Hello, my name is Loser

Chapter 4: A Losing Game

"Sam, was just sharing her GPA," Dad says nonchalantly as he twists the lid onto his thermos.

The kitchen island stands between us. Him on one end, me at the other.  It might as well be a battlefield before the guns fire and explosions rupture the air. We're both standing, both prepared for the old routine to continue, weapons readied. Question, answer, question, answer. If it's a war then I'm fighting with rusty equipment and broken limbs. 

It's deeper than that though, even when I'm not here it's a game of chess that never ends. The pieces move no matter where I am in the world. The first move is to act uncaring and casual like nothing penetrates my armor. I'm already down a pawn. 

"Well, can you do it a little quieter, Sam? I don't appreciate being woken up so early," Mom wipes sleep from her eyes and descends the rest of the stairs. Her feet drag across the carpeted steps with a familiar woosh sound. She's still swaddled in her pink robe, messy curls bouncing with every movement. 

"Sorry," I mumble and spoon cheerios into my mouth as I shoot a glare at the back door. If only I'd waited another thirty minutes before making a move. 

Mom brushes past me, patting my shoulder as she rounds the island; she has to reach since I'm taller than her. I take it as a hint to sit rather than continue to linger at the edge of the counter. The metal of the stool is cold against my legs and I shiver. 

"So, what was it then?" Mom asks as she pours coffee from a retro pot - or what's left of it - into a mug that says "don't talk to me before I've had my coffee". Dad only left a drop, but she doesn't seem to notice. She repeatedly glances at his back as she prepares her coffee. 

"Three point eight," Dad says without glancing behind to look at her instead he looks at me with raised eyebrows. Mom is the one who has to move if she wants his attention. It's a subtle tactic, one that I learned young. Are you worthy of his time? Mom never learned or maybe it's just that she loves him too much to care if she's already losing. 

She moves to his side, "That's not too bad."

"It could be better," He finally glances at her. 

Not too bad? I'm not Stephen Hawking but I know that's a pretty high score. "I'm right here, ya know." 

"For all the money we paid I should have heard four point oh come out of your mouth," Dad says.

I should have just lied. My morning monkey brain just latched onto the first number that came to mind. Damn. Perhaps this is the perfect time to deflect?

"I'll probably only be here until the end of the summer since the job in Boston doesn't start until the Fall." I scoop Cheerios into my gullet, "Aren't you going to be late for work, Pops?" 

"Don't call me that, it makes me feel old," He says with a humorless laugh. That's exactly why I said it. "I have another five minutes before I need to leave, thank you. What were you saying about the job?" Dad continues unfazed. 

"Mom, can you make me more coffee? I'm used to the keurig now," I chuckle, "Not sure if I'll just end up making it all gross, ya know? I'm not a fan of super strong coffee."

"Sure, I'll make a couple cups," Mom says and turns back to the corner where the pot is. Her sassy mug stares at me from where she left it next to Dad. I bought it for her when I turned seventeen. It would have made me smile in any other situation to still see her using it. 

"Thanks! This one time at school we had to stop using the Keurig because Tammy exploded a k-cup in it somehow and every cup of coffee came out with grounds in it for like a week. At first we tried to just power through and act like crunchy coffee wasn't that bad but a week of that will really dampen morale." I'm about to explain how we cleaned it with q-tips and baby wipes when dad cuts me off. 

"So you return to Boston in the Fall?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah." I stack another lie. Mom tinkers away, humming softly as she empties the used filter into the sink and fills a new one with fresh grounds. She pulls a mug from the cabinet and sets it down in front of her. It says FREEDOM on the side. 

"Why would the position not be ready now," He asks.

"That's a good question," I rack my brain for an answer, "the position I'm taking isn't available until the Fall. I mean, the person I'm filling in for hasn't retired yet." 

Dad crosses his arms and raises a single eyebrow this time, "But they don't want you to train while that person is still there?" What is he a lawyer?...Oh wait, he is. 

I shrug, "Guess not." I swirl the last bit of cheerios around the bowl, no longer hungry. "Look, it was good seeing you Pops but I'm gonna go on a run so I gotta get ready--" 

"What are you doing for the summer then?" It's mom who chimes in now. She ambles back to Dad's side, pushing curls out of her face. 

"Well, right now I'm going for a run." Truth? I hate running.

"You don't plan on working at all?" Mom asks 

I haven't thought about doing much of anything really. All I want to do is be left alone and that's as far as my planning has gone. I don't have the energy to consider a summer job. This conversation has already drained what little energy I was conserving. Fatigue nags at me.

I need to get the hell out of here. 

That familiar sense of pressure in my chest comes flooding back and then it's like I never left. I'm seventeen again sitting at the kitchen island as my parents tell me how my life is going to look and what school I'm going to. 

Dad adds, "Well, you certainly can't sit around here and do nothing."

Why not! I want to yell. "Running isn't nothing," I say instead. I have to remind myself to keep my voice even. 

Dad sighs, "Sam, I paid for your college because I want to see you find success early in life." 

No, you paid because you wanted to make sure you had leverage over what I studied.  Guess it doesn't matter now anyway. I don't even have a degree. I tuck that truth deep beneath the surface of my stormy thoughts; a problem for another time. 

"That means being productive and optimizing your time effectively." Dad finally turns to face mom fully, "Beth, dear, can you see if Kim is hiring?" 

"I can find a job," I manage, fist clenching around the spoon in my grasp. I really want to argue that I can do whatever the fuck I want, but something tells me not even the garage will be available to me if I say that. They aren't listening anyway. 

"No, that's alright Sam, Kim talked to me just last week about needing camp counselors. I'm sure they're still in need since the season is just beginning. Oh, this is perfect." 

"Great," Dad says to mom with a Hollywood smile. It's his thank-you-for-following-orders smile that he reserves for these moments. It's like mom comes to life right before my eyes, her cheeks bloom pink and her gaze takes on a dreamy haze.

"Gotta go." He pats her cheek, making her blink. Just like that, the charm is switched off. 

He glides around Mom and down the hall, snagging a briefcase from beside the door. "Good luck with your run, Sam." He calls before slamming the front door. 

In our game of chess, I'm down another pawn. 

__________________________________

Hellaur everyone,

If you were in Beth's mug collection what would be printed on your side? Mine would just say "Please leave me alone".

Thank you for reading!!!! You're the best. 

--Heather