"You're up early," he says, turning on the burner on the stove, clicking sound igniting the flame he sets the buttered pan over. "Sunny side up?"

"You know it," I say wearily, opening the top cabinet next to him and fetching a cup. "You ask me that every day. You really don't have to, you know."

"I've always been a whimsical feller," he says smiling at me with his eyes closed before cracking an egg on the side of the pan, its contents plopping into the sizzling butter and following suit. "Don't see no wrong in affording you the same opportunity."

"I guess not," I reply, opening up the fridge and grabbing the half empty jug of orange juice and twisting the cap as I spin back to my glass. "You're awful cheery this morning."

"When am I not cheery? Hyuk." Dear god that laugh is grating. Especially since I started noticing myself do it.

"Even you're usually tired in the mornings these days. What's up?"

He shrugs, smiling, watching the food cook. He seems to blush, but with the lighting this early, I can't be sure. "I'm just really happy is all, son. It just gets better every day."

The sun hasn't even come up yet. My dad was always one to wake up early. I feel like I could never get used to it. I fill my glass with orange juice and replace its container back in the fridge. Carrying my portion back to the table I sit down and glance over at my dad.
He's usually cheerful, yeah. But if you pay close attention to him, you can often sense a sadness behind it. Like he's trying too hard, or making up for something. He's been that way ever since we lost mom. Today, he seems genuinely content.

Whatever it is, I'm happy for him. He deserves it.

"You doing anything this weekend?"

"Yeah, Peej was gonna come over tonight, if it's cool."

"That'll be fine," he says. "I might be in and out some tonight. You guys be all right by yourself for awhile?"

"You know it."

"What ya wanna do about dinner? I could order us a pizza."

"That sounds good," I say in between sips of orange juice. "You gonna ask me what we want or are you just gonna order the same thing we always get?"

"Hyuk," his back turned to me, his shoulders bouncing up and down with his laugh. He's such a goober sometimes. He turns to look at me and says "you know I'll ask."

"I managed to lift some beers out of my dad's cooler last night."

"Uh. Hey, Max, isn't that dangerous? My dad would tear my very soul out of my body if he caught me sneaking beers from his fridge."

"Are you kidding? My dad can't count, he's not even gonna notice. Besides, worse case scenario, my dad grounds me and forgets about it. He's a bit of a pushover."

"Haha, I guess you've got a point there. Did you tell ROXANNE we were gonna be hanging out tonight?"

"She's kind of been doing her own thing, I guess," I say. I don't really wanna talk about it, but I don't say that out loud. I take a bite of my sandwich.

"I feel ya, man," he says, looking downward at the lunch table. "I'm worried about my mom and dad, Max."

"Oh?" I ask, wiping my mouth and leaning forward. "Why's that?"

"I dunno, Max, I.." he says his burger down and puts his hand to his face as if to clear it of all emotion. "They're fighting a lot more and I dunno if it's just marriage or what."

"I wish I knew what to tell ya, buddy," I say, looking down at my tray at nothing at all. "But I don't."

HI DAD soup

"Goddamnit," I breathe out, palms against my ears.
"FUCK!" my fists hit the steering wheel.

It's time to go home. Time to drive home from school, and I'm sitting in the parking lot, watching everyone who stayed late slowly leave one at a time.
Press the eject button on my car stereo and Power Line finally shuts up. Roll down the window and toss the fucker out of the car.

I can't go home and look my dad in the face. I can't go over to P.J.'s. He won't speak to me. He wouldn''t even look at me.
I can't call Roxanne.. despite how much I really want to.

Opening my phone, I stare at it for a moment. Scrolling through the names, my cursor stops on one. Bobby.
He's always annoyed the shit out of me, but I don't have anyone else to turn to right now. I press the enter button and put the phone to my ear, biting my lip, trying to keep my shit together.

The phone rings five times before he answers.

