(So this was a short story I wrote, well, sort of randomly today. I'm not sure if it has a point, as I wrote it on a spur of the moment thing with an idea from seeing a long hair stuck in the metal bit of a seat belt, but I like it. Might enter it for the book thing that's in the works. So, yes, tell me what you think if you would.)
Tom Varner was a pretty normal kid. He got A’s in history, B’s in science and English, and C’s in math. He dressed in whatever he could find at Target, Wal-Mart, or a thrift store. He stayed out of trouble by not getting involved; he didn’t listen to gossip (of course what normal guy did?) and he didn’t bother with doing something idiotic like defending the weak or being a bully.
And now he was sitting in the back of a gray station wagon, wondering how the heck he ended up here. His sight was caught on a single hair, however, as he completely ignored the gas station to his left and the dark-haired man in the driver’s seat of the car. It was a blonde hair, belonging to his most recent caseworker, Joanne, he assumed.
He could only frown.
Seconds later, the door popped open and closed. Joanne was seated back in the car. He could easily imagine her face as she chattered happily with Derrick, the dark-haired man and his latest foster father, and how Derrick must see her in her swanky pinstriped suit and her low-cut blouse.
“Do you want chips or some of this orange soda?” she asked, glancing back at him. Her too-bright teeth were on full display, her blue eyes too wide, and her dyed-blonde hair so tightly held back it seemed glued to her skull.
He shifted back in his seat automatically, moving away and closer to his door. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”
She just nodded and turned back around. “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it? I mean, this has been the first sign of civilization in—how far has it been, Derrick?”
“Ten miles, according to the GPS, since that farm we passed,” Derrick responded.
“Isn’t that great?” He couldn’t help but notice her tone of voice said she thought it was absolutely horrible. Of course, he could be imagining things. But going from how her, with her shiny earrings and upbeat and uptown-girl way of speaking, it would be no surprise if she wasn’t happy.
She fit in with the brown grass, falling apart gas station, and barb wire fence across the way just as well as Derrick, the station wagon, or him, the city-slicker boy being sent out for rehab or whatever they called it these days. He sort of remembered it having a bright, sunny name.
“Answer Joanne, son,” Derrick chided him, while looking back at him in the rearview mirror.
He felt something twist in his gut and an acidic taste came to his tongue. “It’s wonderful.” He met his eyes. “Not that you’d care. This is just a way for you to get rid of me.”
“Thomas!” Derrick sounded scandalized, eyes darting to Joanne immediately. “I’m doing no such thing.”
He let out a snort and rested his chin on his arm, which lay swung across the length of the window edge, pressed against the glass. “I’m sure.”
“Remember that Derrick and his wife took you in, Tom. Think about it. If it weren’t for them, you’d be out on the streets.”
I highly doubt that. “I just feel sort of like I’m being kicked to the curb,” he said, in his most pitiful voice.
Joanne let out a whiny coo. “Oh, it’s all right. No one is abandoning you. We just want you to have the best adult life possible. You’re pushing sixteen, Tom. You’ll be off on your own sooner or later—and you’ll want to make it into a college, get a job, get married, all that. This is just one of the steps that will help with that.
I’m sure. He didn’t say it aloud this time. Nonetheless, he felt like saying it. Saying that and saying something worse to her, actually. He was actually contemplating spitting on her.
“Okay.”
He looked back out the window, watching as the gas station disappeared from view—cars grinding against the gravel.
“Don’t clam up, Tom. You have to admit this is your best choice.”
Do I? Do I really?
“I don’t see how it is.”
“You will, sooner or later.”
He felt a chill race down his spine at that, and he hugged his backpack closer to his stomach—not even minding the feel of hard bindings pressing against his ribs. He moved until he was practically molded against it.
“I hope so.” He meant that. He couldn’t help it. He did hope so. He hoped things would get better for him; he really did. He just didn’t know how.
“Just think about how amazing it will be to be around kids your age again, Tom.”
“I don’t recall any happy memories.”
He could practically feel Joanne’s wince. He was mildly proud that this seemed to shut her up for a moment; keep her from continuing her stupid, little happy talks that meant nothing.
He glanced up, to see the sky faintly, see the clouded roof of the equally stupid cow town they were driving through.
“Just try, Tom. I’m sure if you actually try and keep a good attitude—get out of your shell a bit more and, you know, talk—you’ll make plenty of friends.”
“My last friend was stabbed in the back.” He saw her shoulders tense, as if he had a knife poised behind her seat. “Don’t you remember?”
“I remember.” She hugged herself, chip bag crinkling where it had to be, lying in her lap. “And you’ll have a new therapist where we’re going to help you with that.”
He now had a new hope. He thoroughly hoped she got zits where she’d just touched her shoulders.
“Have you ever tried to split that word in two?” he asked.
And then there was more silence.
He couldn’t completely hold back his stirrings of hope, however. They filtered through his system like poison. He couldn’t help but hope he’d get treated normally, that things would be normal. That everything would be okay.
Just looking out at the field of morning glories made him want to punch himself in the face, because it aided the feelings—feelings he wished would go away. He didn’t need them. He didn’t want them. He wanted to keep apart from it all. And now he was wishing to be back in the midst of it all, if only slightly. He didn’t need that. He especially didn’t need a bunch of flowers on a hillside practically yelling at him; yelling him his day was going to get better.
He sighed huffily and just buried his face in his backpack. His brain just worked at processing as the zipper dug into his cheek. Joanne and Derrick were up front, meekly talking—which threw off his focus—but he tried. He attempted to make sense of it all, one more time.
But it was only a few minutes later, minutes to him at least, when the car pulled to a stop.
“We’re here!” Joanne seemed too cheery once more; maybe more happy than she had been previously, whether the emotion was real or fake.
“Great.” He knew he sounded like the average delinquent. But you put up with enough and people just got annoying; their voices too sharp, too loud, same as everything else about them. And they didn’t understand, but claimed to.
With that last thought, most of the hopeful, happy feelings died down. The sight of a bunch of kids, already up and eating breakfast and a smaller group working a horse was enough to make him sick. Didn’t anyone realize they were just doing that because they knew it was easier than rebelling? It didn’t help them; it just made them lazy.
He blinked sleepily, not sure if he should be so judgmental, and he glanced up at Joanne, who was suddenly standing where his door was.
“What did you do?” he asked, not too forcefully as he stared at her.
“I opened the door.”
He yawned.
“And we should really talk about that comment you made with your new therapist. It seemed like a deflection technique; a crude, crass one, but one all the same.”
“Huh?”
He glanced at his watch, to see the time of nine o’clock, and he just decided that it was just too early to make sense of Joanne, in general.
“I’m hungry. Can we have breakfast?” he asked quietly, glancing around at the people who seemed far too bent on crowing the car.
“Sure.” Joanne now sounded sad.
What is that about? Shouldn’t she be happy I haven’t decided to starve myself or something insane? He just shook his head. It was far too early to make sense of that woman, or any women in general.
(Thanks for reading.)
