It only hurts when you pay attention

[GodModule]

This is part 2 of "when love is lost and even the birds think you're an asshole." If you wanna read the first part, it can be found here:

http://www.studioeight.tv/phpbb/viewtop ... 0130d2b43d


I knew living with my parents again was going to be an insufferable situation for as long as I was there. I was grateful to at least have a place to stay after the mind-fuck I'd just endured with Beth, but my relationship with my parents had always been strained. My father was in construction, and he'd worked his ass off for twenty years to provide for his family. He was an honest man and a conservative man. He'd married my mother when they were both eighteen, and he'd gone straight to work right out of high school. He frowned on any kind of counterculture, and he loathed drug use. As he was fond of telling me, it was a constant bewilderment to him that his son had turned out to be such a degenerate low-life.

The lady friend I met at Stoney's had been kind enough to give me a ride to my parents' house. She dropped me off just as my father was stepping outside for a cigarette. I gave her a peck on the cheek and got out of the car.

“Hey, dad,” I said with forced congeniality as I made my way to the patio. He stared at me without saying a word and took another drag of his cigarette.

“Have a seat,” he finally spoke as I reached the front door.

“It's good to see you,” I said, trying my best to be friendly.

“Listen up, because I'm only gonna tell you this once,” he grumbled as he put his barely-smoked cigarette out. “I don't want you here. You can thank your mother for being here. I don't care how old are you are. You wanna stay in this house, you're gonna follow my rules. You're gonna get a job right away, and you're gonna show me your pay stubs. You're gonna account for every dollar spent, and you're gonna pay me $500 a month for rent. If I see you around here looking high, you're gone. If you get arrested again, you're gone.”

I wanted to tell him that I was an accomplished hustler and would have no problem scrounging up money and generating extra income, but I held my tongue.

He seemed to read my thoughts. “And if I even suspect that you're selling drugs out of this house, I swear to God, Travis, I'll call the police on you myself and make sure you go to prison this time.

“I know you don't care about anyone but yourself, but just try to think of how much suffering your mother went through while you were locked up.”

I nodded.

*****

My mother was much happier to see me. She cried as she hugged me. It broke my heart to see my mom cry. It was the kind of thing that you never thought about when you were out fucking around and getting in trouble.

*****

I went to my room. It was barely past noon, but I had a hell of a hangover and I needed a nap. All my stuff was packed away in boxes just like Beth said it would be. I cringed at the thought of having to go through all of it. Everything in there reminded me of her, and I knew I would start crying as soon as I looked at it. I needed a fresh change of clothes, though, so I sighed and opened the first box.

I was right. I burst into tears immediately. The first thing I pulled out was a little stuffed penguin she'd gotten me for Christmas.

“Fuck,” I murmured, as I wiped the tears from my eyes and thought back to that morning.

“There were only three left,” she'd said with a big smile. “I got you the one with the best beak.”

We'd laughed and hugged. Of course she got me a penguin. Penguins were my favorite animals. She knew everything about me, and I knew everything about her. We didn't give each other generic gifts.

She'd had a hard life. She'd been sexually abused by her cousin when she was eight years old, and she was too afraid to ever tell her parents.

“I was so guilty,” she told me. “It kept happening, and I felt like it was my fault because I didn't tell on him. But I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if my mom would believe me. I didn't want to get him in trouble.”

She'd spent her entire childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood racked by guilt. She'd come close to killing herself, only to decide against it at the last second. And then she met me.

She opened up around me. When I met her the first time, she was very closed off. I asked her out anyway, mostly because she was pretty and I wanted to fuck her. I was a bit surprised when she said yes. With each date, more of her personality came out. Within a month, I was completely in love for the first time. She was different than any girl—or any person—I'd ever met. She was completely unpretentious. She was smart, but she was having a hard time finding her way in life. I related to her in every way: her dark sense of humor, the things she found interesting. There was something so innocent about her. I wouldn't realize until later that what I was sensing was someone who had completely let her guard down for the first time.

