Elliot

Four

"You need some renovations in this place."

"Not gonna happen, son." Dad said.

"Why not?"

"Roger wants to keep this shop the way it is for the last seven years. He didn't want to change anything."

I handed him a wrench. "Well, tell Roger he's boring."

He shot me a look. "Don't talk like that."

"I'm just saying that this place looks so old. How are you gonna get more customers if this garage looks like a bird nest that's been abandoned by its owner for years?"

I know I'm right. The garage looks like shit and I don't understand why they won't put any renovation services in this place. "There are complications, son," he said, and closed the car's hood.

"Like what?"

Dad was silent. Then he spoke, "Several."

"Like what, Dad, give me an example."

"I said several, Elliot. That's it."

"Okay." We were silent again. "How can I help?"

Dad shook his head. "You're not."

"Why? I could have a few hours of shift in here." I countered.

"No, you're not. You're not going to spend your time working in here. That's my job, okay? Your job is to focus on school."

"School can wait."

"No, it cannot, Jameson," he snapped.

There was silence between us. "Don't call me that." I said and lowered my head. "You can't call me that. You can't." I was shaking my head. "You can't."

I heard Dad sigh, but I couldn't see his face. Yet I do know he regretted saying that word—that name. "I'm sorry, son," he said. "I'm sorry."

I chose not to answer. I didn't want to answer.

I took my board with me and skated away from the garage. I want to go somewhere, where I could forget that moment existed. Or maybe that name—yes, somewhere where I could forget that name.

But, I can't.

It was my name. It's printed in my every birth certificate that has existed in my life. Why is that my name?

Jameson.

Weird. Why would someone name there child like that?

Jameson. It's my name.

No, it's not.

Yes, it is.

Elliot. That's my name. I am Elliot.

Jameson.

God, I wish I could erase that weird fucking name in this entire world.