A Work in Progress

Don't Look Up

"Three detentions in one week. How does anyone manage that?" Jackson demanded, rubbing his temples.

"I don't know," I grumbled, looking up at my nineteen year old brother with a sheepish grin.

Jackson had a passive look on his face, clearly not amused. "Yeah, you do AJ," He crossed his arms over his chest. "You can't keep doing this. And you can't keep
lying to me about it."

I fiddled with the hem of my shirt, looking everywhere but at him.

How could I explain why I got another detention, when I couldn't even look at him?

I just didn't want to disappoint him.

Again.

Jackson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and looking up at the ceiling. "I can't do this right now," he muttered, walking away.

I heard his bedroom door slam and let out a deflated sigh, flopping down on our futon.

Way to go.

I ran a hand down my face, turning on the TV. I just needed a distraction right now, anything to help me forget the day.

Or at least everyday that my parents weren't here.

Hell, as bad as it sounds, maybe it would be better if my parents were dead. However, my parents were alive and well. Except they weren't alive and well in my life.

My parents were in federal prison.

And they had been for five months now.

Five months, two weeks, and four days. But who's counting?

And people don't know what to say to you when they hear that. Not that I could blame them. What are you supposed to say?

Sorry for your loss?

Wrong. They were alive.

I hope they get well soon?

Wrong. They weren't sick.

And so I tried to continue on with my life, go to high school, avoiding the fleeting glances and quiet whispering that people did on a daily basis.

Except I couldn't do it.

Did you hear about AJ? His parents are in jail.

I heard that they beat him.

I heard that they started a meth lab.

I heard, I heard, I heard. But no one heard the truth.

Because not even I knew the truth.

Jackson, that over protective bastard, refused to tell me what the two most important people in my life had done so wrong that it landed them in jail.

So I just had to learn to forgot. However I obviously wasn't doing too well at that, considering my detentions.

I aimlessly looked through TV channels, but nothing good was on. Flipping on my back, I stared at the indentions in the ceiling, and let out a frustrated sigh. I wonder how long it would take to count all of them? Ten, twenty years? God, would I even be here in twenty years?