big Papa.
“I’m doing this,” he said.
Inwardly, I sighed. Of course he was, or I wouldn’t be here now, would I?
Sent intact, with my infinite wisdom, to pick up the pieces, I was. Only, which pieces were never specified. I reiterated that arguing point to myself, strapping it in place with the rest of my accoutrements, as I shifted to a squat upon the balls of my feet. Despite Papa’s warning, tonight I would forsake his ridiculous rules. Anything, for Bret.
“Have you thought how Eric may feel?” I asked.
Bret’s self-pity let up—for a second. “Eric? My boss?”
“Yes.” Succinctly, I answered, hesitant on the details, not at Big Papa’s instruction, but of my own accord. Sue me; ignore me; don’t forgive me—whatever. I was jealous. “I know you’re fond of him.”
“Yeah….” But seconds later, Bret’s self-pity swallowed him whole. “Like he even knows I exist.”
“Do you know that to be fact?” I tried to stall the inevitable, knowing
Yet, those were not my intentions. Not tonight.
Bret wasn’t a quitter; confused—full of assumptions and of himself—and utterly void of hope, but never a quitter. Not until now.
His rose-colored glasses, once rosier than any mortal’s to date, were now cracked, discarded, forgotten in the debilitating accusations thrust on him by his once beloved parents. Parents, whom Bret had chosen to forgo his senior year in high school to help support. Parents who once adored their beautiful child, now proclaimed to abhor him, simply for who he was.
No, I wasn’t going anywhere, not if I could rekindle one flicker of the hope that Bret once clung to like a lifeline. Hope enough for even the most jaded to catch a glimpse.
If only I were allowed to answer his most troubling questions. I’m sure plenty haunted his mind as he stood defiant on that ledge.
Parents. Papa knew it would sure make things a helluva lot easier.
Of course, making anything easy was never Big Papa’s style. His sadistic tendencies often clashed with his benevolence. Many times I wondered exactly which side he played for. Don’t say much, simply encourage—don’t supply definite answers, only hints—above all else, never ever touch… His list of rules went on for eternity. Typical.
Watching as Bret teetered, helpless to the young man’s stubbornness, for the first time in almost two decades I regretted taking him as my ward. Though I knew him and his needs better than anyone, including the Big Cheese in all his stinking glory—figuratively speaking, my hands were tied. I hated my job, my esteemed position, this right?
Right.
Thanks to his wonderful parents, Bret battled the worst of two demons—rejection and loneliness. If asked, I’d tell him—rejection’s a rip-your-heart-out-and-force-feed-it-to-you-cold bitch. And loneliness? Well, that’s just a neck-deep wade in that bitch’s cesspool. Believe me, with all my knowledge, most of which I considered useless by the way, I knew.
I had known the sting of loneliness more often and more intimately than any mere mortal. Losing family and friends to bigoted misunderstandings, losing hope to irrational judgments.
Stronger men had survived her wrath too but—I glanced Bret’s direction, scanned his form—not tonight. Too inexperienced, he’d been too sheltered from the, more oftentimes than not, harsh realities of life. No, he would not be one of the stronger. Not without my intervention.
I’d been privy to his deepest workings. While his outward appearance screamed don’t-mess-with-me tough, his heart—his motivations—his dreams…well, he was a romanticist. Life was meant to go a certain way, relationships meant to follow a certain path.
Common sense dictated differently, of course.
But then that argument never fared well. Not even for me. I chuckled to myself. In reality, Bret wasn’t much different than his parents—or Big Papa.
“I’m doing this,” he said.
Inwardly, I sighed. Of course he was, or I wouldn’t be here now, would I?
Sent intact, with my infinite wisdom, to pick up the pieces, I was. Only, which pieces were never specified. I reiterated that arguing point to myself, strapping it in place with the rest of my accoutrements, as I shifted to a squat upon the balls of my feet. Despite Papa’s warning, tonight I would forsake his ridiculous rules. Anything, for Bret.
“Have you thought how Eric may feel?” I asked.
Bret’s self-pity let up—for a second. “Eric? My boss?”
“Yes.” Succinctly, I answered, hesitant on the details, not at Big Papa’s instruction, but of my own accord. Sue me; ignore me; don’t forgive me—whatever. I was jealous. “I know you’re fond of him.”
“Yeah….” But seconds later, Bret’s self-pity swallowed him whole. “Like he even knows I exist.”
“Do you know that to be fact?” I tried to stall the inevitable, knowing
Similar Books