"Ha-hey! Goofball, how ya doin', bruh-uhhhh-ther?"

"Uh. Hey, Bobby. I'm doing alright. Look, what are you doing? I need a place to hang for awhile, anywhere but home."

"No worries bro-ton lay-zer. I'm just cruisin' the streets lookin' for some grind-age. You should meet me at gorilla burger, bro. We'll get some grub and figure out what to dyooh."

"Sounds good, Bobby. I'll be there in ten."

"What's up with you and P-Jammaz, bro?" he asks through a mouthful of hamburger, mercifully swallowing before he continues his insensitive questioning. "He still on the rag about your pops homewreckin' his fams or what? Haha!"

"Yeah, uh," I start, clearing my throat. "We're not talking right now."

He lifts up his glasses and looks at me. I look down at the table, down at my hands.

"Look, I'm sorry bro. I didn't mean to wreck your feelage, I was tryin' ta loosen ya up a bit. But in all for seriously, I got something that might help you out, brotanonano-loooooo-ski."

He's digging in his bag when I look up. "You think you can help?"

"Sha," he says, drooling a bit into the bag he's digging around in. I'm feeling a little uneasy about this decision in general. "Eat yourself a cheese-bur-ger on me while I cook you up some special sau-auce."

"I'm fairly certain I don't want any, uh. Special sauce from you, Bobby."

"Chillaxicize it, bro," he says, sliding the plate of burgers towards me. "Seriously, get yourself some grubbage because you're gonna need it. I know what I am doing."

Pick a burger off the pile and take a bite. I'm not particularly fond of eating at this point in time, but I guess I haven't eaten anything in a day or so, so I might as well try.
The food rolls around in my mouth for awhile, tasteless, and before long, I force myself to swallow.

"Here, Maximum Goofage. Take these," he says, holding out his fist, waiting to drop its contents in my open hand. Which I have yet to offer.

"I dunno, man, I feel like I shouldn't-"

"Shouldn't what? Cure your depression? Make yourself all better-like?"

"What even is what you're trying to-"

"Bro. Botonadaldo. My dad is a doctor, and my mom is a pharma-suit-iss-izor."

I can't tell if he's this stupid or if it's is his stupid, hipster bullshit.

"This is something you've done without problems?"

"Of course, bu-uuuuhhh-ddy," he says, smiling at me and taking a bite of another burger. "The doctor wouldn't recommend it if he tried it himself?" He's making squirrel sounds now.

"I thought your dad was the doctor."

"Gimme your hand, bro, I know what I'm doing."

I sigh, extending my hand towards him and opening it as he drops a small handful of pills into my open hand.

He drops them and I retract my hand underneath the picnic table, opening it to judge the contents. "I gotta drive and everything, man, I dunno."

His voice hushes to a harsh whisper. "You haven't taken that shit yet bro? You'll be in bed before these things kick in, now down the hatch before you get us buh-uh-steddd."

I pop the handful of pills and chase it down with my soda. I take another bite of the burger, trying to will myself to finish it.

"Except the oblong pink one, bro."

"...What?"

"Yeah, that one kicks in pretty quick, so you don't wanna do that one until you're home, or, like. You know. Like. Almost home. Like pulling in the drive or whatever."

"I just ate them all, dude, you told me to eat them all." My heart's pounding in my chest and I'm unsure if it's the medication or the nerves.

"Oh, shit," he says, lifting his glasses again. "You'll be fine. Just wolf down that burger, bro."

Trying to fit as much into a single bite I can, I struggle to chew, to get it all down. I don't even respond, I just eat as fast as humanly possible.

"Or maybe eating makes that one kick in faster," he says, digging through the bottles in his bag.

"What did you give me, Bobby?" I go to take another bite but I've eaten it all. The movement my head makes towards him feels drastic. "What did I just eat..?"

"A cheeseburger, bro. Look, don't worry about this, Goof to the Max, I'm gonna take care of ya, all right?"

