Paranoid Park by Blake Nelson Page A

kitchen.
    The garage was cold that night. I sat on the step and watched my father dig through the big storage closet. When he stood up, he held a small, single-burner Coleman stove. My heart sank when I saw that. We had used it when Henry and I and my dad went fishing two summers ago. It was the last thing we did together before everything fell apart.
    Looking at that Coleman stove, I had a strange thought: I might need that. But for what? When I ran away? When I tried to camp my way to Canada?
    “Hello there,” said my dad, when he noticed me watching him.
    “Hey,” I said back.
    He saw me looking at the Coleman stove. “I wondered where this was,” he said.
    “Are you going to take that?”
    “I’m just going to borrow it. Uncle Tommy and I are going to the lake this weekend.”
    I sat and watched my dad in the fluorescent garage light.
    He set the camp stove down. He brushed the dust from his hands. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard, exactly. Or what your mother is telling you. I may not be coming back here anymore.”
    I killed someone, Dad. The words bounced through my head. I didn’t say them, of course.
    “We’re still, you know, discussing things,” he continued, “and trying to work out logistics. And do what’s best for you and Henry. It’s not easy trying to work with your mother. As I’m sure you know...”
    I nailed him with my board, Dad. I cracked him in the head.
    “... So I wanted to check in with you, see how you were doing,” he said calmly. “I mean, obviously it’s hard. It’s certainly not an ideal situation.” My dad studied the shelf in the storage closet as he said this. He was looking for other things he might need at the lake. “So, is there anything you want to say? Any considerations you have?”
    I watched him. He began to move paint cans to the side. He found a flashlight.
    “I don’t know,” I said. “Not really.”
    “Well... I guess that makes sense. The whole situation... is so difficult.” He stared into the front of the flashlight and tried the switch. It lit up. “How’s school, by the way? How are your classes?”
    “Okay.”
    “How are Parker and those guys?”
    “They’re fine.”
    “I saw Parker’s dad the other day at Outdoor World.”
    “Yeah?” I said.
    “You still skateboarding?”
    “Sometimes.”
    He set the flashlight next to the camp stove. Then he turned back into the closet.
    I killed someone, Dad. He attacked me, but I kept my head and waited for my moment and I took him out. Could you do that, Dad? If you had to?
    He dug through some gardening stuff. I cleared my throat and stood up. “I actually have some homework,” I said.
    He looked at me. He shrugged helplessly. “I’m really sorry about this, son. I really am. I never wanted something like this to happen.”
    “I know the feeling,” I said back.
    “All I really want to say is ... Well... if there’s anything I can do ... any way I can help you...”
    “Can you bring the stove back?” I asked.
    He gave me a surprised look. “What are you going to do with it?”
    “I dunno. Go camping.”
    “Yeah, sure, I’ll bring it back,” he said.
    But I didn’t think he would.

    The next day at school, I slipped into the library before class and grabbed the newspaper. I took it to one of the back tables so the librarian wouldn’t see me. I flipped through it slowly, scanning each page. I looked for anything—accidents, deaths. A Hispanic man had been hit by a car in Hillsboro. A house burned down in Northeast. A mayor of a small town on the coast had taken some bribes for something. And of course there was tons of stuff about the new Trail Blazers coach.
    But nothing else. I folded up the paper and put it back without letting the librarian see me. Then I went to class.
    Before lunch that day, a bunch of people played football in the back parking lot. I got on Parker’s team, and he threw me three touchdown passes. We kicked ass.