by Claire Adams
Rob left the skate park after he talked to Mia, but that doesn’t mean he’s home. If he’s not, though, I guess I’ll just have to track the bastard down.
Fortunately for me, though, when I get to Rob’s door a long ride into his shitty neighborhood later, I don’t have to knock my knuckles bloody waiting for him to answer the door.
“Jesus!” he says, flinging open the door. “You don’t have to pound the fucking thing down. Shit!”
“What’d you say to Mia?” I ask.
In the back of my mind, I think I had it pretty well mapped out that I was going to start off willing to listen and only go hostile if he gave me a reason to, but yeah. That’s out the window.
“Calm down, bro,” he says. “Want a beer?”
“What’d you say to her?” I ask. “We just started getting past the fucking hard-to-get thing, and when I just called her a little while ago, the only thing she had to say to me was that it was over. You talked to her at the skate park. What the fuck did you say?”
“Relax, man,” he says. “I started off by telling her you’d told me good things. I was very copasthetic.”
“Copacetic,” I correct, “not that that’s even the right fucking word. What else did you tell her?”
“I told her some of what you told me last night, man,” he says. “I thought you’d told her he was an inch from cutting you off. I wasn’t rude or anything, I just wanted to make sure she was willing to actually stick with you through shit if and when pops took back his check book.”
“That wasn’t your call to make,” I tell him. “You should have talked to me about it if you were that worried.”
“I’ve tried, but to be fair, you have been a bit of a self-important dickfuck recently,” Rob says.
“I’m really not in the mood, Rob,” I tell him. “I want you to get on the phone and take back whatever the fuck it is you said to Mia to get her so freaked out. It wasn’t your fucking business talking to her about that shit anyway.”
“Dude, I don’t know if you know this,” Rob says, “but you’ve got your head up your ass, and I don’t just mean about your girly there. Saw you at the park still adding to the scars and bruises—I admire the get up and fucking go, but let’s be real, man. You don’t have your shit together and that bitch was just going to screw your fucking head until—”
I’ve never punched someone in the face before now, and I have to tell you, it hurts a lot more than the movies would have you think.
My head’s suddenly in a different position and it’s a couple of seconds before it really dawns on me that Rob just hit me back. With that realization comes the pain of the impact and the fucking urge for greater revenge, so I smash him across the face again with a left and then with a right.
I manage to get him off balance, and I take the opportunity to put every fucking drop of my righteous indignation into a hard right hand into his stupid, talk-too-much mouth.
He falls backward, but just as quickly is back on his feet, telling me to get the fuck off his porch.
“You know what, man?” I ask, grabbing him by the shirt. “You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?”
“I was trying to do you a fucking favor,” Rob says. “She was having you humiliate yourself up there and we both know you’re never going to be ready for that stupid fucking competition—not with her at the wheel anyway.”
“You’re a real piece of shit,” I repeat.
“Get the fuck off my porch,” he repeats and, there being no other business to attend at the moment, I put my middle finger about an inch from his swollen, stupid fucking face and I walk away, picking up my board as I come down the steps. “Yeah,” Rob says behind me, “you’re a real badass, starting a fight with someone who’s just trying to look after you, you fucking prick!”
I just keep walking. If I don’t, there’s a real possibility that next time it’s not going to be my fist smashing into his face, it’s going to be the trucks of my fucking skateboard, and I can really see the consequences of that getting a little out of hand.
By the time I get back home, I’m more pissed than ever and the pain of Rob’s repeated blows to my beautiful, beautiful face is starting to sink in.
I just hope dad’s not home.
That hope is quickly dashed as I open the front door and walk into the living room to find him sitting on the couch, reading a book.
“What the hell happened to you?” dad asks, putting down his book and getting to his feet.
“I got in a bit of a fight,” I tell him. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?!” dad responds, already screaming. “That is it, Ian. I have had enough. I have tried to help you, I’ve tried to support you, I’ve given you every opportunity and still, after I’ve talked to you endlessly about this nowhere lifestyle of yours, you just keep going back. Well, enough is enough.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“I don’t think you’re ever going to take me seriously until I follow through, and I think the time for me to do that is right now, this moment,” he says. “Ian, I want you to find somewhere else to live.”
“Oh, fuck off, dad,” I tell him. “Mia broke up with me. You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
“She did this to you?” he asks.
“No,” I sigh. “She didn’t do this to me.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, starting to pace in front of me. “This is not how you were raised, and I’m not going to support you so long as you’re doing what you’re doing. It’s great the girl finally came to her senses, but until you’ve not only given up the girl, but the board and that whole lifestyle, I think it’s best that you see what it’s like out there on your own for a little while.”
“Fine,” I tell him. “I don’t need your fucking money. I’m out of here.”
Dad flipped off? Check.
Door slammed hard behind me? Check.
Take anything with me but the skateboard in my hand, the clothes on my back and the few random items in those clothes? Nope.
Oh well. I’m not going back in there now.
