I'm Fine

Chapter Two - Dalton

January

"Breathe in, breathe out. Get rid of all the doubt. Breathe in, breathe out. I know you'll figure it out." I repeat this to myself every morning. Every time my eyes burst open to a new day, a new struggle, a new challenge. It's never been easy, and I know it never will. That's not how life is supposed to go.

You are supposed to go through hard times and trials. How else do you grow? That's what the therapists say, but what if these trials are breaking me every time? What if I will always have a broken life? Is that how life goes?

This conversation in my head never changes. I try to keep my head up like my dad always told me to, but sometimes I can't. Sometimes I don't want to wake up. Sometimes I don't want to deal with another trial.

Even though I stopped going to the therapist, I decided to dust off my journal, the one I should've been writing in this whole time. I don't understand why every therapist insists that I write in this thing.

How is it supposed to make me feel better? It doesn't. If anything, I look back on what I did write in it and remember all the pain I went through.

It's apparently supposed to make me stronger; make me realize how far I had come. But what if I'm stuck in this never-ending cycle?

I turn to a blank page and begin to write.

January 8th,

It's been a long time since I've written here, but looking back apparently not much has changed. People keep asking me what I'm going to do when I'm eighteen. The other boys in the house can't wait. They want me to go as soon as possible. I've caught a bunch of them sneaking into my room to "plan what they're going to do when I'm gone." Whatever. I hate them. I can't wait to leave this place and never look back. Sure it's been the closest thing to home since my dad died, but that doesn't mean much. The parents only care about the extra money they're making off us. Legally they have to keep us healthy and in school, but other than that, they don't care.

We cook for ourselves, and we do our own laundry. I mean, I guess I am prepared to live on my own. But I don't know how I'm going to do that. I have no money. Finding a job is pointless. I don't know what I'm going to do when I turn 18, and honestly, I don't want to think about it. I just want to keep doing what I've been doing. Taking it one day at a time.

-Dalton

P.S.- If any of you boys get to this point, you're dead!

I shoved the journal back into the nightstand and prepared myself for another day. The beginning of the day is not usually awful. Everyone tends to leave me alone while I'm getting ready. It's when I reach the breakfast table that the real hell starts.

I usually avoid the kitchen, but as I make my way down the hallway, I realize...it's too quiet. Turning the corner, I see the old man sitting down, reading the paper as always. Glancing around, I noticed that no one else was home. This isn't normal.

Usually, I am being jumped on by one of the smaller kids, or punched in the arm by one of the bigger ones. The old lady is usually smoking a cigarette as she burns the toast.

She somewhat tries to feed us, especially for the little ones who can't cook for themselves. That's when I end up making breakfast for them after she gives up and goes back to sleep.

As I near the table, the old man begins to lower his paper. "Good morning, son." He stated as he took a hit from his cigar. I've always wondered if the old man considers a cigar as his breakfast every day.

"I'm not your son." I barked at him as I made my way to the fridge to get some eggs for breakfast. Finally, I had the stove to myself. As I was cracking the first egg, I heard a low grumble behind me.

"So, son, I want to talk to you about your eighteenth birthday." He voiced from behind his paper. I stopped whisking. This is exactly what I didn't want to talk about today.

"What about it?" I replied, keeping my attention on my breakfast.

"Well, we have to discuss what you want to do when you're eighteen." He continued without taking his eyes away from the paper.

"Why do we have to discuss it now?" I nagged as I continued to whisk the eggs. I heard the legs of his chair scrape against the floor. His footsteps inched towards me as I poured the eggs into the pan. Without warning, he spun me around to face him.

"We have to discuss it now because when you're eighteen, you're getting the hell out of here." He breathed through his cigar, still hanging from his mouth.

"I understand, sir." I replied sheepishly. I've wanted to stand up to him so many times, but what good would it do? I've done that before, and all that happened was I got moved to a different place that ended up being worse.

"Good." He puffed.

It felt like we stood there in silence for eternity, but luckily, my eggs started burning, so he took a step back and let me tend to them. As soon as the eggs hit the plate, I saw his grimy hands reach out and take my breakfast for himself.

"Thanks for breakfast, kid." He grumbled as he made his way back to the table. I was furious, but again what was I going to do? Instead, I tried to change the subject.

"Where is everyone else at?" I asked as I tried to calm the anger inside.

"Oh, the lady took the other kiddos to the park before school. I told her I needed some time to talk to you."

"Aren't we done talking?" I asked as I began to make more eggs.

"Nope." He uttered. My eyes rolled, knowing that this awful conversation is just getting started.

"Boy, look at me when I talk to you." He snapped from behind me.

I dropped the broken egg, and the shells trickled into the bowl. Breakfast is a hopeless thought at this point. As I spun around, I saw him reach over and put out his cigar. I knew what this meant. The fireless cigar meant that he was going to act all big and bad because he can.

"What else would you like to talk about, sir?" I asked, trying hard not to let my smirk show.

"We need to talk about how you're planning on getting a job." He barked as he shoved my breakfast into his mouth.

"I've applied to almost every place in town." It took every part of me not just to walk away from this pointless conversation. I knew he would only chase me down.

"ALMOST every place. But not every place. I feel like you're not trying. I feel like you think you're going to stay here when you're eighteen..." He continued.

"No, sir..." I responded as I felt my eyes roll again.

"...but you're not! You WILL be out of this house. You understand?" He barked as he shoved the fork in my direction, throwing egg pieces everywhere.

"Yes, sir." I hissed. He could tell I was losing my patience, and sometimes I wonder if he wanted me to act out so he can 'teach me a lesson'.

"Then get out there and get a job. Stop spending all your time in your after school clubs holding hands and singing songs with other nerds and for once, be a man." His face was turning different shades of red. The vein in his right eye was beginning to twitch again.

"Sir, those clubs are academic. They are supposed to help me get scholarships." I replied coldly.

There were a few minutes of silence before a laugh erupted from his throat. He lost it. He began to burst with laughter so much that he had to lean over and catch his breath.

As he calmed down, he started gasping for breaths, and in between each breath, I faintly heard him say, "You...think...you're...going to...college." The laughter started up again. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't hold it in, and I knew I was losing my patience.

"I'm running late for school. Goodbye, sir." I announced over the laughter as I made my way to my room, grabbed my bag, and escaped through my window.