The car is quiet.
Something I greatly appreciate.
My throat still feels irritated , so I pop one pill from the medicine box , methylprednisolone. Waiting for it to reduce the swelling .
My dad says something but my memory gets foggy , he laughs at something but I won't remember what .
After the episode of dizziness, I can finally focus .
My neck looks as thick as an elephant's leg , a very dark red , stark against the pale surrounding skin of my neck .
Ten minutes pass in silence within the car . My neck finally goes down a bit and is now pale pink ,almost the same colour of my skin . Good enough for kids in school to not notice . I want to leave the car ...so badly , but I'm waiting .
Waiting for dad to let me go . For his permission to leave .
Another ten minutes pass by and the silence starts becoming oppressive . As if a heavy blanket has been laid upon my shoulders , weighing me down , for a moment I think I'm not breathing. Dad's finger is stuck between his teeth .
I won't be leaving anytime soon of he's still stuck in his thoughts , however it makes me wonder what he's thinking about so much .
What is so important that even dad gives it the time of his day , a feat not even my mom has accomplished.
Nevermind that, the bells going to ring in the next three minutes, signalling the beginning of the first period , and it takes me approximately 6 minutes to walk to first period from this side of the parking lot . My teacher for first period , Chemistry, is not the most understanding at all, meaning the possibility of me getting Saturday detention is higher than the possibility that I make it on time .
All I can do is count how many minutes fly by , how much less time I have to get there . Once I count 3 minutes lost , I stop . I can't run in three minutes and get there on time , aswell as change my books by the lockers .
Then again, a Saturday with Mr Strout looks better than the consequences I'd incur if I were to rush my dad .
Time fly's by .
The bells rings and I know just know everyone's already inside class.
Whilst I'm still waiting in the car , head down and father still thinking about something, what ? I don't know and don't care enough to .
" Unbuckle your seatbelt . I'm taking you in ." He finally says , already having unbuckled his and opening the car door .
I fumbled a bit as I had started getting drowsy . It takes some time for his words to get through, but I get the main point - We'll....well HE! , will explain to the principle why I was late and most likely get me a letter .
All in all preventing a horrific Saturday detention with Mr Strout.
As I quickly get out of the car , I'm instantly assaulted by a gust of cold air , the cold like a bucket of water splashes over me , leaving me momentarily numb and disoriented.
I sometimes forget how cold the air is in this town . Every breath of air freezes my lungs and puts me in over drive to breathe. Maybe the silence of the car was better , atleast it still had warmth to it .
" Catch up boy !" He spits out at me .
Already walking as if on a mission to kill the President.
I move quickly to catch up . We're now walking into the school , my hands safely tucked into my jacket , as per my father's orders to , 'Keep warm .' , there's no conversation, just the sound of our shoes hitting the gravel . I kick a stone or two just to pass time . The walk to the entrance feeling longer than normal .
His hand extends to hold mine in a vice-like-grip , I find it irritable and uncomfortable.
I try to move it out of his .
He doesn't let go .
Even further embarrassingly entangling our fingers , the grip even tighter , to the point it's now not uncomfortable but just painful . He continues to hold my hand as if walking a toddler with attachment issues into kindergarten, but it's not . It's highschool and the kids are meaner , they don't coo at you holding your dad's hand , they laugh and throw out hurtful jabs when he lets go .
I hate the fact he makes me feel so small , so easily . The hands of time in no hurry , as if to preserve this precious moment , one I don not enjoy lingering within , one to familiar to the suspense within a nightmare .
" I don't like the feeling of you're hands so interlinked with mine ." , is what I want to say , yet the fear of angering him keeps these words paused at the top of my tongue .
He seems to be irritated regardless of whether I speak or not , because before I know it my beanies on the floor and he's walking a tad faster than he was before , forcing me to match his pace . One my feet have grown accustomed to from a young age .
My father is the living version of a boiling kettle .
He walks , dragging me to the school entrance, past the doors and now inside .
The people stare .
Ofcourse they do .
Yet he remains ignorant of the humiliation I suffer beside him , striding on as if unaffected by thier heated gazes .