I’ll give him a call tomorrow or something and I’ll get my shit. Yeah, I’ll move out, but if he thinks I’m going to stop coming by to check on mom, he’s more out of touch with reality than I thought.
The shitty thing is that I have no idea where I’m going.
Most of my friends are just random people I know from the park. The only ones I really spend all that much time with are Rob and Nick, but Nick lives in a studio with barely enough room for him and Rob—I guess I probably don’t need much of an explanation there.
I pull the phone out of my pocket and start going through numbers, but nobody’s jumping out at me as a particularly realistic option. In my mind, there are at least a few of my friends and acquaintances who live either by themselves or with a roommate who would be okay with me crashing for a bit, but every possibility becomes impossible as soon as I read the name.
It’s really just Rob, unless I want to curl up with Nick on his futon.
The throbbing in my right cheekbone, my bottom lip and the area around my left eye are still doing a pretty good job convincing me not to head straight back to Robs right now, though.
I’m homeless. I no longer have a home.
It’s an odd situation, but it’s only fair for Rob to let me stay at his place. When it really comes down to it, my getting kicked out and cut off so close to the competition are direct results of Rob’s actions.
Maybe I’ll be able to convince Rob to let me stay with him, maybe not. Regardless, I’m going to need a job, and I’m going to need one fast.
Even if Rob does choose to have a short memory about our spat, he’s not going to let me live there very long if I’m not chipping in and, as my main source of income has just been removed, that means I’m going to have to get something together, and quick.
This really couldn’t have happened at a worse time.
I turn the co
rner onto Rob’s street, and as I come closer to his house, I can see him sitting on his front porch, smoking a cigarette.
Hopefully we can do this without coming to blows again, but I guess we’ll just have to see.
Things don’t start off so well, as Rob’s on his feet as soon as he sees me coming.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he shouts. “Stay away!”
“Yeah, so our little tiff got me cut off and kicked out,” I tell him, hoping the nonchalant approach will help ease tensions. “I’m staying with you.”
“Sounds shitty,” he says. “Not my problem.”
“Yeah, it kind of is,” I tell him, “as it’s pretty much your fault from start to finish.”
“You can’t blame me for your dad’s bullshit. He’s had that stick up his ass as long as I’ve known you,” Rob says.
“Longer,” I respond, “but come on, man. I’ve got nowhere else to go. Do you really think I’d be here asking to bunk with you after kicking your ass if I had other options?”
He scoffs and shakes his head. “I think you got part of your little story backwards, there, bro,” he says. “I do believe it was me who kicked your ass.”
“Look at your fucking face, dude,” I tell him.
“Look at yours,” he says.
“Okay, neither one of us is going to end up on a magazine cover for about a week, so what?” I ask. “We fought. It doesn’t even matter who won. It’s over.”
“You’ve got some balls, I’ll give you that,” he says.
“I do,” I tell him. “Two, last time I counted, but a couple more may have sprouted up on the walk over here.”
“You’re pretty fucking weird, man,” he says.
“That’ll just make things more entertaining around the house,” I tell him. “Come on, man. I really have nowhere else to go and it was your artwork on my face that put my dad over the edge.”
“I can’t afford to take on a freeloader,” Rob says. “I’m sorry about what happened with your dad and everything, but I got bills and shit, bro. Unless you’ve got some way to chip in your fair share, I can’t do it.”
“I get that,” I tell him. “Just give me a week or two to find a job, and I promise I’ll pay my portion of whatever.”
“I don’t know, man,” he says. “I’m pretty pissed at you right now.”
“I’m pretty pissed at you, too,” I tell him. “You’re kind of an asshole.”
“Oh yeah,” he says. “Talk sweet to me.”
“Do you really think I’d be asking if I had anywhere else to go?” I ask.
His bottom lip comes up a bit and he’s looking up and off into the distance.
“Rob?” I ask.
“Yeah?” he returns, holding his general position.
“You all right, man? Your eyes are kind of glazing over,” I tell him.
“You’re going to have to sleep on the couch,” he says.
“Done,” I answer.
“Under no circumstances are you allowed to beat off on my couch,” he says.
“That’s not a problem.”
“If you have a chick over, you can take her to my room, but only if I’m not in there, you’re quiet, and you make sure my shit stays clean,” he says.
“Have you noticed most of your rules so far have been regarding how I’m expected to act with my penis?” I ask. “I wonder if that means something.”
“Shut the fuck up, dude,” he says. “I’m only considering taking you in ‘cause we’ve got history and shit. If I wasn’t such a nice guy, you wouldn’t even be standing there right now.”
“I appreciate it very much,” I tell him.
“All right,” he says. “Your ass gets a job, though. I know you’ve got the big comp comin’ up and all that, but I got bills and you’re another mouth to feed.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I tell him, even though I have no idea how. The animal shelter doesn’t pay me, and even if they did, they only ever call when they’re really overloaded.
“By the way,” Rob says. “I walk in my sleep, so make sure to keep the front door locked after I go to bed. I forgot a while ago and fucking woke up standing next to the train tracks.”
