American Dreamer

by Shawn Wesley Ballenger

  “Dude. Are you smoking?”

  “No.” Brandon lied, knowing Tommy absolutely hated his habit.

  Brandon had smoked for several years but stopped when Cam was born. Only recently had he picked up the bad habit again.

  “Those fucking things will kill you, man.”

  “We’re all going to die somehow.” Brandon took a long drag. “Might as well be from cancer.”

  “Dude. Where did that come from?” Tommy was taken aback by his best friend’s cavalier use of such morbid humor.

  “Forget it, man. Just a shitty day.” Brandon exhaled, the smoke rising towards the ceiling. “I’m just feeling down.”

  “All the more reason for you to come tomorrow night.” Tommy insisted.

  “It’s my weekend with Cam.” Tommy tried using his usual excuse.

  “Bring him along.”

  “Right, dude. Like I see him when he’s here.” Brandon scoffed as he thought about the previous weekend with his son.

  Because Cam had a football game on Friday night, he arrived Saturday around noon. Brandon thought taking him to his favorite childhood restaurant, Ariana’s Pizzeria, would bring back memories of the good times they used to have together and be a sort of bonding experience, but it was a complete disaster. Brandon tried asking him about football and school, but Cam gave only one- or two-word answers while texting the entire time. Finally, Brandon asked him to put his phone away. He was met with an angry stare as his son slammed the phone face down on the table. The pizza arrived, and Brandon tried to break the tension by recalling the time Cam ate so much Ariana’s he threw up in his mother’s Mercedes. Cam didn’t even smile. He was too preoccupied with the non-stop dinging his phone was making. Finally, Brandon gave up and told him to answer it. After lunch, Cam went to his friend Logan’s house and wasn’t seen until Sunday afternoon when the ‘visit’ was over.

  “Dude. You need to put your foot down. Make him stay.” Tommy’s voice on the other end of the line interrupted Brandon’s thoughts.

  “He hates me anyway.” Brandon took another drag.

  “He doesn’t hate you.” Tommy sighed. “You just got to figure out how to talk to him. Talk about girls and cars. You know shit like that?”

  Typical Tommy. Giving parenting advice when he had no kids of his own, thought Brandon.

  “I’ve tried that. Believe me.” Brandon stressed. “He blames me for the divorce, just like his mother.” He laid his cigarette in the ashtray.

  “Marcia’s poisoned him against you. I knew she was a bitch the day you married her.” Tommy replied, recalling how Marcia had asked him to keep his reception toast 'tasteful’ before the wedding.

  “I know. But you know how Dad was?” Brandon asked, recalling how his father pressured him into marrying the former Miss Teen Arizona, claiming she would make a ‘fine wife,’ seeing as she was the daughter of a Baptist minister. He thought about the day he met Marcia back in college at an Honor Society banquet when the beautiful blonde hair, blue-eyed beauty contest winner came onto him. Although he knew he was gay, he knew his homosexuality would never be accepted by his father or most of society in general. That was back in the late eighties, and the whole nation was gripped in fear over the AIDS crisis. So, he returned her advances. She was very sweet and innocent back then, or so he had thought at the time. Later, he realized that wasn’t the case at all. Their relationship was okay for a few years until Cam came along, and Brandon pretty much lost interest in her. He was discovering his true self but stuck with her for the sake of Cam. By the time Cam was fourteen, he was sick of the charade. It was then that he decided he no longer wanted to be married to her and asked for a divorce. Marcia wasn’t happy about it, as she enjoyed the financial security being married to Brandon provided. Brandon got his divorce, but it cost him a fortune, and Marcia remained bitter about it.

  Tommy huffed, bringing Brandon back to the present.

  “Yeah. I remember how your father was.” Tommy replied, practically snarling at the thought of how awful Brandon’s father had been.

  Brandon sighed as he laid back on the couch. “Sometimes I just wish that I could do it all over again.”

  “Not marry Marcia?”

  “Not just Marcia. All of it.” Brandon paused. “Can you imagine being seventeen again? No adult responsibilities? Having fun? Being in high school with your whole future ahead of you? Getting to choose what you want to do, where you want to go, or who you want to be with?” Brandon asked dreamily.