Their eyes filled with scrutiny and judgement, I lock eyes with a random girl . She looks basic , nothing worth looking back for but it's what I see in her eyes that'll make me remember.
Pure jealousy.
My feet don't know which one goes infront and behind, my mind takes a minute and pauses all thoughts , I can't even comprehend why someone would be envious to go through what I go through . I'm much too old for my hand to still be held by anyone but my lover , yet he stubbornly insists on it . She doesn't understand what's she jealous of , what she thinks she wants .
If she did . She'd regret it .
I see Timothy within the crowd . His eyebrows locked into a frown. No judgement nor pity present , just understanding. He understands. He knows I wouldn't be here had I had the choice , had I been strong enough to fight back , he understands my lack of strength isn't something I choose to have .
Helsinki doesn't raise disrespectful boys .
Dad stops , probably because he follows my gaze and sees Timothy in the crowd of learners. Before I even can greet Tim, Dad's strides are longer , the distance I was previously forced to cover now larger . My leg muscles burn with pain , my shoes rubbing against the polished white marble floors of the school with a loud SQUEAK!
Everyone around us notices how fast he's walking , they stop and stare . They eventually get bored and stop staring , going back to their previous conversations.
Everyone in town knows not to jump into another person's business. It's like a kid bored with their own broken toys looking for other toys to break .
We make our way to the office ,he just skips the receptionist and pays her shouting no mind .
Something about , "trespassing -" and "- in a meeting! -" .
I put my head down dejectedly. His blatant disrespect towards her never-ending.
The bells rings for third period now .
My dad doesn't bother to knock on doors , simply swinging it open .
As impolite as ever with his friends..
" Even in my own institution, which your child attends mind you ! I'm still not offered an ounce of the respect I deserve !" Mr Henwich .....or Uncle Henwich says as we enter the office .
" Doesn't matter and ain't gonna be given to someone who chugs fine wine!" Dad responds , splaying himself widely onto the offensive red couch , it's colour clashing with the Blues of the office .
I simply move over to the mini fridge, my hand now free and grab a can of ice coffee aswell as chocolate chip cookies from the above shelf , finally seating myself in the space left on the couch .
" I'd advise you speak nicer since you want my help!" Uncle Henwich says trying to be serious but failing dismerly to stop the widening of his smirk .
" Who said I need your help , I can just get your old receptionist upfront to sign it for my kid !" Dad says boredly.
" Yeah , well it needs to be signed , by who?.....ME! The governing principle of the school ! Seems by your talk you came to get a late letter for my favourite nephew ." He shouts back excitedly to my father .
One for Uncle Henwich - Zero for dad.
This reminds me of all the times my father has abused their friendship, by favour of me coming late .... because of him .
" His your ONLY nephew-not related by blood mind you . I graciously gave you one since your sister's poor womb is the embodiment of a desert !"
He should've been on the floor clutching a bloody nose . He'd crossed a serious line and yet he wasn't . The words were cruel , mocking a woman for being barren , something she'd been unable to control .
Something she never asked for yet nonetheless received.
But , it doesn't matter that it's his sister , my father openly shames, he still laughs back , their reason being that it's an old joke .
" Older than her first born child ......still crying in a grave !" They burst out laughing , saying the joke together .
I remember at a young age when we'd visited Uncle Henwich once , they'd gotten drunk and cracked the joke , right infront of the poor lady , his sister just looked down and walked away .
But I remember the little droplets on the polished floor , their house seeming to soak her tears, her only comfort in face of such cruelty delt to her by her own kinsman . Brandished useless simply due to her inability to conceive , now stationed at the front of her brothers office , still under him as the secretary.
A job given not out of mercy nor politeness but for his entertainment.
Thier house was like ours , paper thin and broken at the foundations . Silently decaying from the rot .
She was her family's biggest social scandal yet . The brushstroke on a painting out of place with the others .
Tainting the perfect image .
In a way she was like my mother .
Life was often unfair and she unfortunately often became a victim of this unfairness .
But aren't we all.
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