American Kid

She said, “I got you in the divorce.” I didn’t know what it meant, but I felt overjoyed. That someone picked me to be in their life forever. Little did I know, she didn’t mean it in a good way.

The decision was better than Dad though. All I learned from him was that I was a stupid little S-word as he liked to call me. He drank and fought with himself until he passed out. A pathetic little drunk who couldn’t string two words together is how I thought him to be. I would sneak onto the computer after he passed out and read his memoir. It was nothing but N-word this and F-word that. He would scream with his words at an imaginary character in his mind.

I felt sorry for him.

I decided to pack up and move out of his place for good after I read one of his stories about me one day. He had me for the weekends every other week and he wrote that I was an ungrateful little B-word who couldn’t pass the F-word social studies test. I had actually gotten a B- in the class that semester. Doubt he would know that though. The day I left, I didn’t understand when he told me he loved me. A man like that didn’t know what love was. He had never loved a day in his life.

Shortly after staying with Mom, it didn’t take long to understand that she wasn’t that far off from the street. She wasn’t bad, but as the days and weeks went by after the divorce, she wasn’t able to keep taking care of me. She struggled to pay rent, and when Dad stopped paying child support, she said, “You need to find a job, hon.” I sighed and agreed. There was no love lost. I knew I had to leave, work, or both. She understood that after I told her I was going to leave. She suggested that I at least see my father before I left. I nodded once more, but I was lying to her. I had no care to see him again. And so, I gave her a hug and I left home for good.

I set out with a backpack and headphones. As I walked to the bus station and listened along to my playlist, all I could think about was how my father acted. His annoying, angry, juvenile behavior and thoughts ran through my head. All I could think to say was, “You suck,” over and over again. His pain and misery lingered even though I was gone.

I arrived at the bus station at a quarter past one that day. I listened to tunes and nodded my head back and forth. I thought of how I would find the money to live on my own. I was eighteen and not far off from my nineteenth birthday. As an adult, I had to go. A kid more like it. There was no roof to go back to and once again, I could hear my father’s undeserving voice in my head about how he loved me.

He didn’t.

I thought of the local farmers who needed help and to the local dinner that could use a line cook. Both are respectable trades for a kid like me. Although I didn’t like the idea, I thought I’d give a shot at being a cook.

It felt like a good idea at the time…

I pulled out my phone and I had a thought to search for a song called, “Never Look Back.” I found Warren Zeiders and his raspy country voice. Not my typical stuff, but I felt like I needed a glass of whiskey and a guitar. I laughed. I was underage at the time and it wouldn’t have been my first shot.

As the song played, I scrolled through social media. I found some family members that I unfollowed and some friends that I knew from high school that I added. A girl from my graduating class popped up. Her name was Jenn. She wore a yellow sundress in her graduation cap overlooking the Three Rivers of Fort Wayne, IN.

We graduated last May. I didn’t want to go to my high school graduation but thought it best to have the memory. Fear of being left out and all. We all stood with the black gowns and caps and as they called our names. I smiled and clapped with the rest of them.

Not far ahead of me was my classmate and friend Jenn. Her hair was different in the photo than what I saw. Then, she had dark hair braided in a ponytail. She looked cute. My mind drifted from those being called to imagining what it would be like to kiss her afterward.

Wet and arousing, I thought.

We sat next to each other in English and Drama class. She was slightly older than me, and when her eighteenth birthday arrived, I gave her a gift card to Starbucks. I didn’t know what I was supposed to give girls who I had a crush on at the time. I felt it was appropriate without crossing our friendship line.

Her name was called. I saw her parents cheer in the front row, and I clapped too as I waited. She lost out to Wendy Schmitz for valedictorian. She was smarter than I. Smarter than Wendy too the way I saw it. She walked off stage, and unfortunately, we never spoke after that. I felt sad and a bit love-missed.

I clicked the like button on her yellow sundress photo, and I saw she was traveling in Europe for the summer in the top left. I was jealous. A blank comments section asked if I wished to post anything. I didn’t wait long and added a little yellow heart to match her dress. I felt included.

The bus arrived and came to a screeching halt. Air pistons blew out and the entrance lowered. I took a deep breath, waking from my dream, and I stepped on. I smiled at the bus driver and scanned my bus pass.

“Thanks,” I said.

I turned and looked for an open seat. I sat at the nearest one I could find and looked out the window. There goes Fort Wayne, I thought. I hope I don’t see you again.

