Crazy Taxi, that's what the video game was called. Craig played it but he was really waiting for Joey to come home, almost praying waiting, and he felt that same nervous feeling he used to feel when…when…when you lived with your dad, the little voice in his head said. That little voice was right, of course. It was exactly how he felt when he had lived with his dad. The absence of that feeling was so good, so natural, that Craig hadn't really noticed it had gone. Until it came back.
Joey was staying late at the car lot, not unusual, but he had had plans that night. Stupid secret plans to meet his father for dinner and Joey was screwing it all up and then his dad might, well, he might get mad. Craig closed his eyes and let the taxi on the screen careen into a wall or another car or a pedestrian, he didn't really care what it did.
Angela crawled into his lap with her book and he smiled at her. She felt warm from the fever she had from the chicken pox and he couldn't remember if he'd ever had them or not. There was actually quite a bit he couldn't remember about his childhood, about last year even, and that wasn't childhood. It worried him sometimes, like being senile at 14.
The phone rang and Angela grabbed it, clicked it on and handed it to him. It was Joey and he wasn't going to be just a little late he was going to be real late and Craig sighed. He was screwed. Screwed. He felt that nervous feeling right in the pit of his stomach, twisting and making him edgy and he fidgeted in his seat. Angela gave him a look, even through her fever and aches and itches from the chicken pox she saw that something wasn't right with him.
"What's wrong?" she asked him in her little voice and he lied to her, like he used to lie to everyone.
"Nothing,"
He got her off to bed and stared at the clock and the hands were flying and still Joey wasn't back. He paced in front of the window, thinking every car he heard was Joey. C'mon, Joey, c'mon. Craig could hardly breathe as it got later and later. Every time he sat down he rocked back and forth and gnawed on his fingernails. That was another thing he had stopped doing. When he lived with his dad his nails were bit down to the quick.
Then it occurred to him. What was he really so nervous about? That his dad would be angry? Was that it? He had been angry when Craig left. It wasn't really the anger that had him worried but what his dad would do when he was angry. That had him worried. Getting hit again. That had him worried. Didn't being late usually result in getting hit? It had.
"This is stupid," Craig said softly. He was here in Joey's house where no harm would come to him and he wanted to go off and see his dad, be late and get hit? Was that honestly what he wanted to do?
"No," Craig said, his voice just above a whisper. He dialed his dad's cell phone number and listened to the rings. Pick up, c'mon.
"Hello?"
"Dad? It's Craig,"
"Craig? Where are you? Is everything alright?" Craig heard sharp concern in his father's voice but also anger.
"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just, can we reschedule? Joey was supposed to come earlier but he's still not here and I have to watch Angela,"
A beat of silence and for a second Craig thought his father had hung up on him.
"Yeah, Craig, that's fine. How about tomorrow night?"
Craig let out his breath. His dad was mad but what could he do? That nervous feeling was leaving at last.
"Yeah. Tomorrow. Tomorrow's good,"