The Lights In the Sky

Chapter 18

When I got suspended, it must have really freaked my dad out, because he started talking to me again. It was for three days, by the way. The suspension. It happened on a Friday, so I basically ended up with a five-day weekend. Then I could go back on Wednesday, which then lead directly into Fall Break, which meant I had another four-day weekend. At first I thought the time away from school would be good; that it would give me time to clear my head. But that didn't end up being the case.

All Dad said on the ride home was that he wasn't giving up on me. Then, after dinner, he told me that I needed to be up early the next day. He went to bed and Mom went to watch TV, so I tried to sleep. At some point my brain got bored of staring at the black ceiling and shut off. If you think about it, there isn't much difference between staring at a black ceiling and staring up at the sky at night, especially if it's cloudy. I mean, the sky doesn't really move, does it? Everything stays in the same place. It's crazy that people have been staring up at the sky for millions of years. If humans have even been around for millions of years. I don't know a lot of that stuff. The history of one species seems so much less important when you think about the vastness of the universe. Anyway, night skies are fascinating and dark ceilings are boring, so I fell asleep.

Dad woke me up the next morning with a knock on the door. I rolled over and let out one of those breaths that sounds like a moan, the kind you can only make when you first wake up. I tried to ask him what he wanted but it all came out in a mumbled slur. He told me to be ready in fifteen minutes so we could get breakfast. I buried my face in my pillow and listened to his footsteps as he walked down the hall. Then I let out a curse because it felt like all the exhaustion from the past few weeks was catching up with me. You know how sometimes when you're really tired, it's difficult to have even one complete thought, but then other times there is so much running through your head that it makes you want to go back to sleep? Well, that morning was closer to the second thing. First I thought about being mad at my dad for not letting me sleep in, but then I decided that most kids who got suspended from school probably faced worse punishment than a free breakfast, so if I didn't have anything nice to say to him, I would just keep my mouth shut. Then my swollen eye gave a throb so I pushed my fingers up against it. The skin around it felt like latex with cotton balls underneath. I yawned and felt my lip rip open again, which caused a drop of blood to fall back onto my tongue. The taste of iron put me back in that moment where Frank's fist connected with my jaw. My stomach sank then, because I felt like I was the worst friend in the world. Maybe not Judas Iscariot, but one step above that at best. And then there was Deborah. My mind struggled to remember the last time I spoke to her. As far as I knew we were still together. I would've called her right at that second, but she would still be asleep, still tucked away in deep sleep, still so far from that first, horrible moment when you wake up and everything in your body tells you to close your eyes and forget your responsibilities. I didn't want to ruin that for her. I ruined enough already.

I pulled some ratty jeans on over my boxers and a wrinkled, gray hoodie over a white tee. Not trying to impress anybody. I took a leak and brushed my teeth. Combed my hair with my fingers so that it wasn't sticking up everywhere. I don't know if everybody has this moment at some point, I feel like they probably do, but I looked at myself and I looked older. Not old. Not like gray-hair-and-liver-spots old. But grown up. I was an adult. There was no innocence left in my eyes, no wonder. Just a blank slate staring back. A catatonic existence. I was no longer going anywhere; I was just there.

Dad made me drive into town. I didn't even answer him when he told me, just took the keys from his hand. There's this diner in town that pretty much only has customers for breakfast. I can see why. Not that I could ever get sick of Mom's full Irish, but every once in a while, a plate of biscuits and gravy is so good for the soul. Dad got pancakes. I've never seen him eat pancakes before. We both drank coffee and we both used a lot of sugar. When his pancakes were gone and I was working on my last bites, he leaned back in his chair with his coffee cup up to his chin and smiled at me. I froze, my fork halfway to my mouth, and smiled back. He shook his head and let out this silent laugh that somehow infected me. So the two of us sat there, laughing over breakfast, neither of us knowing why.