Power of Persuasion

Chapter Three:

Every one always expects everything with the person they like to be perfect. It just how the human mind works. When it has to deal with someone you severely care about, you want everything to go smoothly. But sadly, my life is not written by Nicholas Sparks. Jesse had kissed me, and it was in the weirdest, most uncomfortable way possible. But, us, as people, aren't perfect. I'm glad it wasn't in the middle of the street in the poring rain, or while we're slow dancing on prom night. Jesse wasn't my first kiss, but he was the first guy to kiss me in a stolen vehicle, which is just as memorable, if not more. And maybe that's as close to perfect as two imperfect teenagers can get.

It was late Saturday night when I saw that Miss Patchouli was outside smoking. I watched her take a few drags, completing her first cigarette in only a few breaths. She grabbed another from her metal cigarette case and began sucking in the nicotine. Miss Patchouli was an odd looking elderly woman. Her hair wasn't white, but more of a light blonde. She still had that tint of yellow. Her hair came down to her chin, and waved outwards. She always wore this cream colored hat with a small net veil and a feather sticking up in the back. She wore big glasses, glasses so big it took up half of her face. Her body was small. She was like a piece of paper, once perfect and tall and smooth, but got crumbled, left wrinkly and used up. Your body seems to wilt as you age, just like the flowers her husband planted in the garden.

She was sitting in a rocking chair on her now crumbling porch with an empty chair next to her.

My mom was not home. She worked weekends at the elderly home to earn some extra cash. My dad on the other hand, took every day off he had available. He was a very convoluted person. He met my mom on his 21st birthday. It was his birthday party, and it was the first time he's ever been to a real bar. My mom was a bartender. When he spotted her from across the room he said she was making sure there was exactly 22 peanuts in each bowl for the customers. "No more, no less." She said to my dad. She's always been this way, it just keeps getting progressively worse as she ages.

My dad said he liked the idea of fixing someone. Being so important to the other person that they can't live without them, that they would go completely mad with out the other person always attached; hip to hip. There have been times where he wanted to give up on her, thinking she's a hopeless case. But he couldn't let her go. He was already in too deep.

My dad is a retired psychiatrist. He couldn't deal with not being able to fix people even though he knew they could be cured. He hating failing, so he gave up that dream. That's what happening now. He's realizing he's losing at fixing my mom and it's scaring him. You can't make the other person be completely dependent on you by trying your best to fix them and call that love. That was their flaw.

My dad was now a CEO at a law firm. His experience in psychology and psychiatry came in handy there, and he never lost a case.

My mom was good at her job. Keeping her constantly focused on something or someone always distracted her mind a bit. It does get in the way sometimes though. She'll have to repeat words or phrases a few times until they come out perfectly and she feels helpless in any situation that she's not in complete control of. She's a headcase, always has been; I've just become completely numb to it now.

Donatello, my dad, proposed to her over a candlelit dinner he made himself and surprised her in her apartment when they were 24 and 25. Reina, My mom was a year older. She said yes in 4 different ways before finally spitting out the perfect answer, "Obviously." She told him while he was kneeling down on one knee looking up at her smiling. Because back then, that's when he thought she was the most beautiful thing to walk the earth, faults and all.

"Sophie!" My dad called out from his office "Can you come here for just a minute?"

I walked from my room to his man cave and took the step down to enter. My dad was at his desk with a cigar hanging from his mouth, holding a newspaper that covered half of his face. "Come over here, sit down." he told me, still chewing on his cigar. His office now hazy with a thick fog. I walk over and sit in a hunter green swede chair in front of him. His desk still had his name plaque "Dr.Augustine" It read. I was sitting in the seat that most of his patients sat in when my dad used to work from home. We didn't say much at first, he flipped a few pages of his newspaper, and sucked on his cigar. I sat their awkwardly, thinking about how many crazy people sat in this chair. How many people who wanted to get help, but never could. The tears that were soaked into this cushion forever. I shook the thought, and thought maybe this is where people got better, and smiled instead of cried, but if that happened, my dad wouldn't of quit.

"How are you feeling?" My dad asked me, lowing his newspaper and laying it on his desk. "Dad, I'm not playing therapist with you right now." He let out a long sigh, blowing smoke out of his mouth. "Honey, it's not playing if I am one."

"Were one." I corrected him.

He was silent for a few seconds. He collected his thoughts, and held his hands together in his lap. "I need to talk to you about something."

All the sudden there was a knock at the door. It wasn't a light knock either. It was a desperate, 'let me in, please' knock. My dad quickly got up, and told me to stay where I was. I heard the door open, and I heard rain drops hitting the concrete and front porch. Then I heard a voice that was all too familiar. "You must be Mr.Augustine" said a low, shaky voice "I'm Jesse Lane." I quickly peered around the corner, only to see Jesse completely soaked, his t-shirt torn, and scratch marks across his face.

"Sophia Beth Augustine." My dad called out in a stern voice.

"Coming..." I whimpered.

First, I was embarrassed. I was stuck in a long pajama shirt that came just above my knees, boys boxers, knee socks and I had absolutely no makeup on.

Second, I was confused. What in the holy hell was Jesse Lane doing on my door step, soaking wet, with his shirt ripped and a claw mark across his gorgeous face?

Third, I was excited. I mean, Jesse Lane came to my house at midnight. He came to me in his time of need.

"I believe it's for you." My dad said, inviting Jesse in and shutting the door behind him. "I'll be in my office." My dad replied, not saying a word to Jesse, and shutting the door to his man cave.

"Not the best first impression huh?" Jesse joked, running a hand through his wet hair.

"What the hell happened?" I whispered sternly.

"What do you mean Soph, you don't think I look good?" Jesse grinned while leaning his hands against my kitchen counter leaving a puddle everywhere he went.

"You can't always cover everything up with sarcastic humor, Jesse. Now what the hell happened to your face?"

This, this was the first time I've ever seen Jesse's face drop. There was no crooked smile. No color to his cheeks. Nothing. His eyes fell to the floor, the corners of his mouth turned dramatically. "Can I stay here tonight? I'll tell you if I can stay."

Something bad happened, I could sense it. I could see it in his face, in his body language. I knew from how bad he avoided the subject. "Hold on." I told him, walking into my dad's office. "Jesse needs a place to stay tonight." My dad sighed. Sighing is what he was best at. "He sleeps in the guest room." My eyes shifted up "What?" I asked. "He must really like you if he ran though the pouring rain to see you. If he stays, he sleeps in the guest room."

I'm sure my face lit up. I walked out into the kitchen and grabbed Jesse's hand. "I'll show you the guest room" I whispered to him. He gripped my hand tight, and followed behind me.

The guest room was across the hall from my room. I gave Jesse another one of my dads shirts, and some sweatpants to sleep in. Jesse sat on the bed. He still hasn't said a word since his face dropped and lost all color. "Just lay down, and I'll be in here in an hour. All ears okay?" I shut off the light, and walked to the door "Thank you." I heard him finally reply. His voice was sweet, and naive. It was genuine.