A night of fright upon me. Nothing in this world is free. Except for all new clothes, nice clothes, clothes that people like and want.”
I don’t know how I’m going to get to sleep, but I give it a shot anyway.
-
I don’t know if I have bad dreams all night long, but I remember the one right before I woke up and it was horrible.
I am hanging out with the guys at some kind of fast food restaurant. We have been here for quite a while and we all have the super large soda pops. For some reason we can’t all get situated at the booth. It keeps reconfiguring every time we stop paying attention to it. It takes on impossible configurations where we have to climb over the table to get to the seats. More often than not, there aren’t enough seats for everyone, so I end up standing there on my own clutching my oversized drink.
At some point I finish my drink and all that is left is ice. This is when I realize my bladder is full and I start looking for the bathroom. Half way to the bathroom, I realize I’m not wearing a shirt. The fear of being naked in public washes over me. I turn back the way I came and find a little kid pushing my shirt around on the wet tile floor. I grab the soaked shirt back from him and put it on; it coldly clings to me.
I go into the restroom but instead of clean Clorox it smells of rancid piss. The floor is also wet and so are the counters and the walls. It looks as if one or all of the toilets have exploded. I can feel the pressure on my bladder increase but there is nowhere to go. I think about going and the sink, but just as I start to unzip my pants, one of the fast food employees comes in. He has the same creepy grin on his face that Lucas had on earlier. He continues to grin at me as he washes his hands.
I leave the restroom. My bladder constantly reminding me how little time I have left. I find another door that I hope has some place that I can go. Inside is a labyrinth of shower stalls and urinals. All of them are cracked and broken or overflowing. Once more all the walls and floors are wet and water, hopefully water, drips on me from the ceiling again and again.
I can’t find a private place here. There are employees with the creepy lecherous looks on their faces everywhere. I start seeing people from school. I don’t know how, but my classmates from school here and are naked, either showering or walking around in pairs talking to each other. I don’t actually recognize any of them, but I’m positive they are from school.
I have to get out of here. In a frenzy I look for the door that brought me to this crazy bathroom. When I finally find it there is a line of people waiting to use the door. I feel the warmth crawl down my leg as I finally get to the door leading back to the restaurant. As I pass through the door I am greeted by my friends as well as the rest of the restaurant. They were waiting for me. They start to laugh.
Finally one of the creeper faced employees walks up behind me and says into my ear, “You must accept the pact first.”
I’m shocked awake both by the fast food employee and the fear of pissing my pants. The fear of pissing myself was all too valid and I grab myself to cut off the stream. I run to the bathroom to finish off what was started before it gets away from me for a second time.
“You must accept the pact first. What does that mean?” Nobody answers me.
I wash my underpants and leg in the sink. Then as fast as I can bury my undies in the hamper and put on a new pair from my dresser. I look through the rest of the dresser and the closet, but nothing has changed. It seems like Chad is screwing with me again.
Mark
After breaking down the campsite with the other guys, I stay at Chad’s house as long as I can but Chad’s Mom, Bonnie, sent me home pretty early. She says they have a busy day ahead of them. I believe her because she lets me stay over all the time.
Since all the other guys were gone I head to the park to burn some daylight. I sit through a baseball and a softball game without ever knowing the scores. I keep waiting for someone I know to show up but the only people around are little leaguers, butch Lesbos, and their fans.
Chad had found some kind of woodland genie. What luck, maybe things will get better around here, not that they are that bad. It’s just this place, this town feels tiny, exposed, and claustrophobic. It could use a change.
When dinnertime approaches I throw in the towel and head home. I take off my shoes at the door and place them in their special little cubby. I announce myself to my mother in the kitchen and she waves high to me while continuing to talk on the phone. A search for my father in his home office and the living room turns up nothing; he must still be at the office. That means I’ll have to hold on to this hunger for a little longer.
I head down to the rec-room to burn more daylight. This room always feels a little cold, but it’s where the big TV is located, so I deal with it. I fire up GTA on the big screen and wreak havoc until my father comes home.
