Short Stories and Poems by Me

How Are You?

That was the constant question on my mind, “how are you?” I wasn’t worried about no one, just curious. I mean all these people in the world, all of ‘em different, with a different story, different problems, different emotions. I truly wonder how people are.

Pop says id I care so much about other people I should go to school to be a therapist so I can get paid for it. Pop cares a lot about money ever since Mom died. See, odd enough she was the one supporting the family, and my Dad was the homemaker. I didn't mind though, she was never real good at the whole parent thing like Pop was.

Now, Pop works three jobs, and is real bitter, not at all how he used to be. he has also taken to drinking. Every night. Till he was shit-faced. He no longer gave a damn about me, and I guess I didn't either.

Recently at least, I've been doing stupid things just cause. Great reason huh? Yeah real great. I dont care how I am any longer, instead now I’m real interested in how other people are, what their going through.

Well, I did something stupid, well actually downright idiotic, not that I realized it at the time, or could have foretold the consequences. Trust me if I could have I sure as hell wouldn't have done it. I was just trying to have a little fun.

You see me and Louie, my very best friend, had it in our minds, that if we smoked weed we could get some of those hot hippie chicks in to us. So we bought some off Jim: He's the biggest pot-head in the school, actually I don't think I’ve ever seen him when he wasn't stoned, neither have the teachers, thats why he gets away with it. Anyways, so we got the stuff and went out to the ‘Hut’ , which was just an old abandoned shed behind the school. We started smoking hoping those girls would show up at some point, since this was the place they normally hung out.

But no one showed up. I should have known something was off when at least one person didn't even show. Normally this place was packed, people were sardines, because it was the only place you could smoke without getting caught.  

He saw us before we had a chance to run, Apparently we were the only ones who didn't get the memo, a camera had been put up in the ‘Hut’.

“Louie, and Austin to my office now!”, principal Willis said sounding real disappointed. I found myself wondering how he was, why he was disappointed, why he took the time to have any emotion over us at all, we’d be gone in two years and never think of him again.

We were on our way to the Principal’s office and I started feeling real sick, if my Pop found out I had been smoking dope, he’d flip out and probably belt me. He’d done it before. I decided right then I had to get out.

I hate to admit it but I’m scared of my Father. Not the scared you get when you go on a roller-coaster, but the deep down churning in your stomach scared. I was afriad he’d hit me so hard this time, I’d die.

My Mom died of an overdose, so he’s real touchy about drug use. Hell, he was real violent whenever someone mentioned it. So I turned around, and ran as fast as my legs would carry me, probably faster since I was hyped up on adrenaline and pot. By some miracle I made it to town before the police, inevitably called  by Mr. Willis, caught me.   

I was so scared and angry. I felt like crying, but instead I hauled off and punched the officer in the face. He must not have been expecting it because he looked shocked.  

And all at once I didn't care how the other person was, I didn't care how the officer was, I only cared how I was, and how I was feeling. How I was feeling when the Cops dropped me off at my house, how I was feeling when I walked in the door, tears streaming down my face, and for the second time that day, punched someone in the face, this time my father.

How I felt when he punched me back and didn't stop. How I felt when i woke up in the hospital with three broken bones and a concussion. How I felt when my Father got put behind bars. How I felt getting put in this orphanage, where they gave me this stupid journal to write “how I was doing” in.