  “I suppose. But dude, I remember what high school was like. The rules, having to fit in, not knowing what you’re going to do after graduation. I wouldn’t want to do it again. I’m happy being an adult.” Tommy paused. “And you should be, too, Brand. Look at us? We achieved the American Dream, look at all those assholes who used to make fun of us for being geeks in high school. Most of them are meth heads still living in that shithole town back in Georgia.”

  “I suppose.” Brandon turned to lay fully on the couch, stretching out his legs.

  “Exactly. So, you’ve had some bad shit happen. Think how better your life is going to be without Marcia? Hell, man. You’re a catch. Look at you! You went from a weak chubby geek to a strong bulked-up geek,” Tommy laughed.

  “I guess.” Brandon shrugged as he kicked his sneakers off.

  “Don’t guess, just know. Tomorrow night. My house. Barbecue. Be there.”

  “I’ll try.” A cautious smile found its way to Brandon’s lips.

  After hanging up with Tommy, Brandon stared at the ceiling, thinking about his high school days. He pulled himself up and walked over to the bookshelf next to the fireplace and scanned the shelves until he found the book with the blue and gold binding. Pulling it from its permanent residence amongst the historical relics of bygone days, he glanced at the cover which read: Centerpoint High School Hornets 1988. He sat back down and thumbed through the pages until he came to the Chess Club page. He smiled at the five-foot-eleven, greasy haired, acne-faced, slightly chubby teenage boy with thick, black-rimmed glasses standing in the front row. What a geek. He smiled. Standing next to him was a tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, bean pole with feathered hair, dressed in a black sports coat, skinny-tie, and white Nike high tops. Tommy always had his own unique style. Brandon laughed. Memories of days long ago that could never be lived again, except in his mind, filled his head. Such good times, he thought to himself again before closing the book and pitching it on the table. He laid back on the couch and was soon fast asleep.

  Chapter Two

  Friday afternoon, Brandon had taken a couple of hours off work to drive Cam to the orthodontist. The palpable silence in the car was nearly suffocating. Cam was utilizing his earbuds in an effort to avoid any conversation with his father. For the first half of the car ride, Brandon pretended he didn’t realize his son was ignoring him, but he finally found he couldn’t take any more of the tense silence. He tapped Cam on his leg to get his attention.

  Cam looked up from his phone.

  “Yeah?” He pulled out a single earbud, not bothering to try and hide his annoyance at the interruption.

  “How exactly did you lose your retainer?” Brandon asked as he turned on his right turn signal.

  “Echo took it,” Cam answered as he laid his phone face down on his knee.

  “The dog ate your retainer? Seriously, son?”

  “He does shit like that.” Cam shrugged as he returned his earbud to his ear.

  Brandon tapped his arm.

  “What?” Cam rolled his eyes as he pulled out his earbud once more.

  “That’s a five-hundred-dollar piece of metal and plastic.” Brandon frowned, glancing at his son out of the corner of his eye.

  “Not my fault.” Cam offered no further details as he stared at his earbud, obviously wondering if he could return his earbud to his ear and not be interrupted again.

  “Where did you last see it?”

  “I don’t know.” Cam’s shoulders rose and fell again. “Look,
can we just drop this? It’s gone. I don’t know what happened to it.”

  “Fine,” Brandon growled.

  He wanted to keep pushing, but he could tell from Cam’s annoyed attitude—which was becoming increasingly typical—that he wasn’t going to get anywhere.

  The interior of the car was drowned in silence again.

  A few minutes passed before Brandon tapped Cam on his leg once again, hoping he could start a conversation with him.

  “So, how’s football?” He asked, hoping that getting Cam on his favorite subject would get his son talking. At least maybe Cam would talk about some of his victories, even though Brandon had missed most of the games due to the fact that he had been ‘working.’

  Cam removed the earbud once again. “What, Dad?” He snapped, not turning to look at him, but instead staring straight ahead, his face emotionless.

  “I asked how’s football?” Brandon repeated.

