stuck. ||| stenbrough

chapter 9

a few days had passed since that awkward confession, and the two hadn't seen each other since then. andrea uris came by those days, but never with stan. stan also ignored all of bill's phone calls and text messages, which he hated himself for, but he felt as if it was necessary. stanley was sitting on the couch, waiting for his father to tell him that they were leaving soon, he kept checking the time because this was out of character for his father. he was never late to the synagogue, and even if he was, it was always stan's fault.

donald and andrea uris were in the car, unbeknownst to stan. the two were arguing about their son's well-being, as usual. donald believed that andrea was overthinking things and that what was occurring wasn't all that serious. it was just one big cry for attention, and she was giving into what he wanted. he didn't understand why she was taking a teenager so seriously, he didn't know anything about misery or sadness, at least that's what donald believed. andrea believed the complete opposite of the man, and she couldn't believe how he was so calm and nonchalant about this kind of thing. it just didn't seem normal.

"donald, he's hurting! can't you see that? and all this pressure you're putting on him isn't doing him any good!"

"andrea, i'm not having this discussion anymore! you wanna baby the boy? fine, do it! but i'm not doing that! he's sixteen years old for christ's sake, he needs to learn how hard the real world is." donald got out of the car, slamming the door shut as he did so.

"stan, let's go." he said, swinging open the front door. stan turned his head to look at his father, seeming a little confused as to why he was outside instead of up in his room, but he got up from the couch and exited the house.

he saw that his mother was in the passenger seat, but as soon as he was he tried to get in the back she exited the car, not even glancing at her son. he was confused, and hurt by this action, he wasn't sure if he did something wrong or not. he watched his mother walk off and got into the passenger seat. as he sat in the seat, he wondered, what could he have done. his mother was a homebody, yet recently she's been avoiding the house like it was the plague. she never told him where she was, he wasn't aware of anything.

stanley and his father were currently at the synagogue, the boy was standing nearby while his father waited for the congregation to arrive. stanley had his phone shut off, so he wouldn't get into any trouble, but there was almost always something that made donald angry. as the synagogue began to fill, the congregants began to whisper about how much of a man stanley was becoming, how similar he was to his father, even to go as far as saying if donald had curly hair, they'd be twins. stan did not take these comments as compliments, he just stood there and smiled, but internally cringed. donald didn't see this as a good thing either, because the boy might look like him, but he believed he was nothing like him, and that was a problem.

stan's father led the service with his usual confidence, seemingly unbothered by the whispers and stares, if anything, enjoying the attention that the two were getting, because he knew stan wasn't. as he looked over his congregation, he occasionally glanced at stan, his eyes scrutinizing and expectant. it was a silent question; 'why can't you be more like me, more confident, more authoritative?' the whispers continued to fill the air as the congregation's attention bounced between stan and his father. his father led the service with the same commanding presence, his voice cutting through the whispers like a sharp knife. as the congregation came to the end of the first half of the service, the people approached stan's father, praising him and thanking him for his leadership. his father accepted the compliments with a prideful demeanor, his eyes occasionally darting to stan, silently holding him to the same standard. stan knew what was coming next. He knew he would have to lead the second half of the service, and he felt the weight of the responsibility heavily on his shoulders. the fear of not being as good as his father, of messing up, crept into his mind, adding to his already mounting anxiety.