by Christopher Wachlin
I get a job, but my brother visits for supper and my parents don’t care about my news. And he’s not being nice about it. And all my parents keep saying is I have two days.
They want me out of the house by the 30th, but I’m only nineteen. I don’t have a high school diploma. My dad says there’s nothing to talk about. I have to be out and that’s it.
“Sure, Dad. It will be my pleasure.” Some prick waiter said that at my cousin’s wedding.
But my parents go back to talking with my brother like I’m not there. Whenever I try to talk they interrupt me.
“You’ll feel stupid,” I shout, “when you hear what else I did today. I downloaded GED stuff from Bay Bekahl College.”
Now instead of interrupting they don’t say anything. I wait. Nothing. They don’t care.
“You don’t care.”
“Travis,” my mom finally says, pushing her glasses up on her nose and brushing crumbs from her Tahoe sweatshirt, “we talked about this. It’s too late.” [Read more…]