I looked at the penguin. How the fuck did I drive her away? I gently placed the stuffed animal on the top shelf of my closet, then I punched my oak dresser as hard as I could. My hand throbbed with pain. Good.

*****

I left the house early the next morning to look for work. It was gonna be awfully hard to try to make an honest living. I'd been working since I was in high school—nearly as long as I'd been selling drugs—but I'd never worked in anything but retail. I didn't have any marketable skills. What choice did I have? Maybe nine dollars an hour was good enough for some people, but it sure as hell wasn't gonna pay the rent. Still, I wanted to prove my dad wrong.

The first place I tried was a little coffee shop a couple blocks from my parents house. It didn't look like they did much business, which was perfect since I didn't like dealing with people very much.

“Hi,” I said with a smile to the girl behind the counter. She had purple hair and a pierced lip. I always found punk rock girls to be irresistible.

“What can I get for you?” she smiled. I could tell that she liked me, but she couldn't have been more than 16. I was well past the age where dating 16-year-olds was acceptable.

“I'm just looking for work, actually,” I admitted. “Is the manager here?”

“I'm the manager-on-duty.”

“Really? How old are you?”

She laughed. “Twenty-three.”

“Oh, you look so young. I mean not that you look...I don't mean...” I shook my head as if I were embarrassed. For some reason, girls found that cute. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. I hear that all the time,” she handed me an application. “Here. Fill this out and bring it to me when you're done.”

I smiled. She smiled back. I don't know why it was okay to date a 23-year-old who looked 16, but not a 16-year-old who looked 23, but I didn't care to analyze it too much.

*****

“So you don't have any experience with coffee?” she asked, looking over my application.

“Well, not in a professional sense, no. But, you know, I make it all the time at home.”

“Right.”

“I mean, I know it's not the same thing, but it can't be rocket science, right?”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “I see you haven't worked in six months? What's that about?”

“Umm...I was in jail.”

“You bad boy,” she seemed more intrigued than put off. “What for?”

“Possession with intent to distribute. And some other stuff. But I was found not guilty.”

“Well, that's a relief.”

“You're telling me.”

“So did you learn anything from the experience?”

“Yeah. I learned that a pound of marijuana makes a whole car smell. Even if it's in the trunk.”

She put down the application. “Look, just because I'm flirting with you doesn't mean you're getting the job.”

“To be honest, I don't really want the job.”

“Well then why are we sitting here talking?”

“Honestly? I was hoping maybe I could get a date with you.”

I smiled. She smiled. After being with Beth for three years, I'd almost forgotten how exciting it was to ask a girl out.

*****

Things were looking up. I had a date with the coffee shop girl set for the weekend, and, even though I was thoroughly unimpressed by her interest in “bad boys,” it was still nice to have someone to take my mind off of Beth for awhile. The job hunt for the day ended in failure, but at least my father seemed satisfied that I was out looking. He didn't even say anything when I told him I was going out with some friends that night.

I should've known by how well things were going that trouble was just around the corner.

*****

“You fuckin' snitch.” I was in a world of shit now. I hadn't even been out for two days and here I was dealing with these assholes.

“I didn't snitch on anybody,” I said, knowing very well that it would do no good.

“You let Devin take the fall for your shit. You're a fuckin' punk bitch.”

I definitely had, at the very least, an ass-whooping coming. What was I supposed to say?

“I don't know what you guys are talking about. I never said anything about Devin. I kept my mouth shut. What was I supposed to do? Confess to everything?”

Two more blocks and I would've had two friends with me. Funny how things worked out sometimes.

“He's doing eight years now for your shit.”

They had a point, but this was the nature of the beast. There was no honor among thieves. Maybe it wasn't Devin's weed or pistol in the trunk, but he knew he was getting hooked up for driving me around. He had no problem smoking with me for free or acting tough when we were in bars because he knew I had a gun, and in my opinion, that made him just as culpable as me.

