Weird Thoughts

Setback - Part 1

It was around eight P.M. Or maybe it was eight thirty, Guy wasn't sure. He sat at their kitchen table, awaiting the inevitable scolding. He knew this day would've come sooner or later. A hanging lamp guarded overhead, as if Guy was in an interrogation room, getting pressured into confession by some pig. 

His father, James, sat across from him, having that look on his face. The downturned corners of his mouth were always a bad sign. The man gestured at a tablet in his hand. Guy's grades from the past three months were on it.

"When were you going to tell me?" James asked.

Guy shrugged. "Thanksgiving, maybe. Seemed like a good time."

"Don't get smart with me. How many times have I told you to apply yourself?"

God, Guy thought, not this again.

"It'll be X+1 times soon. See? My math is just peachy."

"Don't you understand I'm trying to help you? I want you to succeed, to sow the seeds for your own future. One day you'll have to stand on your own feet."

Guy leaned back in his chair. "And what does succeed mean, dad? Become someone like you?"

James' gaze darkened. The man was like a piece of thread pulled between two hands. The breaking point was always clear from a mile away. Guy knew he was close. The father weaved his fingers together and leaned forward, light reflecting from his balding scalp. The air in the room was tense.

"Listen, Guy." He said matter-of-factly, "A person needs to take responsibility. Running away from it won't help. In the end, ignored responsibilities return with sharpened claws."

Guy rolled his eyes. He was late for his rendezvous. "I'm not taking anythin'. If you think differently you can go screw yourself."

BAM! James slammed his fist on the table. The piece of thread had snapped. 

"That's it. Go to your room!"

A corner of the young man's upper lip rose. "My room? I'm nineteen!"

"Really? Because you sound like an eight-year-old."

Guy wanted to retort, but his father jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 

"And stay there." He said, pointing at the back of his neck, "You know I can still track you."

As Guy left the kitchen, he promised he'd stay put. Five minutes later he climbed out of his bedroom window. As he touched down on their lawn, he rubbed his neck an inch below his hairline. His pin was there, a small disc implanted under the skin. He couldn't remember a time without it.

His father was right; it could be used to track Guy's location in case of an emergency. The young man liked to see him try.It was time to meet the boys.

***

They'd circled their local park twice, making sure they were alone. Their target, a statue located at its center, was surrounded by a grove of poplars. Guy believed the stone figure represented some hack from olden times. Ralph stood on Karl's shoulders, reaching up to the statue's groin. He held a long clay penis. The pimpled adolescent lowered it towards his crotch, snickering and saying it was shorter than what he was used to.

"Where did ya even get a clay dick?" Guy wondered aloud.

"Don't ask." Ralph said as he glued the penis between the statue's hips. "Much better."

The three could barely contain their laughter, trying not to attract attention. After a final proud look, they disappeared between the poplars. Guy took a small bottle of vodka from his jacket. Passing it around, Ralph accepted it happily, whereas Karl shook his head.