Oliver Ausman Lives Again

eight

Charlie has checked out of any potential conversation by the time we get on the highway, staring out the window and popping in his headphones after telling me and Kat that he'll be listening to an audiobook about New York City for a while. The kid is basically a sponge for information so I can't say I'm surprised, but I am a little scared now that he's leaving me alone to talk to Kat. 

I have no doubt he's doing it on purpose, either. But if he thinks I'm about to pull off a miracle and suddenly become some smooth conversationalist-- in front of Kat, nonetheless-- he's in for nothing but disappointment. I can't even begin to think of something to say. Everything that pops into my brain feels stupid and juvenile. Thanks to being in an all-boys school since sixth grade, I have no concept of how to talk to any girl, let alone one I'm attracted to. Maybe if I'd ever had a girl friend, or a girlfriend, my mind wouldn't be so blank.

"So he's just your dad?" Kat breaks into the silence, which had only been slightly filled by the sounds of the traffic around us.

I nod. "I was raised under the impression that Charlie and I had the same father. Just learned yesterday that that isn't the case. I told Charlie where I was going and why, and he wanted to come along."

"Ah, I was wondering. Running away doesn't usually include bringing your sibling along with you."

I spare a glance over, confident enough in my driving to take my eyes off the straight road ahead for a second or two. Kat has half of her hair pulled to one side and her hands are busy braiding it into a pigtail, but she's watching me, body half-turned in my direction against the leather seat. 

"I don't think running away would be the correct term," I say, turning to watch the road again. "For one thing, I'm eighteen. I think at this point it would just be called leaving home, or moving out-- more like taking a vacation, since it's not like I'm never going back. I even left them a note."

"What did it say?"

"Not much, to be honest." I shrug, recalling the short, passive-aggressive message I'd scrawled onto a sheet of notebook paper and left sitting on the kitchen counter. "Just said I found out they were lying to me and that I was going on a trip with Charlie for a few days. I didn't explicitly say what I found out, but assuming they didn't lie to me about anything else, I guess they'll probably put two and two together."

"So... if they didn't tell you, how did you find out?"

"Yesterday was my birthday." I immediately regret the statement, realizing I've just solidified the fact that I'm seventeen-just-turned-eighteen eighteen, and not eighteen-about-to-be-nineteen-which-is-pretty-close-to-twenty eighteen. "My family was over, and my uncle got drunk and told me. He thought I already knew. I don't know, it's all fucked."

She lets out a short laugh. "Most family matters usually are."

I can still feel her gaze on me, even as there's a pause in our conversation.