Band X

Chapter 2: Psycho Chicken Meat

I head out of the gym and make my way home, preparing myself for the inquisition. I've never really had to try to hide something from my mom but I think that I might have to keep this from her. If she finds out, she'll do one of two things. Be overprotective and scare my band mates away or think it's such a good idea that she gets way too involved and scares away my band mates. Either way, telling my mom is a terrible idea with the same outcome. I'll have to invent a project or some after school extra credit work to throw her off my trail. And I'll also have to avoid looking her in the eyes until the band breaks up. Totally doable.

The more I think about my impending deception, the more eager I am to get home so I can stop obsessing on Isabelle, Eli, Thomas, and anything band related. Our house is small but I love it. It's where I feel safe and protected and where I don't have to talk to anyone if I don't want to. No forced interactions, no one waiting for me to make small talk. I hate small talk. Let's face it-I really hate most kinds of talk. I've tried to make myself smile and nod and talk but I just end up sounding really stupid. I usually slink away from the conversation the first chance I get, leaving others to focus their attention on someone else. Much to their relief, I'm sure.

I arrive home, quietly closing the door behind me. I lean on it and shut my eyes, listening for any signs of life. It's early in the afternoon, but my mom has a weird schedule as a college professor and despite the detailed calendar she leaves on the fridge every semester, she is sometimes stopped by a student asking stupid questions. At least I think the questions are stupid when she tells us all about them in the many stories she has about her work. I hope I don't sound so idiotic when I'm their age.

Then again, I'm not sure I'm even going to college. I haven't begun to think about what kind of work I could do. Basically, I need a job that pays me well and lets me lie on my back all day on a cushiony, yet firm mattress with good back support. That leaves mattress tester or prostitute (although I guess I would be a lazy whore if you think about it) as my career options. Maybe I'll find something that suits both my interests and physical needs. Whatever unique combination that will be, I don't know.

My dad starts work before the rest of the family gets up for the day and sometimes gets home early in the afternoon, but I didn't see his white, windowless work van in the driveway. The neighbors hate that van. It's huge and looks like something a pedophile would drive.

Not that my dad is creepy. He's a computer tech and needs all his equipment to fix stuff and driving the slightly stalkerish van is the only way he can do his job. He's also quiet and keeps to himself, choosing to ignore our neighbors for the most part. Because of this some people in the neighborhood think he's a little odd and the van only increases the side-eye glances thrown his way.

No van. No mom or dad. Brother still at school. I'm all alone and start to relax behind the safety of my red front door. With that relaxation comes pain. I'm tense all day at school because I'm on high alert just in case something goes wrong. Like if someone besides a teacher talks to me. I don't even like talking to them if I can help it but obviously sometimes I can't avoid it. My guard is always up so when I get home I feel like I'm kind of melting on the insides, like I took a Benadryl and suddenly and desperately need a nap.

It also means that my attention is no longer focused on navigating my massive school's hallways, avoiding meaningful contact with anyone like the frog avoids getting squashed by cars in that ancient video game my dad plays.

With no obstacles in my way, my pain becomes that much more obvious. It seeps from my back, snaking it's way both up and down, wrapping around my elbows and knees and finally landing at my fingertips and toes. The pain doesn't stay there. though. It radiates back up the way it came, creating scorching paths that never seem to entirely go away.