Cancel Your Future

Chapter 5

"She hit me!" Clapton screamed over-dramatically while cupping his nose. Which was peculiar, since I barely slapped his cheek. "She hit me!"

"Don't talk about what you don't know." I said simply before stepping into my car and driving off. Okay, I'll admit it, maybe I did go a little too far by slapping him. Hey-- but in my defense he had it coming. Plus I barely touched him! If I wanted to really hurt him he'd know it. I have a strong right arm since I use it daily. (For writing. I'm a writer, perverts.)

You know that feeling when you do something incredibly awesome and walk away feeling accomplished? Well that's how I felt. I pressed the knob on the one-thousand fifty-eight year-old radio only to find one of my grandfather's tapes blaring. I wonder if that person who needs to make sure everyone knows what he's listening to was my grandfather. Couldn't you just imagine driving down the street and hearing Dean Martin blasting from the car adjacent to you then looking over and seeing an eighty-eight year old man casually bobbing his head and fingering along to each note? I'm proud to call that bad ass my grandpa.

While keeping my eyes glued to the rode I ejected the cassette tape and flicked on the radio to hear a staticy Heat of the Moment by Asia.  I wasn't super into classic rock or anything, but I seemed I was hearing that song more and more frequently. 

Several off key notes later I arrived at my trench. (house)  Bills stacked to the high on my grandfather's desk, television turned on to cartoons with no one watching it, and the computer screen left on with a website for over priced jeans. Home sweet home! ..Or at least that's what the doormat said.

"Honey, I'm home!" I yelled to my mother who was sitting by the window, not so secretly puffing on a cigarette.

When she heard my voice she nearly jumped and threw the half burned cigar out the window without thinking. She claimed she'd been trying to stop... for eight years. Then again, at least she had the courtesy to do it out the window when I wasn't home. My uncle literally sets his fire alarm off every hour when I come to visit him. "Jesus Christ, child! Don't startle me like that!"

"Sorry." I headed to the fridge, pulling out a half empty bottle of water after throwing my backpack beside the scratching post accompanied by my cat Ivan perched on top of it.

"What happened at school today?" my mother asked.

"Nothing." I responded nonchalantly as I walked toward my room before she stopped me.

"Wait just a minute. Everyday I always ask what happened at school, and you always say nothing. Obviously something happened and I want to know what!"

I bit my bottom lip, looking up as if I were in deep thought. "Well, I slapped someone across the face, learned that mitosis is still a better love story than Twilight, I was threatened by the president to write something interesting on my blog or get revoked from student council, oh, and I'm going out tonight."

"Where? Is there another Harry Potter book coming out or something?" I loved how she missed the part about me assaulting someone. That's my mother: more concerned that I'm leaving the house than getting into a fist fight.

"No, mother. The last Harry Potter came out in '07. I'm working on a history project with Clapton Payne."

"Who's that?" she asked.

"Clapton Payne, you know, that Texan who was dropped on his head as a baby."

"Andrea! That's not nice! You were dropped on your head as a baby too and you turned out just fine." Well, that actually explains a lot..

"Goodbye, mother." was the only thing I managed to let out before processing the fact I wasn't properly cared for as an infant. I wasn't even breast fed, now she's telling me I was dropped as well? My childhood is ruined.

"Andrea, wait!" she called out.

I stopped in my tracks. She lingered.

"Do you have a lot of homework?"

"No."

"Did you make any new friends today?"

"No."

"Do you like any boys?"

"No."

"...Do you like any girls?"

"Goodbye, mother!" I said loudly before walking off to my room followed by the overweight money cat. I closed the door to my room before my mother could follow me.

"You know! I'd be okay with that! You can love whoever you want! Just not that douche Virgil Thompson!" she yelled outside my door.

"What did you say?" I hollered back, pretending I didn't hear her.

"I said Virgil Thompson is a very nice boy!"

I looked down at my feet smirking to myself as I heard my mother's slippers glide across the floor. She was gone.

Virgil Thompson was this kid who had been in all of my honor classes since the second grade. He was literally a card board copy of Clapton, except slightly more clever and a lot more sarcastic. Some people called him the Payne-Brookes love baby. Aside from the fact that concept was disgusting to think about, you know, procreating with Clapton.. they did have a point. He was egotistical, arrogant, obnoxious-- all qualities of Clapton-- then he was sarcastic, witty, clever-- all qualities of me.

The reason my mother referred to him as a feminine cleansing product that may be used one hot summer afternoon was because he apparently "cyber bullied" me over the internet two years ago and caller her old in one of the messages. I don't even really remember why this conundrum started in the first place, I just remember sending messages back and forth to Virgil with some nasty things written in them. Although I must admit-- I enjoyed it. He was just a more clever version of Clapton that knew how to fight back. It was refreshing to argue with someone who's only insult wasn't "I know you are but what am I". If Virgil wouldn't have began this fuse with me in the first place I maybe could have respected him.

After two months of these messages being exchanged the guidance counselor apparently found out through another child. Cough, Brandon, cough. I knew it was a mistake to tell him. Then she called both of our mothers and read the messages aloud when we were forced to show her our Facebooks. (That's the reason why I closed mine) One of the messages read something about my mother being old and unstable, and she had a cow.. Which is a much bigger deal in a town that has a population of cows that is almost outnumbering the people. Okay, this kid's name is Virgil, that's one letter away from virgin, something he'll be his entire life. That, ladies and gents, is the reason my mother hates Virgil, oh, and why he'll never get laid.

My eyes stole a glance at the digital clock-- 5:27pm. Was it really that late? When I go over to Clapton's am I supposed to bring cookies or something? Although I've never been invited to another person's house I did believe it was the social convention. I went under my bed and took out a fresh bag of Oreos, I was saving these, but whatever. My thirty-five year old self will thank me later. I shoved them into my New York University messenger bag along with a notebook, pencils, and pain killers. 

There. I was ready for my uneventful evening at Clapton Payne's... With only an hour and a half to spare. I wonder what kids with social lives did on Tuesday nights.