“Look, I don't know what to...”

I didn't even see the first punch coming.

*****

If it weren't for all the morphine I got in the E.R., I would've been thoroughly depressed that night. This whole lifestyle was stupid. Here I was, bloody and bruised, over something that should've never happened in the first place. What was I gonna do now? Get my friends and find them? Jump them? Shoot them? End up right back in jail?

I thought about my dear Beth and all the fun we used to have, just the two of us. We would play video games, we would make love. Even making dinner was fun. I missed her more than I would ever admit. Every night since I was arrested, I'd lay awake, wishing that I could turn back time and go back to when we first met, wishing that I would've given up all the bullshit and realized what I had. But it was too late for that. And even though I wanted her back, the decent part of me told me that she was way better off without me. I just hoped she was happy.

The nurse came in to check on me.

“How are you doing?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“How's the pain?”

“Worst I've ever felt.”

“Hang on a second. I'll get you some more medicine.”

I smiled. At least there was the morphine.

[judih]

like it.
so far, so good.

[saw]

this is very compelling in both it's honesty and emotion.....I could really relate to the drug stuff, and going back home at one point, and the straight hardworking conservative dad.....I could also relate to not knowing a good thing until later after everything turned to shit, but this is the way most of us learn...there does not seem to be any shortcuts to happiness.....nothing like a little suffering and humility to brings things into focus.... I too have a box of things from some old relationships that I look in every five years or so to strengthen the roots, keep me grounded in the changes I made.....keep up the good work.....I would think this story should have a broad appeal.....

[revolutionrabbit]

sorry to mention my novel, but this writing reminds me a little of my teenager experience in the late 60's.The style of my writing is to attempt to awaken the magic that was in the air when the psychedelic wave crashed on our heads, but between the music and the trip, there was the desolate landscape of society and the school and parents.I could not focus on just the bummers, but the bummers were always waiting around.My Dad hardly ever talked to me, other then to tell me to cut my hair but most of all his words of wisdom..."get a job" the mantra of his factory mind.This writing here, is more straight forward, it a long way from the flower power days, but that moment came and went, but even then I could have talked more about deals gone bad, more about the police harassment, the very weird stuff that goes through your mind, I did try to give that some outlet, but I wanted to make it more trippy.I mean actually why do we get high? Just to pass the time? To escape a hard nosed reality, that our Dads seemed comfortable in? Well if you want to see the bummers they are all there, crowding around like crows on garbage, for sure, I liked reading this, it's good writing, its honest and shows a commitment to telling the story.I don't know if this is a short story, or the beginning of a novel.

[Sarongsongbluez89]

This is part 2 of "when love is lost and even the birds think you're an asshole." If you wanna read the first part, it can be found here:

http://www.studioeight.tv/phpbb/viewtop ... 0130d2b43d


I knew living with my parents again was going to be an insufferable situation for as long as I was there. I was grateful to at least have a place to stay after the mind-fuck I'd just endured with Beth, but my relationship with my parents had always been strained. My father was in construction, and he'd worked his ass off for twenty years to provide for his family. He was an honest man and a conservative man. He'd married my mother when they were both eighteen, and he'd gone straight to work right out of high school. He frowned on any kind of counterculture, and he loathed drug use. As he was fond of telling me, it was a constant bewilderment to him that his son had turned out to be such a degenerate low-life.

The lady friend I met at Stoney's had been kind enough to give me a ride to my parents' house. She dropped me off just as my father was stepping outside for a cigarette. I gave her a peck on the cheek and got out of the car.

“Hey, dad,” I said with forced congeniality as I made my way to the patio. He stared at me without saying a word and took another drag of his cigarette.

“Have a seat,” he finally spoke as I reached the front door.

“It's good to see you,” I said, trying my best to be friendly.

