into a moment in time

third chapter

Augustine Jareau POV

Last Year (June 2009)

James.

He's all I've been able to think about all weekend. Him and our miniscule interaction.

I was only outside, near the field, because I was waiting for my mom to come and pick me up since I didn't have my licence yet and Bowie was busy with something he won't tell me about. I'm not sure what gave me the courage to actually go up and talk to him. And I really didn't know I was walking up to him until my legs started moving and I ended up near him, next to the bleachers he was smoking under.

What shocked me even more was when I was physically able to form words and let them exert my mouth. And I managed to say the stupidest thing I could think of.

"Smoking is really bad for you..."

Seriously? I'm truly the world's biggest hypocrite because I had just chain smoked under the oak tree behind the school like 20 minutes ago. And then I proceeded to tell him that someone like him shouldn't be wasting his life over a tobacco stick.

What did I even mean by that? 'Someone like him'

I was never intimidated by James. Until now.

I was never attracted to James. Until now.

But he's with Betty Atlas, I think. They've been together a while now and I don't think he'd ever do anything to jeopardize his relationship with her.

I'm just going to avoid him until this little crush eventually dies down.

I told myself I wasn't going to get distracted with boys. They're a waste of time.

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The car ride to school is quiet, as always. My mom doesn't necessarily talk much anymore unless it's urgent or something. She doesn't make conversation. Not since dad left.

Bowie had an early practice so he left around 7:00, leaving me alone with her. It's not that I don't enjoy my mother's company. I'm very appreciative of everything she does for Bowie and i, and how hard she works as a single mom who's clearly severely depressed. And I admire her for that, I truly, truly do. She's one of the strongest women I know.

But sometimes when we're sitting in the car alone, i always wonder what it could have been like if my father decided to stay. If he decided to take responsibility for his addiction and try to do something about it. To try and save his marriage, his family.

I close my eyes and do what I always do. I picture the four of us, sitting in this car. My dad is driving on the highway (way too fast for my mother's liking, but that's what makes it fun). Bowie is sitting next to me in the back seat and finally gives me the chance to play the music I like. My mother, even though seeming petrified, looks at my father with the look of nothing but pure adoration on her face. The look you give someone when you're truly in love with them. We're all smiling, and we're happy. My mother isn't depressed, Bowie isn't a workaholic, my father is sober, and I don't have a smoking problem. All is well in the Archer family.

There's still this small, tiny, miniscule shrivel of hope that one day, my father will show up on our doorstep, claiming that he spent all his time away at a rehab centre, trying to overcome his addiction. But as the days go by and I don't hear from him, that shrivel of hope shrinks and shrinks.

But no matter how much that shrivel shrinks, I can never seem to let go of the hope I have. It makes me seem like such a pathetic person, thinking my father will come back, or that maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to fix him and somehow fix my family.