Eventually, the intercom dings and my mother’s voice is transmitted into the room, “Dinnertime in five minutes.” This starts the nightly chain of events. I save the game and put away it away along with the controller and TV. Then jog to the restroom and wash my hands while inspecting my face and clothes in the three-way mirror for any dirt or smudges. I finish up in the restroom by brushing my hair and then make my way to the dining room.
My Mother, with a little help from Rosalita, has the dining room looking impeccable as usual. Doilies, fine china and silverware nestle the silver domed entrée. As the candles are lit, I take my place behind my high back chair. I call this part of the day The Unveiling. Inquiring about dinner is selfish and crude so I’m supposed to wait and be happy at what is afforded me.
A couple minutes later my Father strolls in the dining room and tucks his tie in his shirt. Dutifully, Rosalita lifts the polished meat cover to show my father three thick rounds of meat covered in slick looking dark sauce and parsley. Parsley is easy enough for me to recognize as it ends up on everything, but I’m not one hundred percent sure what cut of beef we are having. When they are that size, they are usually tenderloin or filet mignon but without the bacon, I have a hard time telling which is which. Sometimes I get quizzed on what is unveiled; tonight my odds are even.
My Father beams at my Mother, “Filet Mignon with a caramel-brandy mushroom sauce. It looks exquisite dear.”
It seems he might have had a good day today. He sits and mother and I follow suit. While Rosalita starts serving the meat and veggies we wait to field my Father’s questions.
His first lob is to my Mother, “How was your day, Dear? Any surprises?”
“No Dear. Today was a perfect day. I helped Jennifer with some of her party plans and took care of things on the home front.”
My father tears into his Filet, “That is wonderful. It’s not often we have a perfect day, is it?”
Even Rosalita, who is typically as invisible as possible, nods agreement as she dashes out of the room.
I get three evenly paced bites down before my Father asks, “Well Son, how was your camping excursion?”
Quickly swallowing, I wipe my mouth with the napkin that I replace back in my lap, then answer, “We all had a great time. The Hendrix’s were perfect hosts.”
“That’s good to hear. I’ll let Chad’s father know it went well when we compare notes.”
This response causes me to reflect back on the night looking for things that may get back to my Father. I can’t think of anything that will get me into trouble. I’m usually under scrutiny when at Chads house, so I try to be on my best behavior. Belatedly I realize my Father is studying my face, reading it and my thoughts like they were the business section, in response I flash him a smile that I hope is innocent.
My Father returns to his meal.
Three more bites pass before he pipes up again, “Well, we had a good day. We closed a few holdouts and signed a wonderful overseas account.”
Mother and I congratulate him and he looks pleased.
Six bites, “Excellent meal as usual. An
other perfect meal for another perfect day.”
She titters, “You flatter me. Anything for you dear. Your job is much more demanding than mine.”
He says, “Look who is flattering who.” He smiles.
Three bites, “I have some additional work to finish up. I will be on my office most of the night.”
He slides himself back from the table and stands up. We mimic his actions.
“Thank you dear.”
Three steps away from the door he turns back to me and asks, “Let’s keep it down tonight?”
“Yes Father.”
-
I hang out in my room for the rest of the night as it’s the furthest room away from my father’s home office. My mind spins in the possibilities for the wish. I have trouble coming up with a good one. My parents tend to get me anything I want as long as I’m good, so I don’t really need anything. The only things I can think of that they wouldn’t get are things like Chads gun. Weapons, pornography, cigarettes, alcohol and drugs.
My Mother uses Xanax and Prozac all the time. Once I had a good opportunity to ask her why and she said, “Sometimes it helps me stay focused.” These seem like good possibilities because I wouldn’t want to ask my parents for them.
Duane recommended it be something small. He’s smart kid, weird sometimes, but there’s not much that gets past him. Not like the other three. I would guess Duane’s IQ is the