I'm nodding, I think.

"You all right, bu-uhhhh-ddy?"

I'm nodding, I think.

"All right, look, brohinaski. You don't need to be driving anywhere. Don't worry, though, I'm gonna take care of ya, buddy, like one of the nuts in my horde."

He's making squirrel noises again, I think.

Open my eyes and the water is splashing against the windshield. To my left, Bobby is air-guitaring at a red light. The wipers squeak against the glass. The pelting noises against the roof of his jeep. I ask him where we're going and he asks me to repeat myself several times. I give up, and I feel the sssskin on my face melting, melting off my skull and it doesn't hurt or anything it's just melting, melting and dripping onto my shirt where it soaks in like sweat and I think about it for a minute and I wonder if I'm causing damage to his interior and if I owe him any money, so I try to ask him about it but he asks me to repeat myself again, over the music without turning down the music and I figure if he's not worried about it I'm not worried about it and I suddenly realize that he's not there anymore. He's not there, nor is the car, none of it's here.

As the flesh melts off my bones, I drift through the void.
And as they scream from the void, my bones crumble.

I remember Roxanne and the look on her face the last time we'd spoke. It was the same look on her face I'd seen for months.

I think that's what hurts the most.

"Well, if it isn't the Goof kid," he says, through the open doorway.

"Hey, Mr. P. Peej around?"

"He's upstairs in his room. Want me to get him?"

"Nah, I'll just catch him up there," I say walking past him.

"Do me a favor and ask PJ if you've seen his mother around, will ya?"

"Oh, she's over at my house," I say on my way up the stairs. He mumbles something in response and I knock on PJ's door.

"Come in!" his muffled voice yells through the door. Turn the knob and push the door open to see Peej rifling through stacks of notes at his desk. I lean against the frame and crossing my arms. "Ah, hey Max! You finally get done with your homework?"

"Ceebsed it."

"Ceebsed?"

"Couldn't be stuffed, so I didn't do it. Simple as that."

"You and your weird fucking words, Max," he says, rifling through his pages on his desk. "Not all of us can afford to not do their homework."

"Maybe if you did better on the tests, you could slack like me."

"In a magical world where I didn't have crippling text anxiety, my dad would have my head on a silver platter if I got lower than a B. Homework's the only thing keeping me afloat, man."

"You're dad's really hard on you about that shit, huh?"

"That'd be the understatement of the century. He makes most of my life decisions for me. Guy must have spent more time planning his kids' life than his own." He sets the papers down and lets out an exhausted sigh. "Wanna trade? I'll take a laid back goober over a tyrant any day."

"Yeah, then all you'd have to deal with are insane cross-country trips over simple misunderstandings that could have easily been cleared up with a ten minute conversation."

"Ah, he just cares about ya, Max," he says, standing up from his desk and grabbing his coat off the bed. "Plus, you got to meet Power Line."

"I don't even wanna think about Power Line right now, dude."

"Why's that?" He's struggling to angle his second arm into his jacket. "He used to be your favorite."

"That's all Roxanne ever listened to. She's the last thing I wanna think about."

"Ya can't just let her ruin your life like that, Max. Don't let it bother ya."

"Easier said than done," I say, rubbing my temples and closing my eyes as if to wish a headache away. I really don't want to talk about this.

"Well, I'm not gonna get any work done in this state. Let's get some food at the mall, I gotta return th-"

He's cut off in mid sentence by his father's muffled screaming. Sounds like it's coming from outside.
From over by my house.
His eyes widen as he freezes, eyes locked onto mine. Break contact to look at the window.

"You can't talk to me like that, Max," he says, a serious expression forced to crawl across his face in a pathetic attempt to be more assertive. "I'm your father, and I won't hear it."

"My FATHER?" I ask, not being able to hold back a bitter laugh. "You're like a child! Half the time I'm the one taking care of you and cleaning up your messes and the other half the time you're blundering through life, destroying everything around you with an oblivious 'hyuk' and a giggle."

