Harley grew up surrounded by football and testosterone. It's not easy growing up with seven brothers and being smack dab in the middle.
Follow Harley on her journey of making it through high school, love, and life.
~Mature Language~
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"In all of living, have much fun and laughter. Life is to be enjoyed, not just endured."
― Gordon B. Hinckley
"JUST EAT the damn food, Jasper," I say to him tiredly. We are currently at the shop, and I'm babysitting Jasper since no one else can. Trying to convince an eight-year-old to do something they don't want to do is damn near impossible.
"All you have to do is finish your dinner, and then we can go to the park or the library or something," I tell him slowly so he understands me. I hate kids. I don't know what my parents were thinking. Plan B isn't that hard to find!
"I don't like the turkey! It's so gross!" He exclaims, practically chucking it all in the trashcan. I spent a good five minutes on that sandwich, so that hit deep.
I sigh. I don't have time for this! I have to be at Walmart to start my shift.
"Just throw it in the dumpster out back while I get my stuff, and then we can go." I sigh. I am so done with him. Love him to death, but just no.
I walk behind the desk to grab my bag with my uniform and snack in it. My shift starts soon, so I have just enough time to get Jasper ice cream and drop him off at his friend's house.
Dad's office door is slightly open so I push it open enough so I can see whether or not he is busy. He's not, so I walk in and sit down in his rolly chair.
His office is decorated with a few pictures of the fam here and there, along with the drawings and crafts we all made as kids. There is a really nice picture of eight-year-old Tristan and me in a boat with our middle fingers up sitting on either side of my dad who is sprawled out with big sunglasses and a bag of chips in his lap.
I look up at him and am met with the familiar sight of his face. He has brown hair that is slowly receding back on his head, hazel eyes, and a resting bitch face. He literally never smiles. I've seen him smile once and that was when his favorite hockey team won the Stanley Cup. It was also the only time I've ever seen him cry.
"Dad, I'm leavin', so goodbye," I say to him, saluting him. It's a thing my dad and I do, we salute each other.
"Bye," He replies. "I will see you later."
Exiting the shop through the office door, I wave at Owen and Ricky when they look at me and wave to Jamie who's working on his car.
○ ○ ○
I have a graveyard shift. I hate the graveyard shift, it's when all the town crazies come out.
