Let's Get Lost

I. Johnny

I. Johnny

     "DOUCHE," RYAN MUTTERED as he left my room.  I rolled my eyes, unable to help it.  He was young yet, he didn't know any better than what he was already doing.  I couldn't say I blamed him for not understanding; he hadn't known Dad like I did.  Hell, if I'd known otherwise, I would've said the kid never met him.  I guess Ryan just wasn't old enough to remember.

See, Dad was great.  He was my superhero every time I was scared in the dark; he was my monster chaser every time I wouldn't go upstairs after a scary movie; he was my shoulder to cry on when I broke my leg when I was younger; he was my everything.  My entire world, wrapped up in one stable, soldier of a man.  He was always there for me, no matter what it was. 

And then, one day, he was gone. 

Just like that. 

I had such a hard time -- I still do, I guess.  Me and my dad?  We went everywhere together.  We did everything together.  We even told each other everything.  Despite my young age when he was still around, he was an open book.  He talked to me about money and Mom and work.  He treated me like a friend, while still being a dad, and that was great.  It really was. 

It's times like these that I wished he was still around. 

Sighing, I lit another cigarette and took a drag from it while I grabbed the picture frame next to my bed.  In it was a photograph taken of me and my father, when I was around five and he was thirty.  My parents had us kids at an appropriate age, I suppose . . . but when I was a kid, it seemed like he would live forever, even though he aged by the hour.  He ran around with me like he was twenty, instead of thirty.  He smiled like a teenager; moved like a warrior and hit like a brick wall.  He was unstoppable and forever permanent . . . or so I thought. 

"Johnny!"  I heard from outside my door, pulling me from my daze.  Coughing discreetly, I put my cigarette out in the ashtray and stood up, spraying some axe to cover the smell of the cigarette as I opened my window and tossed out the butt.  

"Johnny Lewis, you better have a damn good reason to have the house smelling like cigarettes, again!"

It was my mother.  She hated smoking; hated the entire idea of it.  She even hated that they sold candy cigarettes at the store for little kids, because she thought candy companies were teaching them "bad habits".

Honestly, I can't say I really know my mom.  I mean, I know who she is, but I don't really know her.  My brother does; they're like each other diaries or something.  I guess I can't really blame him, since I was that way with Dad, but sometimes, it feels like I'm the only one in this house.  It's been so empty inside since Dad.

I don't think I'm the only one that's felt that, though.  Maybe Ryan hasn't, but I know Mom has.  I've caught her crying in her room or stopping in front of Dad's office door, leaving it unopened.  Everything of his has gone untouched, all these years. 

Even I haven't went back into the shed where we keep our fishing gear . . . because no matter how much time has passed, it's still too much for me.  Everything about Dad is too much . . . and sometimes, I can't even drive my car, because that reminder is too much to handle sometimes. 

"Johnathon, I am talking to you!" 

"You know my full name isn't Johnathon, Ma," I called out, grunting as I walked over and opened the door.  I smiled sarcastically at her, causing her to roll her eyes. 

"That doesn't make a difference to me.  The reason your full name isn't Johnathon is because your fath-" 

"I know; Dad hated it," I muttered, blowing past her, "You don't need to remind me every time you say my name that Dad didn't want to name me John.  I know you don't like the name Ryan, but you still named my brother that anyway." 

"Your father l-"

"Yes, I know," I snapped, "He liked that name." 

Without another word to my mother, I walked down the steps and outside.  My motorcycle was ready for me and I hopped on, revving the engine just to spite her.  We don't really get along and I know I should probably cherish her and treat her better, but I just can't bring myself to give her more respect, since I know she favors Ryan over me anyway. 

I heard her tell him once that he was her miracle baby; that she couldn't wait until I was out of the house and on my own.  What that was about, I have no idea, but I can say this: hearing your mother say she wants you out of the house isn't exactly a self-esteem booster. 

Sighing, I shook my head and closed my eyes as I drove, letting the bike take me exactly where I needed to be.

Home.