Aubrey, the Star

26: antenna

Jameson

★

antenna - "an electrical device used to send or receive electromagnetic waves."

My arms readied the turn for a tenth lap.

In the water, I had no worries, no football, no girlfriend, no parents, and no stress. It was just me and the water. My bones moved in a trained, robotic precision. Stroke after stroke led to perfection. I never got the chance to join the swim team at Chellgren. Football took up too much of my time - much to my dad's delight. But, if I had gotten the choice, I would've picked swimming over football.

The pool was therapy.

When my feet hit the wall, I went up for air. The morning chill felt cool against my hot skin. Thankfully, dad decided to invest in a heated pool. I thought the idea was stupid, at first. That was before I became a morning person and realized I liked to start my days swimming.

The air hit me and the stress came back. I was struggling with my own bullshit problems. The water just had its way of making those issues turn to fluid. Fluid that flooded out of my brain and floated away. Only until I resurfaced.

I always had to resurface.

Some days I wished I didn't need air.

I stumbled out of the pool because my muscles felt like jello. When I was drying off with a towel, I felt eyes on me. Looking up, Dad glared at me through the back window of the kitchen. He was up earlier than normal. Those dark eyes narrowed on mine before he focused on rinsing out a coffee cup at the sink. I hardened under his gaze. My steps grew heavier as I walked into the backdoor of the house.

He was preparing to brew coffee. I headed to the pantry, grabbing a couple of granola bars for myself. Dad never bothered making breakfast. He always had us fending for ourselves. I felt him looking at me.

"You have time to eat more than that for breakfast, Jameson," he said. That voice was aging. What used to be lighthearted and easy was now rough and antagonizing.

I ripped open the granola bar with my teeth, spitting the wrapper out into the trash before eating half of it in one bite. We continued to stare at each other. Unlike Mickey and I, he had brown eyes. They were a mix or light and dark. Years ago, they reflected warmth. Today they looked as black as his coffee. We were alike in other ways - dad and me.

"I'll be home late tonight," I said, pausing for a minute to chew. "Practice ends at 5 and then I have a fitting for my homecoming suit at home."

Dad snorted. "You have the time to be a fashionista now?"

"It's my last homecoming this weekend, Dad." My jaw clenched. "Forgive me for bothering to care about high school ending."

"Oh, stop. I never said you couldn't care," he said. Dad was disconnecting from me because I'd brought up my mom. He did that a lot since their divorce. I sighed, throwing away the empty wrapper of the granola bar before opening up another one. "I just think you should focus on football."

Everything was always about football.

"I'm focused enough. By the way, Michaela called me last night and said she's going to have to take a rain check for dinner tomorrow. She's helping Thomas with an art project or something."

Dad's shoulders dropped along with his anticipation. My heart cracked in my chest. The air between us became dense and I struggled for my next breath. Michaela, being Michaela, had a way of dropping the ball on Dad. He wasn't the best person to be around. A lot of the time he was downright awful. It made sense that she never bothered with him. Sometimes I wish I had her decisiveness.