  “It’s fine.” Cam stared at the white stripes on the road as they whipped by the car.

  “How it working out as quarterback?”

  “Good.” Cam continued to answer like a child’s pull-string doll that had only a handful of programmed responses.

  “How are you and Gina?”

  “Okay”

  “How are your classes?” Brandon kept pulling the string.

  “Good,” Cam said, still watching the road stripes that had since turned yellow.

  “Damnit, Cam!” Brandon exploded. “Why won’t you fucking talk to me?”

  “Why are you even pretending to be interested in my life? It’s not like you really care.” Cam screamed back as he reached up to yank his other earbud out.

  “I do care!”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  “Damnit, Cam. I’m trying!” Brandon pleaded, trying to glance at his son while keeping his eyes on the road.

  “Trying, Dad? You stopped trying five years ago!” Cam yelled and threw his hands up in frustration.

  “I had some…problems.” Brandon lowered his head, ashamed of how he allowed his mid-life crisis to affect his relationship with his son.

  “Yeah, Dad. It’s always about you!” Cam’s voice continued to rise as his cheeks grew red. “The hell with me and Mom. You just threw us out like fucking garbage while you tried to ‘find yourself.’”

  “I never threw you out! Your mother and I grew apart. We weren’t in love anymore.” Brandon replied though it wasn’t exactly the truth. His interest in his wife had completely disappeared years before.

  “Yeah, because you were too busy with your damn mid-life crisis!” Cam gripped the dash with one hand as he turned to face his father.

  “That had nothing to do with it.” Brandon shook his head.

  “Oh yeah, Dad? What’s this fucking sports car?” Cam gestured grandly. “I’m sure you had a twenty-year-old piece of ass on the side. Isn’t that what happens to men in mid-life crises? They want a woman half their age to prove they still ‘got it’?”

  Brandon jerked the car to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes, causing them both to jerk forward, only their seatbelts keeping their heads from connecting with the windshield or dash.

  “You do not talk to me that way!” Brandon jabbed a finger in his son’s face. “I never cheated on your mother.”

  “I’m not stupid, Dad. I can tell you regretted marrying Mom and having me.” Cam indignantly, yet fearfully, locked eyes with his angry father.

  “I have never regretted having you!” Brandon shook with anger.

  “Well, you could have fooled me.” Cam snapped his head forward to stare at the road ahead.

  Brandon’s eyes darted back and forth between his son and the road.

  “Fuck, Cam.” He sighed, his eyes beginning to glisten. “I’m trying my best to be involved in your life. I don’t know what to say to you anymore.”

  “Why don’t you just quit trying?” Cam turned his head back towards his Dad again. “You know you and I have absolutely nothing in common. You haven’t been a father to me in years. You never come to my games or my award banquets.”

  “I um…” Brandon trailed off, having no excuse other than the fact he didn’t place much value in athletics and had convinced himself that Brandon wouldn’t want him there anyway.

  “Just save it, Dad. You think I’m a dumb jock. I’m not as dumb as you think I am.” Cam fell back into his seat. “Did you know I won the Award of Achievement in American History for the highest grade in class last year?”

  “You did?” Brandon’s brow rose in amazement.

  “Yeah, Dad. I did.” Cam mumbled.

  “I didn’t know. You never show me your grades. Your mother always handled that.” Brandon responded in like fashion, mentally going over all the ways he had been neglectful in the past.

  “Yeah, Dad. She did. Because you didn’t care, and don’t sit there and tell me you did, because I know you didn’t.”

  Brandon sighed, trying to collect his thoughts. “Cam. Listen. I’ve been having —”

  “Yeah, yeah. Your problems. Well, Dad, why don’t you stop dwelling on your ‘miserable’ life and start thinking about someone else for a change?”

  “Cam, I love you. I do think about you.”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Dad.”

  “But, Cam—"

  “I told you I don’t want to hear it.” Cam snapped.

  “Come on, buddy,” Brandon begged. “Let’s sit down tonight over a couple of beers. We’ll have a long talk and work this out.”

  Brandon thought maybe the ‘buddy approach’ might be a more effective method for getting his son to open up to him without anger being at the forefront.