I bought a bus ticket to Indianapolis, the state capital of Indiana. I thought of a Cardinal, our state bird, and then back to the line cook position. I didn’t want to stay in my hometown, though it might be easier overall, I didn’t care for Mom and Dad overlooking my shoulder from home.

I shrugged my shoulders and then I pulled my phone back out once more. I saw social media waiting for me. I immediately thought of deleting it but thought otherwise. Why? I didn’t know. I guess that was just something that I thought. I clicked the next button on my Spotify playlist and began the job search. There were a few positions at local restaurants that I thought I could learn how to master. A Red Lobster stood out to me, and so did a Cracker Barrel, and a Long John Silver. I thought they had gone out of business. Okay, I’ll do this.

I didn’t have a resume yet. I browsed the various resume builders online until I found one that I liked. I hit a paywall and frowned. Maybe a template I can download instead. I found one that wasn’t as good, but I selected it, and it opened Google Docs for me. I had an instinct to throw the I Love You hand signal that I had learned in American Sign Language class during my graduate year. I did and felt proud of myself. Though I thought, I love you and I immediately regretted what I thought. My dad and his foul language. It wasn’t love. My mind played tricks on me sometimes like that. My words and patterns didn’t align in my head. My body language didn’t match. My therapist taught me that it’s best to just be me whenever I can though. I forced a smile and continued.

The bus took us south on I-95. The bus ride was a two-and-a-half-hour ride, and I began building my resume. I had tutored my senior year to the freshman class and I learned it needed to go on there. I became quite skilled at memorization of the body parts. From the atlas to the zygomatic bone. The first supports the neck and the last is the check bone. There were enough to keep track of and I was glad I didn’t struggle. My favorite was the smallest of bones: the stapes - an inner ear bone.

Mrs. Glass told me volunteer work was great because colleges were often looking for more than the standard Core 40 credits they taught to graduate. I would have loved to have been applying to colleges instead. Though with Mom working to make ends meet and Dad out of the picture, that wasn’t an option.

I finished and reviewed what I had typed. I placed my high school degree, my 3.2 GPA, my volunteer teaching experience, and my passions. I played football and hockey. A class in homeroom taught us that people looked for that kind of thing as well. Athletes. They said it was all about being a team player. I thought the same in terms of being a line cook and added it to my skills section.

The text on my resume reached the halfway mark of the page. It wasn’t much, but I did the best I could. With a last thought, I decided to shrink the margins to make it look longer than it was. I didn’t think it mattered much. I scanned the page for formatting and with my name at the top of the page and address blank, I returned to the job offering page and submitted it. I was proud of myself. No longer tied to a parent who “loved me”.

Time passed…

I awoke with a startle as the bus came to a halt. We were outside Indianapolis and I squinted in the daylight. I sat upright and rubbed my eyes and temple. I dreamt of Beatlejuice and his long white and red socks. Or maybe that was Cat in the Hat. I had never seen the first and it had been years since I read the latter. Odd nonetheless.

I looked around the bus and saw that it was relatively full. Luggage and backpacks propped on people’s laps. People headed to the airport, I thought. Between Fort Wayne and Indianapolis was about two hours travel and the airport was one of the largest international airports in the region. Maybe they’re going to Europe where Jennifer is traveling. I laughed.

A beautiful thought then popped into my head, $1000. A one-way ticket out of America. A dream to travel. I smiled and pulled out my phone once more. I passed the time by scrolling and watching other people live their lives.

Soon, the Indianapolis skyline entered view, and my stop arrived. I grabbed my backpack and changed the song. “Who Loves this Kid” came on. Something new with a funky beat of Skrillex mixed with Avicii. On the album cover, a cute Asian chick leaned against a mustang and I heard the chorus of foreign languages spoken back and forth. Dope, I thought. I immediately loved it. I tapped the like button and saved it to my playlist.

I looked back to Instagram and saw Jennifer in Paris. A new photo of her in a jean jumpsuit and white t-shirt outside the Louvre. I imagined I waited outside a club hoping to get in. The beat bouncing around in my head. I turned around and there she was, the woman of my dreams dancing right back to the beat.

“Hey!” I yelled. “You wanna go in with me?” Jennifer squinted her eyes and with a laugh, she said “Duh boy! Let’s go!” I liked her photo. I liked to think she saw it then and there. She was my escape from the hell hole and into a world of possibilities.