“Listen up, because I'm only gonna tell you this once,” he grumbled as he put his barely-smoked cigarette out. “I don't want you here. You can thank your mother for being here. I don't care how old are you are. You wanna stay in this house, you're gonna follow my rules. You're gonna get a job right away, and you're gonna show me your pay stubs. You're gonna account for every dollar spent, and you're gonna pay me $500 a month for rent. If I see you around here looking high, you're gone. If you get arrested again, you're gone.”

I wanted to tell him that I was an accomplished hustler and would have no problem scrounging up money and generating extra income, but I held my tongue.

He seemed to read my thoughts. “And if I even suspect that you're selling drugs out of this house, I swear to God, Travis, I'll call the police on you myself and make sure you go to prison this time.

“I know you don't care about anyone but yourself, but just try to think of how much suffering your mother went through while you were locked up.”

I nodded.

*****

My mother was much happier to see me. She cried as she hugged me. It broke my heart to see my mom cry. It was the kind of thing that you never thought about when you were out fucking around and getting in trouble.

*****

I went to my room. It was barely past noon, but I had a hell of a hangover and I needed a nap. All my stuff was packed away in boxes just like Beth said it would be. I cringed at the thought of having to go through all of it. Everything in there reminded me of her, and I knew I would start crying as soon as I looked at it. I needed a fresh change of clothes, though, so I sighed and opened the first box.

I was right. I burst into tears immediately. The first thing I pulled out was a little stuffed penguin she'd gotten me for Christmas.

“Fuck,” I murmured, as I wiped the tears from my eyes and thought back to that morning.

“There were only three left,” she'd said with a big smile. “I got you the one with the best beak.”

We'd laughed and hugged. Of course she got me a penguin. Penguins were my favorite animals. She knew everything about me, and I knew everything about her. We didn't give each other generic gifts.

She'd had a hard life. She'd been sexually abused by her cousin when she was eight years old, and she was too afraid to ever tell her parents.

“I was so guilty,” she told me. “It kept happening, and I felt like it was my fault because I didn't tell on him. But I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if my mom would believe me. I didn't want to get him in trouble.”

She'd spent her entire childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood racked by guilt. She'd come close to killing herself, only to decide against it at the last second. And then she met me.

She opened up around me. When I met her the first time, she was very closed off. I asked her out anyway, mostly because she was pretty and I wanted to fuck her. I was a bit surprised when she said yes. With each date, more of her personality came out. Within a month, I was completely in love for the first time. She was different than any girl—or any person—I'd ever met. She was completely unpretentious. She was smart, but she was having a hard time finding her way in life. I related to her in every way: her dark sense of humor, the things she found interesting. There was something so innocent about her. I wouldn't realize until later that what I was sensing was someone who had completely let her guard down for the first time.

I looked at the penguin. How the fuck did I drive her away? I gently placed the stuffed animal on the top shelf of my closet, then I punched my oak dresser as hard as I could. My hand throbbed with pain. Good.

*****

I left the house early the next morning to look for work. It was gonna be awfully hard to try to make an honest living. I'd been working since I was in high school—nearly as long as I'd been selling drugs—but I'd never worked in anything but retail. I didn't have any marketable skills. What choice did I have? Maybe nine dollars an hour was good enough for some people, but it sure as hell wasn't gonna pay the rent. Still, I wanted to prove my dad wrong.

The first place I tried was a little coffee shop a couple blocks from my parents house. It didn't look like they did much business, which was perfect since I didn't like dealing with people very much.

“Hi,” I said with a smile to the girl behind the counter. She had purple hair and a pierced lip. I always found punk rock girls to be irresistible.

“What can I get for you?” she smiled. I could tell that she liked me, but she couldn't have been more than 16. I was well past the age where dating 16-year-olds was acceptable.

“I'm just looking for work, actually,” I admitted. “Is the manager here?”

“I'm the manager-on-duty.”

“Really? How old are you?”

She laughed. “Twenty-three.”

