The Unexpected

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Something Different

     It feels as if the air itself grew dense. Becoming difficult to breathe. The eyes still pouring into my standstill position. Realizing what I have just done, possibly ruining every chance I had of staying in the background, away from humiliation, might have just been thrown out of the window. I made a mistake of expressing my emotions. I just know I did.

     “Thank you for that Jason. Very good job.” Mr. Humphrey motioned for me to take my seat, and I did so quietly. Heads turned as I passed, and I felt more self conscious than I was standing in the front of the entire class pouring my heart out.

     “Next!” And with that, the person to my left starts his initial decent into Nerve town.

     She starts and I stare blankly. Look directly through her and see doubles. The darkness of her hair creates an ominous sense to her words.

     The next few participants fly by and I am immune to my surroundings.

     I daydream. Mostly about my father, as I often do. My mom hasn’t told me much about him. Just that they met a few weeks before I was conceived. At a bar no less. I know I am a mistake, I know that my mother didn’t want this life. And neither do I. My father’s name, as far as I know, is Mitchell. And that ladies and gentlemen, is all the information that I know about him. I’ve asked my mom to tell me more, but all she says is that he is a bad person and it was better that he left when he did. I have no clue why, but she has her reasons, and I’m not one to badger.

     In the engulfing of my own self-pity, I did not immediately feel the tap on my shoulder. Snapping back to reality, I realize that everyone is gone except for Mr. Humphrey and myself.

     “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear the bell.” I hurry and pack up my things and head for the door.

     “Wait, Jason. I’d like to speak with you,” said Mr. Humphrey.

     I stop and turn around to face my teacher. “I really have to get to my next class, Mr. Humphrey.”

     “Don’t worry about that, I will write a note.” “Listen, Jason. Your poem, I thought it was moving, but it wasn’t you. Is there something going on that I should know about? I am your teacher, but I’m also only nine years older than you are. And I’m a damn good listener.”

     His words took me by surprise. No one besides my mother has shown compassion for me. “I’m not quite sure what you are talking about, sir. I didn’t think it was much different from anything else that I have written before.”

     “Well, today’s work seemed a little off. I might just be imagining things, but you seem quite a bit more distant than you usually are. It’s true that I do not know you, but I’d be happy to help.”

     “No, not to my knowledge is anything different. Nothing is going on except the usual. But sir, I really have to get to my next class.” I left the class directly after that. No waiting for him to write a note, and no letting things go. Briskly I walk, hurrying not to be even tardier than I already am.

     I walk in the door of my chemistry class and sit down at my station.

     As I was starting to get my book out of my bag, the intercom comes on. It says that I am being checked out.

     Heads turn to me for the second time today. I don’t like it.

     This is quite unusual. I never get checked out. I walk to the office to see my Aunt. When she sees me, she runs to me and embraces me in herself. She says she loves me. And we walk to her car. I get in as she does, and we get going.

     After a couple of minutes, I realize that we are not heading towards my house.

     “Aunt Dez, where are we going?” With no reply, she keeps driving. And I am sentenced to silence.

     Looking out the window, I notice every pine tree, blowing in the rhythm of the wind. Leaving behind a trail of beauty with a sweet scent of freedom. Something that I wish that I had. And for some odd reason, I have this feeling in the bottom of my stomach, that something is not right. I look over to my aunt as in expectation for her to tell me everything will be fine. And the look on her face, not necessarily the look, but the lack of expression, all but confirmed my stomachs notation that something has changed. And I’m pretty sure it’s not for the better.

     I look back to my window, and I notice something new. Maybe not something easily noticeable to any one person, but it is something that caught my eye.  I notice that these trees, alike in some ways, but different than those in that these are old. More damaged. And it’s easy to tell that these trees are in fact, dwindling. And even though I have no emotional attachment to any of these trees, or nature in any way, I am sad. The ways of life has its reasons. But that doesn’t always mean it is fair. Some lives are short lived. And it scares me.

     I look back out of the window, and I notice nothing new. Just as it was. Somehow I think that this has a meaning. But as usual, I'm overcomplicating things. I notice soft waves of green. And a very prominent wind. I rolled my window down so I could feel its touch. And feel it I did. I forgot that I had my iPod in my hand and I almost dropped it. 

     I have no clue where we might be headed. We aren't going towards my aunt’s house either. And become worried. I look over to her and I don’t hear a sound. I can see her stomach pulsing. Going up and down and I am afraid. I am very close to my aunt. I have spent many summers with her. She says I stay with her so we can get more acquainted with each other. But I know that this is not the case here.

     A few years ago, I overheard my mom on the phone. 

     "Dez, you have no clue how much you will be helping me out. I have a lot on my plate right now. We are close to losing the house. And I don't think this is the right place for a fourteen year old to spend his summer." My mom’s conversation was obviously about me. "No, I don't want your money! Like I said, we will be fine after things cool down a bit from dad’s funeral expenses. And I just need a break. He is not very social. And I just need some time off. You'd know how I feel if you had kids!" There was a long silence before my mother started talking again. But this time, she was crying. “You’re right. That was out of line, I am sorry. I shouldn't have said that." 

     To this day, I don't know the details of their conversation. But I am not quite sure I want to know. My annual visits impinged my social stigma. But I didn't want them to feel bad.