Gazing into the eyes of the woman who left her mark a long time ago, in the backyard of my parents’ home, inside the treehouse, the memories begin to play, some sweet, some painful.
But all of them lead to us …
FOUR
The time with the comic book
The knock on the door is all too familiar.
I take a deep breath, ignoring the sound while continuing to pack my bag. The music blaring from my speakers is loud enough to pretend I don’t hear anything else. My gaze turns toward the clock to make a note of the time. If I’m late for my shift, my boss will kill me.
The creak of the door catches my attention despite the music, but I remain quiet while rolling my eyes with annoyance.
“Alex,” Dad voices in a less-than-pleasing tone. “I’d like to have a word with you.”
My back is still facing him because I know whatever he has to say is something I
don’t want to hear. His feet move toward my bookshelf, where he turns the knob to reduce the volume to practically nothing.
“I’m going to be late for work,” I inform him.
“This won’t take long,” he insists, purposely moving his position so I’m forced to see him. “We just received your report card, and I’m rather disappointed.”
I close my eyes, willing to disappear from his lectures on how I’m a screw-up. God forbid I don’t live up to his ideal role of the doctor’s son. What the fuck did he want from me? I’m fifteen. It’s not the end of the world.
“These are not acceptable grades to get into college, and furthermore, to study medicine.” Any minute now, he’ll start lecturing on how it takes discipline to become a doctor. “It takes discipline, Alex. I know you’re fifteen, but good habits are formed early. You’ve got a long road ahead of you, but the reward is greater than you can ever imagine.”
I glance at the time again. Now I’m going to be extra late with no real excuse besides my father being an asshole.
“I need to go, or I’ll lose my job.”
“About the job.” Dad clears his throat, then folds his arms, trying to show off his authority. “If working at the pizza place will affect your studies, then you need to consider cutting down your shifts.”
“Cutting down my shifts?” I repeat, raising my voice. “I only work two shifts because of school and sports. I need money.”
“Your education is more important than any frivolous purchase of yours.”
My hand grips around the strap of my backpack as I try to control my temper. He won’t give me money, expecting me to work hard for what I want. Yet, in the same breath, he wants me to quit my job to fulfill his dreams for me.
As I’m about to step out, Dad places his hand on my shoulder to stop me.
“This is not negotiable, Alex. Those grades better improve.”
I shove my body away from his hand, running down the hall and stairs. When I’m outside the house, I hop on my bike to peddle as fast as I can to work. The neon restaurant sign is just down the street and in my vision. It’s a weekend, and the lunch shift is usually quick if I focus on what I need to do. The streets are lined with cars, and the day is sunny, bringing everyone to town.
I’m only four minutes late to work, but it’s enough for my manager to yell at me and spend the next three hours treating me like shit. I fucking hate this job, busting my ass for a measly few dollars an hour plus tips if it’s a good day.
The shift drags on, and so does my mood. The minute I clock off, I don’t even say goodbye, packing my things and ignoring how I stink of grease. Finally, I’m ready to forget today’s existence and go crash in my room.
Then, my eyes shift toward the comic bookstore across the street. I grab my bike but decide to push it across the road rather than ride it.
I’m pulled to the display at the front of the store. Inside the window is the new Batman comic. I stare at it in awe, remembering how I saw the exact same one in Sacramento a few weeks ago, but I was with Dad, and he said under no circumstances was I to waste my money on a comic book.
He can fuck right off with his rules. My hands push on the glass as the door chime sounds upon me entering. Eagerly, I move to the counter and request to see the comic book.
“Sorry, dude. No one touches it,” the guy behind the counter, obnoxiously chewing gum, answers rudely.
“I’ve got money to buy it.”