The Art of Being a F*ck Up

4. Ex's and Hell No's!

Now that it's been a week I'm still waiting for things to feel normal again. They haven't, and while it's certainly not from lack of wishing, nothing has really changed at all. Days like these—games days—used to be my favorite. Bill would give me the evening off work so I could play, and when the time came Jonah would be in the stands cheering me on. I'm not sure where he is now, probably off tending to one of his many duties that I had been keeping him from during the recovery. And while I had been genuinely anxious to return to work before, being back at the garage this whole week has actually been hell. Maybe things are just going to suck either way.

My last class ended not too long ago, but when I set off for work I realized that I was coming here instead, back to the field where I used to play. Why do I do this to myself? I sit in the stands and watch my old team practice, still remembering the thrill, the excitement, all the planning and dedication that goes into getting ready for a game. The guys must've had a busy week, but what have I done? I tried calling a few of the tutors off the list, but none were a good fit. It's not that they're bad at what they do necessarily, it's just that I struggle with homework and stuff more than anyone else seems to, so it takes a specific kind of person to help me.

Jonah was good at that—the best. I almost forget how I got along before him. But after? This is what my life's become, worried about achieving the bare minimum to pass, it's humiliating, part of me is glad Jonah hasn't been around the past few days much to see this. It's like I don't know where I fit anymore, or how to or something. That's probably the thing I miss most about high school, if I'm being honest. It was so easy there, there were rules and structure and you knew where everything belonged, and I was a god. Now I'm this. Or, I guess this is what I've always been, but at least I had things that made me feel special, that made me feel like me. Football was one of them, but now I don't even have that.

I fucking loved playing, man. I really did.

There's no reason to sit around and cry about it though, not when that's just how it goes sometimes, so I shake it off as I finally convince myself to trudge off to work. I've tortured myself enough, I can't look back, I've got to focus on getting in my old routine again. Hell or not, being back to work has been good for that. Plus it's a great opportunity to chip away my schoolwork between projects, Bill's always been real big about making sure I take college serious like that. Having a decent job is something to be grateful for, I like that the hours are flexible and that the garage is close enough that I can walk to it from campus.

There are some challenges that come with working for family of course, but it's never been anything we couldn't handle. Not that I gave Bill much of a choice when I showed up on his doorstep begging for a job freshman year, but I'm glad all the same that he helped me out when I needed it. He's a good uncle as far as they go, mostly I just count my lucky stars that even though they come from the same place he's nothing like my dad—not in the ways that matter. I'd say I owe him one, but judging from the stack of papers I can already see littering my desk when I get to the garage, I'm probably doing him a favor.

"There you are, kid. I was expecting you twenty minutes ago," Bill issues a casual greeting, not even bothered to look up while he rifles around on the desk. "Where'd you put those goddamn order forms?"

"Right where you left them," without missing a beat I reach into the nearest pile and pull them out. He glances up now, wide-eyed like I've performed some kind of sorcery when really it's just a perk of being his glorified secretary. I know I'm not a mechanic like him, but I thought for sure when I started at his garage he might let me do something cooler than pushing papers, I mean, damn, I know a lot about cars.

"Christ. Thanks, I swear I'm losing my mind. I've got to get these filled out, you going to be fine out here by yourself?" Same as everyone else, he feels the need to check up on me. It's much weirder coming from him when you consider that he's pretty much been an enigma my entire childhood, just like most of my family. He's a strangely quick-tempered yet mild-mannered guy, but otherwise Bill keeps to himself. Thankfully he doesn't push it when I don't answer. "I left a few invoices for you there from this morning that I need processed. I'm leaving a little early today and I'd like them done before I go."