Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
I didn’t want to go back to the television. I’d had enough of that. The sun wasn’t up yet, so the apartment was filled with electric light. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with myself. If I had twenty-four hours in a day and I was awake for most of them, I was going to need a hobby or maybe a video game console. I had a little bit of money left that I could use to pick up a used machine at a yard sale or something.
The problem with money was that once it ran out, I didn’t have a way to get more. I had a small disability check from the Army, but it wouldn’t be enough to survive on. I had landed here in Singer’s Ridge because I was out of options. If I wanted to be able to escape again, I had to find a job.
The grocery store came to mind. Maybe I could stock shelves. This injured leg would be a problem though. I needed a job that didn’t require me to stand all day long. That put restaurants and construction out of the running. I wasn’t any good at typing, and I didn’t have any education past high school. For the life of me, I couldn’t think of a single possibility.
Maybe I can stop by the library, I thought with a sigh. Maybe the librarian would have some ideas or at least a lead I could follow. The coffee pot beeped, letting me know it was ready. I poured myself a cup and sat down at the kitchen table. I didn’t have any cream or sugar, but I preferred it black. Sipping slowly, I was pleased to find it was a good brew, better than the kind offered by either the hospital or the Army.
I was just sitting, staring off into space, when there was a knock at the basement door. I frowned. No one knew I was in town, aside from my landlady and a handful of people I had seen walking from the bus station. Even if someone did know I was back, how had they traced me there?
I stood up, my bum leg aching. I crossed to the door without using my cane. I could maneuver fine in an enclosed space without assistance. It was just when the muscles had to be engaged for any length of time that I needed something to lean on.
I had almost talked myself into believing that someone was here looking for the previous tenant when I opened the door and came face to face with my dad.
He looked older and shorter than he had when I last saw him. The first was to be expected, and the second? Well, I guessed it was because I had gotten bigger. He wasn’t so old that he had shrunk. Growing up, my dad had been the most imposing figure in my life. We didn’t agree on a lot of things, mostly my grades and my bad habits. I had been a kid, trying to figure myself out. I didn’t like school, and I was no good at it, but my dad wouldn’t let it go. He kept hounding me about my grades, talking up college as if it were the only destination outside of high school. He wanted me to transfer to community college in Nashville, to go into business or something, get a steady gig and settle down. But between my mom’s addiction and the constant back and forth between my siblings and I, getting the hell out of Dodge was the best option.
Even back then, I had trouble sleeping. I had all this negative energy that just consumed me, making it difficult to sit still and even harder to pay attention. I knew I was a disappointment to him, and that only drove the wedge between us deeper. We had frequent screaming matches, but I stuck it out until I graduated. I thought he would be happy that I hadn’t dropped out or gotten involved in drugs like my mother and older brother had. But he had his sights set higher.
The day after I graduated high school, I visited the recruiting station, and just a week later, I was shipped off to basic training. I often thought of him at night when I couldn’t sleep. Lying on my cot over there in Afghanistan, I wondered what Dad was doing and if he was still married to my stepmom. I wondered if Gina and George had ever come around after Mom died, or if they were still estranged as they had been when I left. Every time I faced death, I thought about him. I wondered how the Army would break the news and how he would take it.
Would he cry? Would he finally be proud if I gave my life in service to my country? Or would he think it was a waste and continue to berate me for my choices even after I was gone? A lot of the guys got care packages from their parents—candy and chips and even silly string when word got out that the party product would help detect IEDs. I never got anything.