❦Zach❦
The clinking of silverware fills the commodious dining hall as my parents try at small talk with me. I roll the now cold peas around my plate and stare out pass the palladian window, pass the drops of rain, pass the perfectly mowed lawn, and pass the gates of this hell. The white and black checkered floor beneath my feet is coated with a shine from a finish gloss sealer and the annoying squeak rings in my ear as the butler walks over to refill our glasses yet again.
Some would say I'm an ingrate because I have it all since my parents are rich, but money really doesn't buy happiness. There's this idea that if you're loaded you must be happy because money rules the world, a world I know nothing about outside of this gated community, outside of this town, outside of my school, outside of this. This, which is, my humdrum life.
"So how was school sweetheart." My mom asks from her seat on the right of my dad, both across from me. Seeing the many empty seats left me with the question: Why do we have so many chairs? No one ever really comes over, except for during the occasional country club parties we host. Then I remember the one body that is missing and that'd be my sister Christina, or what my parents refer to as their "rebel child". She's probably out locking lips with her beef head boyfriend Josh in the back of his stupid Jeep. Maybe I'm just jealous that she left me alone here, that and I don't have a jock boyfriend of my own. I don't have any friends for that matter. In that way I envy her too. She breaks the rules and doesn't care and I just care too much about everything.
"It was the usual, mother." I answer not looking up from my plate, still dragging the fork obnoxiously across the china.
"I take it you had a bad day." She says pretending to care about anything other than this intellect label she put on me. I did have a bad day. Christina's boyfriend does nothing but torment me for fun and she doesn't give a shit. Him and his stupid friends bother me at least every day, whether it be pushing me or just calling me things. Not only that but my only friend Daniel hadn't been at school today when I was getting my ass handed to me for accidentally bumping into one of Josh's sidekicks. That sums up most of my day right there.
Sure I'm smart, I play piano, I'm captain of the chess club, I'm this and that but none of these things make me happy. All these things keep me busy but yet I feel so empty. I don't go out like every kid my age, I don't do anything, besides what my parents want.
"Look at your mother when she's talking to you son." I reluctantly lift my head and force my lips to mumble a 'yes sir'.
My dad isn't really the type to really enforce discipline through hitting. He has me refer to him as sir simply to assert his dominance as the head of the household. He's just controlling, just like my mom can be, and some how he puts this fear in me of disobeying them without laying a finger on me. He has this way of making me feel guilty if I mess up even once.
"Have you been practicing for your upcoming solo performance?" My mom asks sweetly and it makes me so sick. Maybe she isn't so controlling, maybe she just follows suit. I clench my fork and force myself to keep eye contact. My dads waiting for my response too, chewing his food so loudly.
"Yes, I think I'm ready." I answer smiling slightly hoping they'd ask nothing else. What's there to tell? I don't do anything else besides school and piano.
"We don't want you to think you're ready, we want you to know that you're ready. Have some confidence boy." My dads southern accent comes out on that last part. It makes me think of Houston Texas where I lived when I was younger and didn't have nearly as much responsibilities.
I reminisce about our old ranch and my old school where I actually had friends and the old oak tree with the tire swing and how different things were then. Then my dad got a promotion, then we moved to Orange County of California. I can't really pinpoint the shift in our family it just came about one day. Maybe it was middle school. I just remember being the new kid who was bullied for being "the nerd", and my sister going through what my parents called "a phase", and my dad coming home later, and my mom was there but only physically. Which brings us to now.
"Yes, sir. I know I'm ready." I wait for their simultaneous nods of approval, then my dads beckoning for the butler who's always standing patiently waiting for orders, and then the clearing of the table before I have enough time to say I wasn't quite finished.
There's an order. A method to the madness with no real method at all. It's just how my parents are and I dare not complain.
"You're mom wouldn't want you in here helping clean these dishes." One of our maids Daisy says in that warning yet playful tone of hers. "Those hands are only meant to play the piano." Her dark brown hair is pinned back into a slick bun and her skin is glowing with a slight sweat as she turns to give me a quick smile. Hunched over the sink her slim hands are scrubbing away hardened mashed potatoes off of the chinaware. I felt bad for her having to do all the cleaning of a mess she had no part in. She was probably not much older than my mom and I wondered how her life became this. I didn't necessarily pity her but the youth in her voice and how her hands look aged but her face still beautiful made me just wonder, I didn't understand why a nice woman like herself would be here.
"I don't even like the piano." I try to mumble blowing bubbles through the suds in between my fingers, but of course Daisy gasps theatrically.
"Don't let your parents hear that," She takes the sponge from my hands, dries her hands on the apron that never leaves her waist, and shoos me away. "Now go practice it's going on six."
"But I already practiced at three." I sigh not wanting to go into that sad room for another sad couple of hours. The grand piano sat in the middle with nothing else but a window to admire only the backyard and whatever my imagination could dream up. It was gloomy like everything about this mansion.
"If you want to be the next Mozart or Beethoven you'd go practice." But I don't want to be the next Mozart or Beethoven, that's what my parents want. "Besides, you don't want to disappoint your father do you?"
"Right. I'd hate to be a disappointment." Is all I say knowing she's only looking out for me, and like everyone else she only wants what's best for me. What about what I want for myself?
I sit at the black bench lucky to have the rain to watch today. How exciting! I press down on random keys just to waste time but I end up playing a rhythm I've been practicing.
I write my own songs sometimes. My parents don't know that not only can I play piano, but I can sing, and write sometimes. To them I'm just a skilled pianist and the straight "A" maker who's college bound. They don't bother enough to ask about my real interests. At one point in time I considered becoming a musician but they're starting to ruin that for me.
"That doesn't sound like the music on the sheets I've given you." My dads voice makes me jump in my seat. He's leaning on the doorway with his arms folded. I open my mouth just to close it shut again as he approaches me. "Classical music is your thing, remember?" He says patting my shoulder rather harshly before walking away. I take the bit of lyrics I had written, ball the paper up, and throw it in the near by trash bin. I take out my sheets of music I should've been practicing from inside the bench and try to focus. But all I could think about was those same chords playing over and over in my mind like a mantra. I could never find the right words for those beats in my mind.
"I don't want to be a disappointment." I sigh hearing the echo of shouts. Christina must've just gotten home. "Classical music is my thing remember?"
