Bricks

Chapter 3: Bargain Move

"Where on earth have you been?" Julian whispers hissingly through his teeth and he untangles himself from the strange position he was lounging in. "It's been like 20 whole minutes! This is my third drink!"

"Well about that," I sigh, "It's been a very eventful bathroom break."

Just then, Julian notices my limp and puffy eyes. His countenance puckers into a kissy face as he lowers his voice and his expression shifts to one of gay concern.

"Dre, what happened?"

I lower my still red eyes as I take a cautious seat at the smooth oak wood table. Julian stares at me gayly, waiting for me to start speaking, but it takes a while for the words to make their way around my trembling breath and tender throat. When they finally do, I tell him what happened. Julian makes a good audience. He's appropriately sympathetic, gasping at the dramatic parts and oofing at the embarrassing ones.

The dark haired nipped on the sweet brew.

"Omg," he finally leans back and says when I finish. "Intense."

"Yeah, it sure is," I answer. "The other ticket's yours by the way."

"Thanks, but I think we have a bigger issue here," Julian proposes fabulously.

"What?"

"Well, what's your dad gonna think?"

Instantly my gamboling mind is stopped in its tracks. Oh no. The bubbling excitement hadn't even been able to fully set in, and now it was sloshed, thrown out into the unforgiving elements to be licked up by small animals. I know he'd never let me go. He wouldn't want me meeting any more of the "softies," as he calls the non-brick eaters. It took him years to finally let me see Julian outside of school, and his grating obsession has only gotten worse since.

"Oh," I let out softly. "I hadn't thought about that." I pause for a moment to try and gather my jangled thoughts. Then, I look up at Julian with determination. "I'll just have to make him see. This is too important to me to let him take it away."

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"Not a chance," My father looks at me with mean little orbs like muddy rocks and growls out deeply and dangerously. I can't help but feel a little shudder of fear pass over me. I've spent the last two hours after getting home working up the courage to say the words, and now he crushes them like the fragile wings of a butterfly ground under his workboot's heel.

"But.. but I just-"

"I said," he grunts as he looks away from me and back to the sportsball game he's watching, "Not. A. Chance. Now don't argue with me!"

The buzzer on the stove rings, and he looks up at me.

"Dinner's ready."

He must have had a good day at work today, because he's serving real food. A steaming loaf of meatloaf is placed on the table. It steams slightly, and the smell is warm and thick when it reaches my nose. Glazed ketchup is baked into the top, and the still-bubbling oak-brown edges look fatty and sweet and delicious.

I cut into it. Very small pieces of brick are nestled in the steaming meaty surface. Not bad at all. Sometimes, like this morning, it's whole bricks. When he's in a really fabulous mood, which isn't often, there can even be no bricks at all. Usually it's in between. Either way, I'm grateful for the easy to swallow pieces.

"I'm doing this for you, you know." Suddenly my father interrupts my stirring thoughts. I look up at him slowly. His sharp gaze is fixedly trained upon my small form. His harsh face looks as if it's expecting some sort of reply, be it a thanks or snarky retort I don't know. Instead, I simply do nothing. A period of silence passes. "You need them. The bricks." He looks off into the distance for a moment, like he's somewhere else. His eyes are misty, like a thick tattered curtain of gauzy white upon a mound of dirt. Then, he looks back at me. "You need them," he repeats again, more fervently. "That's why I can't have you going out and leaving them behind. They're the only things preventing you from losing yourself." He looks like he wants to say more, but closes his mouth.

"Please, daddy," I whisper. "It's important to me."

He softens for a second. "You look so much like your mother," he mumbles. But then he stiffens once again, the fleeting moment of weakness passing like a bad brick-burrito. "Don't argue with me," he snaps aggressively, "Eat your dinner!" I crunch down on the meatloaf obediently. All of a sudden the pieces feel sharper in my mouth. "Get out of here, go to bed!" He barks lowly.

I once again climb the stairs. I'm too exhausted from the day's events to even take off my clothes. I just collapse on the bed and drift off to a fitful sleep.

The red mist. It envelops me once more. The bricks are in fragments this time, their glass-sharp edges spinning like ballerinas in the void. I nervously look around. The same dreadful sense of panic begins to press down on my chest, and I feel my breath constricting. The brick shards begin to drift forward slowly and deliberately.

This time he doesn't descend. I simply blink, and he's suddenly there. The brick shards stop, forming a frozen glittering cloud around my form.

"Well, it appears you've got a decision to make."

The shards turn slowly around me. "What do you mean, Homer?" I ask desperately. A donut suddenly appears in one hand, and a beer in the other. He munches the donut thoughtfully for a minute, as if he's gathering his words.

"To rebel, or stay passive. To follow your father's wishes, or follow your own heart. To be, or not to be." He takes a hearty swig of the beer. When he looks back at me again, his eyes are full of fire. "To go to the concert, or stay home."

"I... I don't know!" I cry out. The brick pieces suddenly are cast away in all directions, expelled from my airspace.

"Doh! Better make your choice soon!"

"Wait, but what does that even me—"

"Choooooossseee!" Once more, I blink, and Homer's chunky silhouette rises into the clouds, and out of my view. The brick pieces haven't returned, and I curl up into myself, assuming a comforting fetal position.