doesn't feel right about my story, but I don't know what.
Chapter Nine
P ETE AND I drive all over town looking for Dad, but we don't find him. By the time we pull up to my house again, the rain and sleet have stopped, but the wind has picked up and the temperature seems to be dropping fast.
"I hope wherever your father is, he's indoors," Pete says, rubbing his hands together.
I climb out of the car and turn around to face him. "Yeah, me too." I look behind me at my house. The lights are all off, but that doesn't mean anything. Dad could still be in there.
"I once found my dad passed out on top of a pile of snow in the High Street parking lot," Pete says. "You know how they shovel it all off to the sides? His toes were frost-bitten, but he didn't care." Pete lifts his hand in the air as though he's tossing a hat. Then he leans forward and peers up at my windows.
"I'll wait here to see if your dad's there. If he isn't, I'm calling Haze and Shelby."
"No. Really, that's okay," I say, waving my hand, brushing the idea away. "Really."
"Listen, you shouldn't be alone tonight. Believe me, I've been there—waiting for my dad. If it weren't for my mother and my brothers, I don't know, man—it's tough."
"Really, I'm okay," I say, sticking out my chin, trying to look confident. "Thanks again for coming, and good luck with your intervention tonight. I hope it works."
"It has to, or my dad's out on his ass. My mom changed all the locks."
"Well, good luck, then." I close the door and run up the steps of my house. I go inside and switch on the lights in the hallway and living room, calling to my dad as I go. The house feels too empty, too silent, for Dad to be here. I hate going back out to let Pete know this. I don't want Shelby or Haze coming over. I feel overexposed as it is.
SEXY LADY :
Ooh! Overexposed. Nothing wrong with that.
I look out the window and see his VW idling there.
I go out onto the stoop and shrug to indicate that Dad isn't home. Then I smile and wave him on as if it's no big deal.
CRAZY GLUE :
Yeah, no big deal. That's why your insides feel like a thousand birds clamoring to get out.
I watch Pete pull away, then go back into the house. I search each room again, just to give myself something to do, and finally end up in the doorway of my parents' bedroom. I just stand there for a couple of minutes. I don't like coming into their bedroom anymore. It reminds me too much of my mom with the sheer curtains with daisies embroidered on them, Mom's favorite flowers, and the chest of drawers that still holds her fancy perfume bottles and makeup and a hand-carved jewelry box. The quilt she made by hand with the date of my parents' wedding stitched into the fabric still lies across the bed, and her clothes still hang in the closet.
AUNT BEE :
It's as if you think she's coming back.
The only time I come into this room is to clean and gather the laundry or to put laundry away.
CRAZY GLUE :
Yeah, and it's like the hundred-yard dash the way you rush in and out of here.
I step into the room and go over to the chest of drawers. I pick up the red nail polish Dad used to paint his wound on his chest. I shake it up and stare at the bright red color a few seconds. Then I set it down and open a bottle of perfume and take a whiff.
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE :
Odors evoke memories more strongly than almost anything. Bad idea, son.
I jam the top back in the bottle and pick up my mom's eyeliner.
AUNT BEE :
I think Haze paints those small tears on his face with eyeliner.
CRAZY GLUE :
Don't prisoners tattoo tears on their face to show they've murdered someone?
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE :
Haze is just trying to express outwardly what he's feeling inside.
SEXY LADY :
Go on. Express yourself, Jason.
I unscrew the cap of the eyeliner and pull the little paintbrush out. I stare at it for a few seconds, and a little blob of black starts to build on the tip. I check myself out in the mirror.
CRAZY GLUE :
It's been a long time since you've
Chapter Nine
P ETE AND I drive all over town looking for Dad, but we don't find him. By the time we pull up to my house again, the rain and sleet have stopped, but the wind has picked up and the temperature seems to be dropping fast.
"I hope wherever your father is, he's indoors," Pete says, rubbing his hands together.
I climb out of the car and turn around to face him. "Yeah, me too." I look behind me at my house. The lights are all off, but that doesn't mean anything. Dad could still be in there.
"I once found my dad passed out on top of a pile of snow in the High Street parking lot," Pete says. "You know how they shovel it all off to the sides? His toes were frost-bitten, but he didn't care." Pete lifts his hand in the air as though he's tossing a hat. Then he leans forward and peers up at my windows.
"I'll wait here to see if your dad's there. If he isn't, I'm calling Haze and Shelby."
"No. Really, that's okay," I say, waving my hand, brushing the idea away. "Really."
"Listen, you shouldn't be alone tonight. Believe me, I've been there—waiting for my dad. If it weren't for my mother and my brothers, I don't know, man—it's tough."
"Really, I'm okay," I say, sticking out my chin, trying to look confident. "Thanks again for coming, and good luck with your intervention tonight. I hope it works."
"It has to, or my dad's out on his ass. My mom changed all the locks."
"Well, good luck, then." I close the door and run up the steps of my house. I go inside and switch on the lights in the hallway and living room, calling to my dad as I go. The house feels too empty, too silent, for Dad to be here. I hate going back out to let Pete know this. I don't want Shelby or Haze coming over. I feel overexposed as it is.
SEXY LADY :
Ooh! Overexposed. Nothing wrong with that.
I look out the window and see his VW idling there.
I go out onto the stoop and shrug to indicate that Dad isn't home. Then I smile and wave him on as if it's no big deal.
CRAZY GLUE :
Yeah, no big deal. That's why your insides feel like a thousand birds clamoring to get out.
I watch Pete pull away, then go back into the house. I search each room again, just to give myself something to do, and finally end up in the doorway of my parents' bedroom. I just stand there for a couple of minutes. I don't like coming into their bedroom anymore. It reminds me too much of my mom with the sheer curtains with daisies embroidered on them, Mom's favorite flowers, and the chest of drawers that still holds her fancy perfume bottles and makeup and a hand-carved jewelry box. The quilt she made by hand with the date of my parents' wedding stitched into the fabric still lies across the bed, and her clothes still hang in the closet.
AUNT BEE :
It's as if you think she's coming back.
The only time I come into this room is to clean and gather the laundry or to put laundry away.
CRAZY GLUE :
Yeah, and it's like the hundred-yard dash the way you rush in and out of here.
I step into the room and go over to the chest of drawers. I pick up the red nail polish Dad used to paint his wound on his chest. I shake it up and stare at the bright red color a few seconds. Then I set it down and open a bottle of perfume and take a whiff.
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE :
Odors evoke memories more strongly than almost anything. Bad idea, son.
I jam the top back in the bottle and pick up my mom's eyeliner.
AUNT BEE :
I think Haze paints those small tears on his face with eyeliner.
CRAZY GLUE :
Don't prisoners tattoo tears on their face to show they've murdered someone?
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE :
Haze is just trying to express outwardly what he's feeling inside.
SEXY LADY :
Go on. Express yourself, Jason.
I unscrew the cap of the eyeliner and pull the little paintbrush out. I stare at it for a few seconds, and a little blob of black starts to build on the tip. I check myself out in the mirror.
CRAZY GLUE :
It's been a long time since you've
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