Corey was complaining and I just listened, sitting on his comfortable bed in his nice room in his nice house. I looked around at the pictures, the curtains, the plushy rug. He didn't know how good he had it. Parents who cared about him, stability. I didn't have any of that.
"Right, Shawn?" he said after busting his parents about something that they should have been doing anyway. This was the part when I usually agreed, said, 'Sure, Corey, you're right,' even though I was dying of jealousy inside. I wanted Corey's life. But not this time. Maybe I'd let him know how I really felt.
"No, Corey, not right. You, you're parents, they only do that shit because they care about you. They get mad because you aren't doing good in this class because, it's like, they love you and want you to do well. What do you think my parents would say if I failed a class? Nothing. They would say nothing, they wouldn't even notice, because they don't care. My father cares about drinking, that's about it. Not me. Unless you want to call getting hit with a belt being cared about. Because he's done that more than once. So why not appreciate what you have for once, instead of complaining about it all the time?"
He looked at me with that open mouthed look of his, it was comical really. And I felt kind of stupid. It wasn't Corey's fault he was born into the family I wanted, just like it wasn't my fault my parents drank all the time and didn't give a shit about me.
I took off, out the room and down the stairs, past the puzzled looks of Corey's parents and little sister. I felt stupid, and I'd have to go home sometime. The light was just fading out of the sky but that was better. I'd rather not see the awful trailer park with the scraggly weeds and broken plastic toys in the yards. I could smell the whiskey before I even got up to the door, and I heard my dad's slurred speech. I sighed. Sometimes I really hated my life.
"Shawn!" his hearty greeting, and I smiled by just showing my teeth.
"Hey, dad,"
"Where ya been?"
"Corey's,"
There was one light over the table, it was too bright and gleamed off all the cheap chrome things in the kitchen, the metal edge of the table, the stovetop. The dirty dishes piled in the little sink, the glass whiskey bottle that was in the middle of the table. My dad was in a pretty good mood. But that could change.