“It’s good to know how to kill you without ever having it come back to me,” I tell him. “I’ll keep the door locked.”
“Sometimes,” he says, “I, uh—well I’m not even sure that I do it, but my last gf, Jenn, the one with the big nose and the DSLs?”
“You really think I pay attention to the internet services of your exes?” I ask.
“Dick-sucking lips, bro,” he says, punching me in the shoulder. “Dick-sucking lips.”
“Okay, what about the girl with the DSLs?” I ask.
“Well,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “she always used to tell me that I scream in my sleep. I think she was just making it up as a guilt trip thing or whatever voodoo females do, but just in case she wasn’t, you know, don’t be like freaked out or anything.”
This is fucking rock bottom.
* * *
Last night was one of the most harrowing nights of my life.
I didn’t know this about Rob, but he’s started going to bed earlier. He says he saw something about it on the Discovery Channel, although he never mentioned exactly what “it” is.
It was going to be great. I was going to have the place to myself for a little while. I mean, not that I was going to tear shit up or anything, but I’d have some time, space and privacy to think.
For a little bit, being surrounded by empty beer cans, bottles and glasses, along with various fast food bags and other assorted detritus didn’t even seem like such a big deal. Maybe things weren’t ideal, but at least I had a nice evening in front of me.
Yeah, it was supposed to be a really positive thing.
Jenn wasn’t lying to him, though.
It began about two hours after he went to sleep. I was able to get through a whole movie before it started. That’s the good news.
The bad news is that after the movie was over, the credits were rolling and I was walking up to the Blu-ray player to take the disc out when I heard the most desperate, hate and fear-filled scream coming from Rob’s room.
I dropped whatever I had in my hand—I think it was the remote control, but my mind wasn’t really so good with details in that moment—and ran over, around and sometimes through the stacks of clutter Rob’s always too lazy to do anything about, trying to make it in time to save my asshole friend from whatever terrible thing was happening to him.
When I opened the door to his bedroom, though, the screaming stopped. Rob was just lying there in his bed, sound asleep.
Fight or flight died down enough for me to remember that Rob had warned me of this possibility, but I still flipped on a lamp and checked the room for bodies before I left him to sleep.
I got back out to the living room and sat on the only cleared-off piece of furniture in the house, and also my bed for the foreseeable future, the couch. It took me a while to get my pulse to ease its pace from Flight of the Bumblebee to Moonlight Sonata, but eventually, my eyes started to close and I started to drift off to sleep.
My mind and body were ready to check out for the night right until I heard the shuffle of someone walking through the apartment.
“Could you just try to keep it quiet?” I asked him. “I’m trying to sleep.”
There was no answer.
Maybe he was just passing through on his way to the bathroom, or to the kitchen for a late snack. That’s what I was thinking, or at very least, hoping.
When I didn’t hear the footsteps ever make a return trip, I finally decided to open my eyes and Rob was standing over me, his eyes open, but blank somehow. It was like he was looking through me.
“You all right, man?” I asked.
He just kept staring at me.
Sleepwalking.
He’d warned me for this, too, but it didn’t dawn on me, the various and startling reality of actually hav
ing to be in an apartment with him.
Maybe it wouldn’t have been such a shock to my system if Rob wasn’t all banged up from our fight earlier in the day. For whatever reason, seeing him standing over me like that screamed of some sort of revenge, but he just stood there quietly.
“Rob?” I tried again.
His gaze had started to drift, but he focused on me in that moment. He opened his mouth to speak.
“Do you think this will meet the dress code down at the club?” Rob asked. “I never can tell whether these restaurants are going to require me to wear a jacket. Terribly uncomfortable things, they are.”
I think that was the most horrifying part of the whole night, hearing him talk like some blueblood with a much better command of the language than I thought Rob could even process.
Apparently, that file’s just too large to run while he’s conscious.
“Go back to bed, Rob,” I told him. “We can talk about it in the morning.”
Three more times I woke up last night to find Rob standing over me, always in a different spot.
I didn’t sleep.
Now, it’s almost noon and I’m riding down to the skate park to clear my head.
I don’t know what the hell I’d do if I didn’t skate. I’d probably lose it entirely.
The park’s animated with about a dozen skaters and about as many skate groupies. I never really got the appeal of being a groupie. Rather than simply be close to someone who you greatly admire, why not become someone that can be admired?
Probably just a personality thing.
I ollie the curb and skate right into the park. There are a few people I know around, some acquaintances and the like, but I’m not really in the mood to stop and chat.
There’s a growing chance that I might actually kill Rob.
All right, it’s still a tiny chance, but it is growing.
I drop in on a quarter pipe and plot my course, making sure to avoid all the other assholes out here with something to prove.
I’ve got decent speed as I come to a rail and a quick nollie puts me in a crooked grind I ride all the way to the end, coming off of it with a 180.
It was good of Rob to finally relent and let me stay with him, but I don’t know if I can psychologically handle staying there for very long. Right now, I think my only hope is to work my ass off and win this competition—you know what? Who am I kidding?