Crash Test Love Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Ted Michael
al up for a girl? Would I have to? Could I have both: independence and a girlfriend? I have gone so long without being responsible for anyone’s happiness but my own that I don’t even know if such a thing is possible. Being happy with someone else. Being with someone else. The notion is completely foreign to me, like somewhere far, far away that can only be reached by a boat or a plane or a hot-air bal oon.
I wake to the sound of my father coming home; downstairs, Max barks in excited yips. I glance at the clock on my nightstand: 10:49 p.m. Is it too late to cal Garret ? I don’t even have her number.
DAD
Henry? You up?
ME
(yelling downstairs)
I am now!
I stumble to our kitchen. My father is rummaging through the fridge. Dad works a nance job in Manhat an. Good pay but crappy hours. He’s up early and gets back late.
DAD
Oh, there you are. How was school?
ME
Fine.
DAD
First day back, eh?
ME
Yup.
DAD
Hard classes?
ME
Sort of.
DAD
You’ll do ne. You always do.
That exchange, I think, pret y much sums up our relationship. We are not buddies and we are not friends. We are father and son, but we keep a safe distance from one another. He cares about me—I know that much—but he was so in love with my mother that when she left, it broke him. We are holding on to each other by threads, he and I, afraid that if we do or say anything too drastic, the threads wil unravel completely.
I watch him make a sandwich and open a cold beer. I imagine how this scene would play out in a Scorsese lm. Some dramatic underscoring? A shot with the brightness of the refrigerator il uminating the dark kitchen? A close-up of my face? Of his?
He goes to sit in the living room, and I hear him turn on the TV. There is nothing stopping me from joining him, but there is also nothing encouraging me to. This is our routine.
I go back upstairs and get ready for bed. I put on a fresh pair of boxers and a clean T-shirt that says the name of my elementary school on it. I turn on Raging Bul . I’m up to the part when DeNiro, who plays Jake LaMot a, a middleweight boxer, knocks down the door to the bathroom where his wife is hiding, demanding to know whether she had an a air with his brother (played by Joe Pesci). DeNiro is an animal and I love it.
I watch for about twenty minutes and then turn it o . Some people like to see movies from the beginning to the end. No interruptions. I get that, but if I have a choice, I like to watch them in pieces, to savor them, like an expensive steak or a good book.
My father has retreated to his bedroom; I can see the light underneath his door. The rest of the house is dark. I go into the hal way and wait, listening. I do this most nights. Sometimes, I hear nothing. Other times I hear sounds that make me wish I’d never listened in the rst place.
Grown men are not supposed to cry. Especial y fathers. They are supposed to be protectors; they are supposed to be strong. But my father is not strong. He is weak. On the outside he looks whole, but inside there are pieces missing, chunks of him that my mother scooped away and took with her when she left us. I’m going, baby. I’m sorry, but I have to go. One day she was there and the next she was not, and my father, who loved her with everything he had to love her with, slowly began to fade. Thanks to my mother, I have always known there is a di erence between loneliness and aloneness. I am alone, but my father is lonely. And if I had to choose one, I would rather be alone.
In my room, I put the Crasher Code back where it belongs. I am an idiot for wasting any time thinking about a girl named Garret who I barely know. Because there is one solid truth about women, and that is this: they never stay.
GARRETT
It takes three ful days before the J Squad asks me to have lunch with them. Part of me thought it would never happen. Overal , I am pleased.
Marilyn has basical y disappeared, and Erica, whose Sweet Sixteen I at ended, hangs out with a bunch of
I wake to the sound of my father coming home; downstairs, Max barks in excited yips. I glance at the clock on my nightstand: 10:49 p.m. Is it too late to cal Garret ? I don’t even have her number.
DAD
Henry? You up?
ME
(yelling downstairs)
I am now!
I stumble to our kitchen. My father is rummaging through the fridge. Dad works a nance job in Manhat an. Good pay but crappy hours. He’s up early and gets back late.
DAD
Oh, there you are. How was school?
ME
Fine.
DAD
First day back, eh?
ME
Yup.
DAD
Hard classes?
ME
Sort of.
DAD
You’ll do ne. You always do.
That exchange, I think, pret y much sums up our relationship. We are not buddies and we are not friends. We are father and son, but we keep a safe distance from one another. He cares about me—I know that much—but he was so in love with my mother that when she left, it broke him. We are holding on to each other by threads, he and I, afraid that if we do or say anything too drastic, the threads wil unravel completely.
I watch him make a sandwich and open a cold beer. I imagine how this scene would play out in a Scorsese lm. Some dramatic underscoring? A shot with the brightness of the refrigerator il uminating the dark kitchen? A close-up of my face? Of his?
He goes to sit in the living room, and I hear him turn on the TV. There is nothing stopping me from joining him, but there is also nothing encouraging me to. This is our routine.
I go back upstairs and get ready for bed. I put on a fresh pair of boxers and a clean T-shirt that says the name of my elementary school on it. I turn on Raging Bul . I’m up to the part when DeNiro, who plays Jake LaMot a, a middleweight boxer, knocks down the door to the bathroom where his wife is hiding, demanding to know whether she had an a air with his brother (played by Joe Pesci). DeNiro is an animal and I love it.
I watch for about twenty minutes and then turn it o . Some people like to see movies from the beginning to the end. No interruptions. I get that, but if I have a choice, I like to watch them in pieces, to savor them, like an expensive steak or a good book.
My father has retreated to his bedroom; I can see the light underneath his door. The rest of the house is dark. I go into the hal way and wait, listening. I do this most nights. Sometimes, I hear nothing. Other times I hear sounds that make me wish I’d never listened in the rst place.
Grown men are not supposed to cry. Especial y fathers. They are supposed to be protectors; they are supposed to be strong. But my father is not strong. He is weak. On the outside he looks whole, but inside there are pieces missing, chunks of him that my mother scooped away and took with her when she left us. I’m going, baby. I’m sorry, but I have to go. One day she was there and the next she was not, and my father, who loved her with everything he had to love her with, slowly began to fade. Thanks to my mother, I have always known there is a di erence between loneliness and aloneness. I am alone, but my father is lonely. And if I had to choose one, I would rather be alone.
In my room, I put the Crasher Code back where it belongs. I am an idiot for wasting any time thinking about a girl named Garret who I barely know. Because there is one solid truth about women, and that is this: they never stay.
GARRETT
It takes three ful days before the J Squad asks me to have lunch with them. Part of me thought it would never happen. Overal , I am pleased.
Marilyn has basical y disappeared, and Erica, whose Sweet Sixteen I at ended, hangs out with a bunch of
Similar Books
Rio Loco
Robert J. Conley
Fair Maiden
Cheri Schmidt
The Elopement
Megan Chance
The Poisoner's Handbook
Deborah Blum
Fishbone's Song
Gary Paulsen
The Precipice
Penny Goetjen
Left on Paradise
Kirk Adams
The Cuckoo's Calling
Robert Galbraith