"Is that really how you feel, Maxy?" he asks me sadly, his sternness faltering as he gives me those bullshit puppy eyes like he's a victim, or something.

I'm not gonna fall for it.

"Sometimes I wish mom was alive instead of you," I say through my teeth, fists clenching.

He sinks down to the couch and drops his head. The adrenaline is wearing off and my heart starts to sink. He doesn't say anything for a moment. "Me too, Maxy. Me, too."

My body feels like it's going slack. "Dad, I.."

I'm choking on my words. It's hard to finish a complete thought. Nothing I can think of will take it back but it doesn't stop me from looking, from searching for what isn't there.

"I-I'm sorry!" I blurt out.

"Don't be," he says. He doesn't look up. His breath barely above a whisper.

"Dad, I was mad and I- I didn't mean-"

"You don't have to explain it to me, Maxy," he says. "I'm not as dumb as you think I am."

I'm speechless. He finally looks up and forces a painful half-smile. I look away.

"Don't tell me you don't remember HI DAD soup," he says, smiling at the can.

My dad doesn't see the world like normal people do. Stuck in this car in the middle of nowhere, knowing this is where we're both sleeping tonight. He's trying to cook me soup using the car lighter. He tells me about the things I used to spell for him with a look on his face like that was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Ever since mom died it hasn't been the same. The happiness is there, but it's shackled. Not in that moment. A fully genuine smile. Unfettered by the weight of the world on his shoulders.

The soup is "ready" and I eat some of it quickly, trying to save the other half for my dad. He probably won't admit it, but I'm certain he's hungry, too.
Staring into the broth, watching the letters float, swim.
My eyes are drooping.

Pushing the letters around, I nudge my dad, snapping him out of his daze. Hand him the rest of the soup and try and find a comfortable place, leaning against the inside of the car door.
I don't check to see if he reads it, I just close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

Hi, dad.

The kitchen was empty this morning. Not a sound since he went in his room last night. I stare at the food on my tray that I don't want to eat. It's quiet, despite the noise.
My thoughts tend to filter everything out in the cafeteria. I don't even notice her speaking to me at first.

"You alive in there?"

Look up, my hand leaving my face. Gosylan Mallard is sitting at my table with a cheerful curiosity in her eyes.

"Yeah, uh. Just tired I guess."

"Hope you don't mind me sitting next to you," she says, scooting her tray closer to her as her gaze drops to it. She picks up her plastic fork and knife. "You've been sitting alone lately, huh? What happened to your friends?"

"I-" can't find the words. I don't answer. I drop my head and sigh.

"I'm sorry." My eyes are closed. Drifting in the darkness of the void. Her voice echoes into my mind from another world. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Open my eyes and nod to her in thanks.

"I was thinking," she says in mid chew, fork hovering just under her chin, "that maybe we could be friends."

"Hyuk." I can't help myself. "Sure thing."

"Say," she says, swallowing her food and looking over at me. "What are you doing this Friday?"

"Isn't Friday the winter formal dance?"

She nods at me, smiling slyly. I find myself smiling back at her, smiling for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

Opening the front door, I toss my backpack to the side and kick off my shoes as I call out to the house.

"Dad?" I wander into the kitchen to find it empty, untouched since this morning. Moving towards his bedroom, I continue the dialogue. "I was thinking we could hang out this weekend, just the two of us. You know, like old times?"

The length of the hallway drags. Hoping against hope that I can somehow take back what I said, or at least put it back together somehow.
He must hate me.

"I've got a date this Friday, but I'm free all Saturday and Sunday." Knuckles rap against his door, I keep talking. Anxiety makes for awkward displays of humanity. "I was thinking we could go fishing. What do you think?"

Nothing. Silence.

My shaking hand drifts to the doorknob and turns it slowly, pushing open the door.

"...Dad?"