“Oh, you look so young. I mean not that you look...I don't mean...” I shook my head as if I were embarrassed. For some reason, girls found that cute. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. I hear that all the time,” she handed me an application. “Here. Fill this out and bring it to me when you're done.”

I smiled. She smiled back. I don't know why it was okay to date a 23-year-old who looked 16, but not a 16-year-old who looked 23, but I didn't care to analyze it too much.

*****

“So you don't have any experience with coffee?” she asked, looking over my application.

“Well, not in a professional sense, no. But, you know, I make it all the time at home.”

“Right.”

“I mean, I know it's not the same thing, but it can't be rocket science, right?”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “I see you haven't worked in six months? What's that about?”

“Umm...I was in jail.”

“You bad boy,” she seemed more intrigued than put off. “What for?”

“Possession with intent to distribute. And some other stuff. But I was found not guilty.”

“Well, that's a relief.”

“You're telling me.”

“So did you learn anything from the experience?”

“Yeah. I learned that a pound of marijuana makes a whole car smell. Even if it's in the trunk.”

She put down the application. “Look, just because I'm flirting with you doesn't mean you're getting the job.”

“To be honest, I don't really want the job.”

“Well then why are we sitting here talking?”

“Honestly? I was hoping maybe I could get a date with you.”

I smiled. She smiled. After being with Beth for three years, I'd almost forgotten how exciting it was to ask a girl out.

*****

Things were looking up. I had a date with the coffee shop girl set for the weekend, and, even though I was thoroughly unimpressed by her interest in “bad boys,” it was still nice to have someone to take my mind off of Beth for awhile. The job hunt for the day ended in failure, but at least my father seemed satisfied that I was out looking. He didn't even say anything when I told him I was going out with some friends that night.

I should've known by how well things were going that trouble was just around the corner.

*****

“You fuckin' snitch.” I was in a world of shit now. I hadn't even been out for two days and here I was dealing with these assholes.

“I didn't snitch on anybody,” I said, knowing very well that it would do no good.

“You let Devin take the fall for your shit. You're a fuckin' punk bitch.”

I definitely had, at the very least, an ass-whooping coming. What was I supposed to say?

“I don't know what you guys are talking about. I never said anything about Devin. I kept my mouth shut. What was I supposed to do? Confess to everything?”

Two more blocks and I would've had two friends with me. Funny how things worked out sometimes.

“He's doing eight years now for your shit.”

They had a point, but this was the nature of the beast. There was no honor among thieves. Maybe it wasn't Devin's weed or pistol in the trunk, but he knew he was getting hooked up for driving me around. He had no problem smoking with me for free or acting tough when we were in bars because he knew I had a gun, and in my opinion, that made him just as culpable as me.

“Look, I don't know what to...”

I didn't even see the first punch coming.

*****

If it weren't for all the morphine I got in the E.R., I would've been thoroughly depressed that night. This whole lifestyle was stupid. Here I was, bloody and bruised, over something that should've never happened in the first place. What was I gonna do now? Get my friends and find them? Jump them? Shoot them? End up right back in jail?

I thought about my dear Beth and all the fun we used to have, just the two of us. We would play video games, we would make love. Even making dinner was fun. I missed her more than I would ever admit. Every night since I was arrested, I'd lay awake, wishing that I could turn back time and go back to when we first met, wishing that I would've given up all the bullshit and realized what I had. But it was too late for that. And even though I wanted her back, the decent part of me told me that she was way better off without me. I just hoped she was happy.

The nurse came in to check on me.

“How are you doing?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“How's the pain?”

“Worst I've ever felt.”

“Hang on a second. I'll get you some more medicine.”

I smiled. At least there was the morphine.

Of course I've read this already, but I want you to know that I can't wait for what's next! Your story is building with such, I guess, "gnarled grace" the reader wants to be the outspoken voice for the main character. Also, like I said, this part stemmed well from the first part and it is FLOURISHING!

--This is Bec by the way