you could do for yourself right now is to throw that damn book in the trash.”
“Everybody in this damn house moons around about death all the time,” I said. “I’m not the one you should be calling sick. Why don’t you go talk to Mom about being sick? She doesn’t even talk to anybody anymore. Don’t you even care that she doesn’t talk to anybody anymore?”
“You don’t know anything about it, Daniel,” my dad said.
And he turned on his heel and went out to the kitchen to get a beer.
“Shut up,” I said, but only after he was out of the room.
Sometimes I really hated my dad.
Anyway, before he had a chance to pay the nonrefundable tuition fee to his saving-me-from-burgers remedial school, I talked Jim Pilcher into hiring me to work at the blue-potato farm.
Back when Jim was all messed up and in rehab, Eli used to go see him a lot. I know because Eli and my dad had a fight about it.
I was under the dining-room table during the fight, playing with my Lego pirate ship, and the tablecloth was hanging down, so it was like a secret hideout. I used to spend a lot of time under that table. Also that pirate ship was cool. It had all these pirates with cutlasses, and a captain pirate with an eye patch and a parrot on his shoulder. I really loved that little parrot.
I was in the middle of burying a chest of plastic treasure under a plastic palm tree on a plastic island when I heard my dad say, “Eli, you’ve got to quit this crap. What the hell are you thinking? Cutting out of college to run over there all the time? Jesus, you got a
warning.
There was a letter sent here by some
dean.
What is this? Are you crazy?”
There were creaky noises that were from my dad walking back and forth across the floor like he does when he’s telling you how screwed up you are. The way the floorboards squeak in our front room is as good as a burglar alarm. At least that’s what my parents always said whenever I wanted a dog.
“Jim’s my best friend, Dad,” Eli said.
“Well, that kind of best friend doesn’t do you a single lick of good,” my dad said. “People judge you by your friends. Right now what you’ve got to do is get good grades, make good connections, and keep that scholarship. That’s what you’ve got to do, Eli. Jim’s not your responsibility. Jim’s already getting all the help he needs.”
“I’m not going to lose my scholarship,” Eli said.
“You’d better not,” my dad said. “That’s not a cheap school you’re at, Eli. Your mother and I can’t pay for that school. So I don’t want to hear any more about you cutting class. Not for Jim. He’s screwed up his life, and that’s his business, but I’m not about to watch you screw up yours. Do you hear me, Eli?”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Eli said.
“Good,” my dad said.
After my dad was gone, Eli came over to the table and kicked the tablecloth.
“You in there, Dan?” he said.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to be, but I said I guessed I was.
Eli hunkered down, pulled up the tablecloth, and poked his head underneath.
“You hear all that?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“I don’t know what you’ve got for a bunch of little runt drip-nose friends,” Eli said. “But if you ever get a real friend, you don’t wimp out when there’s trouble or he’s going through a bad patch and acting like a dick. You got that, Danny?”
He sounded pissed, but not at me. Also really serious.
“Dad’s mad,” I said. “That’s a hink-pink.”
“No shit, nitwit,” Eli said. “That’s a hinky-pinky. And when is it okay to say
shit
?”
“Never in front of Mom or Aunt Wendy and always when it has something to do with Timmy Sperdle,” I said.
“You got it, Captain Kidd,” Eli said. “Go back to your pieces of eight.”
He dropped the tablecloth and I heard his feet going, fast and angry, across the creaky floor, and then the front door slammed.
My dad still doesn’t like Jim.
Jim has long hair in a ponytail, and he wears Birkenstock
“Everybody in this damn house moons around about death all the time,” I said. “I’m not the one you should be calling sick. Why don’t you go talk to Mom about being sick? She doesn’t even talk to anybody anymore. Don’t you even care that she doesn’t talk to anybody anymore?”
“You don’t know anything about it, Daniel,” my dad said.
And he turned on his heel and went out to the kitchen to get a beer.
“Shut up,” I said, but only after he was out of the room.
Sometimes I really hated my dad.
Anyway, before he had a chance to pay the nonrefundable tuition fee to his saving-me-from-burgers remedial school, I talked Jim Pilcher into hiring me to work at the blue-potato farm.
Back when Jim was all messed up and in rehab, Eli used to go see him a lot. I know because Eli and my dad had a fight about it.
I was under the dining-room table during the fight, playing with my Lego pirate ship, and the tablecloth was hanging down, so it was like a secret hideout. I used to spend a lot of time under that table. Also that pirate ship was cool. It had all these pirates with cutlasses, and a captain pirate with an eye patch and a parrot on his shoulder. I really loved that little parrot.
I was in the middle of burying a chest of plastic treasure under a plastic palm tree on a plastic island when I heard my dad say, “Eli, you’ve got to quit this crap. What the hell are you thinking? Cutting out of college to run over there all the time? Jesus, you got a
warning.
There was a letter sent here by some
dean.
What is this? Are you crazy?”
There were creaky noises that were from my dad walking back and forth across the floor like he does when he’s telling you how screwed up you are. The way the floorboards squeak in our front room is as good as a burglar alarm. At least that’s what my parents always said whenever I wanted a dog.
“Jim’s my best friend, Dad,” Eli said.
“Well, that kind of best friend doesn’t do you a single lick of good,” my dad said. “People judge you by your friends. Right now what you’ve got to do is get good grades, make good connections, and keep that scholarship. That’s what you’ve got to do, Eli. Jim’s not your responsibility. Jim’s already getting all the help he needs.”
“I’m not going to lose my scholarship,” Eli said.
“You’d better not,” my dad said. “That’s not a cheap school you’re at, Eli. Your mother and I can’t pay for that school. So I don’t want to hear any more about you cutting class. Not for Jim. He’s screwed up his life, and that’s his business, but I’m not about to watch you screw up yours. Do you hear me, Eli?”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Eli said.
“Good,” my dad said.
After my dad was gone, Eli came over to the table and kicked the tablecloth.
“You in there, Dan?” he said.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to be, but I said I guessed I was.
Eli hunkered down, pulled up the tablecloth, and poked his head underneath.
“You hear all that?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“I don’t know what you’ve got for a bunch of little runt drip-nose friends,” Eli said. “But if you ever get a real friend, you don’t wimp out when there’s trouble or he’s going through a bad patch and acting like a dick. You got that, Danny?”
He sounded pissed, but not at me. Also really serious.
“Dad’s mad,” I said. “That’s a hink-pink.”
“No shit, nitwit,” Eli said. “That’s a hinky-pinky. And when is it okay to say
shit
?”
“Never in front of Mom or Aunt Wendy and always when it has something to do with Timmy Sperdle,” I said.
“You got it, Captain Kidd,” Eli said. “Go back to your pieces of eight.”
He dropped the tablecloth and I heard his feet going, fast and angry, across the creaky floor, and then the front door slammed.
My dad still doesn’t like Jim.
Jim has long hair in a ponytail, and he wears Birkenstock
Similar Books
