Disequilibrium

Part 1: Freshman Year - Scene 3

Casper never said much to me after that. He only collected himself, said sorry for laughing, then went off his own way. I never called after him since that would've been a stupid ass thing to do. So instead, I got on the bus home and stopped thinking about him.

The people on the bus don't bother me much; I think they're too tired to. It doesn't run to the trailer park, so I have to get off at some middle class neighbourhood and walk the rest of the way. Ten goddamn minutes. It's hell. Dad tells me not to complain about it though since I'm getting a good education. I can't afford to take you to some private school, he told me. This is the next best thing.

I don't despise my father. I just dislike him. Although he gives subpar effort to give what others already have, I can tell he'd much rather be doing something else, like screwing that lady three doors down. I'm pretty sure if someone came up to him with a million bucks, he'd trash me somewhere and go off on his own.

It's the art of survival, Holden. That's what the bastard would've told me.

There's nobody out at the trailer park once I get there. It's usually silent; people mind their own business. They figure it's best knowing nothing at all than knowing something and getting into crap for it.

It's a philosophy I respect.

Dad is passed out on the ratty couch by the time I walk in. I slam the door shut in my wake, causing him to sit up in a frenzy of panic and hysteria.

His breathing slows once he sees me, eyes full of relief and hidden discontent. "It's the afternoon already?" His voice is real low. "Damn. Time flies."

I say nothing at first; just quietly slip off my shoes and head into our mediocre home. The smell of beer is heavy in the room. "Did you even go to work?" I ask.

Dad sits straighter and rubs his head, knocking down two empty bottles in the process. "What kind of question is that? Of course I didn't go to work. I wasn't feeling great." He sighs and belches at the same time. "How was school, anyway? I wanted to go over to the grocery store and get you that soup you like before you came back, but time got the best of me. Tomorrow, alright?"

"Alright," I say, though I haven't liked that soup for ages. I never tell him that, though.

I move to the kitchen, taking two slices of bread from the loaf and smother peanut butter on them. As I eat, Dad stands from the couch and collects the bottles on the floor, still in his underwear and a stained tee shirt.

"You going to that house again?" he asks.

"Yeah." My mouth is still full, but I continue speaking even though he hates it. "I'll walk over right now; I was just hungry."

"Don't talk with your goddamn mouth full." Dad drops the bottles into the waste bin and leans on the counter beside me, stealing a corner of my sandwich. "They should pay you more, you know. They're goddamn geezers, after all. What the hell are they going to do with all that money? They should give it to the kid who mows their lawn and pulls their weeds all the time."

"Yeah." I move to the front door, swallowing the rest of my sandwich as I slip my shoes on. Talking to him too much tends to make me sick.

Before Dad can say anything else, I'm out the door just as quick as I came in. I pause for a moment, staring at the closed door to see if he'd come out to give me another one of his life lessons. When everything stays still, I walk out the park like I don't belong there.

I don't.

While walking, I think a lot about what Dad said even though I don't want to. There's always some truth in his words, which is why I don't hate him entirely. I mean, I don't even like the old couple much. I'd always been wondering when one of them would croak and if they'd give me anything in their will for being such a pleasant helping hand. How much would it be? Five hundred? A thousand?