  “I’m going to Logan’s after we’re done with this,” Cam answered sharply, stuffing an earbud into his ear.

  “Tommy and Kathy are having a barbecue tonight, and I want you to go with me.”

  “I’m going to Logan’s house.” Cam reached for his second earbud.

  “No. You’re going to the barbecue.” Brandon’s snarled.

  “I’m going to Logan’s house,” Cam stated with finality, holding the second earbud inches from his ear as he stared straight ahead.

  “I am your father, and I said you’re going to the damn barbecue, or I’m taking the keys to the truck I bought you.”

  Cam turned his head to look at his father, his eyes slits of rage. “God, I hate you!”

  Brandon felt like someone had just stabbed him in the chest. He tried to maintain his composure but felt tears welling up in his eyes. His son hated him. He looked away as Cam finally stuffed the earbud in his ear in an effort to ignore him.

  Brandon sat there, stunned at what had just transpired, having to force himself to put the car back into gear and slowly pull back onto the highway.

  The car fell silent.

  Around eight o’clock that evening, Brandon was drunkenly running his hand over the adobe-textured wall of his best friend’s house. Voices and laughter from inside of the house reached his ears as his hand finally connected with smooth metal. Brandon pushed the doorbell, nearly toppling over and dropping the six-pack of Coronas held at his side like ambrosia. As if on a broken record loop, his son’s venom-laced words rang in his head.

  God, I hate you! God, I hate you! God, I hate you!

  He raised his fist to pound at the door impatiently; anything to drown out the noise in his head, but the door opened before he could complete the action.

  A tall, fit, blonde man nearing the half-century mark opened the door. The distinguished greying temples and short blonde beard did nothing to distract from the playful grilling apron, which proclaimed: “May I suggest the sausage?” To complete the joke, an arrow below the lettering pointed in a southerly direction.

  “Hey, man!” Tommy crowed in greeting.

  “The Tom-Man!” Brandon yelled drunkenly as he stumbled toward Tommy.

  “Woah, buddy! Looks like someone has already started the party.” Tommy laughed, grabbing Brandon by the
shoulders to steady him, pretending to not be concerned with his drunkenness.

  “Hell yeah!” Brandon yelled, then remembered the six-pack in his hand, shoving it forcefully at his friend.

  Tommy grunted as the full six-pack struck his chest, surprised at seeing his best friend drunker than he had seen him in years.

  “Come on in. The party’s in the back.” Tommy stood clear of the door and gestured for Brandon to enter.

  Brandon stumbled through the door and tripped down the two steps that led into the sunken living room. He caught himself on the decorative iron railing, managing to avoid falling flat on his face.

  “Steady, dude. Are you okay?” Tommy rushed forward again to help him but stopped when he saw that Brandon had steadied himself.

  Brandon turned to his friend, grinning drunkenly. “I’m here to celebrate my last day at DataTech!”

  Tommy’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “Yep. Fired!” Tommy clicked his tongue and winked before stumbling backward a few feet.

  “How?” Tommy’s jaw dropped.

  “I told Steve to go to hell.” Brandon laughed to keep from crying, as he remembered returning from Cam’s orthodontist appointment and being called into Steve’s office to hear him rant about a piece of code he’d written that caused the monthly ledger to be off six-thousand dollars. It was a simple coding error, but the simple error caught the attention of the Chief Financial Officer, who alerted the Vice-President of IT, who alerted the Director, which went further down the chain of command until it fell on Brandon’s boss as being responsible. Steve, in turn, gave Brandon an ass-chewing for the programming mistake.

  “Why?” Tommy could not imagine his best friend losing his cool, especially at work. No matter how bad things got at his miserable job, he never lost his temper.

  “I don’t want to talk about.” Brandon grabbed one of the beers. “I’m here to party! Where’s the damn bottle opener?” He yelled belligerently as he looked towards the patio, and the guests milling around.

  “It’s outside.” Tommy followed Brandon’s eyes.

  “Fuck it!” Brandon stumbled towards the coffee table, placed the bottle against it, popped the cap off, jerked his head back, and took a long swig.