A/N: So here's the next in the series of prompts. To understand where I am going with this, you really need to read "Undone" by author eames. She did a series of prompts, and I am simply mirroring her prompts, but with Bobby's story instead of Eames'. So, basically, this is a series of unconnected drabbles. As always, thanks for reading and enjoy!
The sun beat down on his large frame, rising ever higher in its cruel quest to bake him to a crisp. He walks toward his Canarsie brownstone, head down, hands thrust in his pockets. Bobby is suddenly curious as to how people can live in places like Florida and Louisiana, when the heat this far up north is so unrelenting. Must be an acquired taste, he muses, every step bringing him closer to home, closer to the task at hand. It was a good twenty blocks from the recruiter's office to his home; plenty of time to change his mind. He hadn't. Six blocks.
It was a series of events that brought Bobby to his decision, stretched out over the almost two decades that comprised his short existence. He had bounced from class to class throughout college, before finally settling on psychology. The money had run out before he could earn more than a bachelor's degree, however; which would be great, if he wanted to be a high school guidance counselor or teach the subject. One of his more advanced classes had touched briefly on psychology of the criminal mind. Bobby found himself fascinated, staying up even later than usual to devour sections of the assigned text. He barely had a chance to sink his teeth into the subject, before the six week period was over, and the professor moved on to the next learning unit. Five blocks.
At night he'd pulled shifts at the garage belonging to his friend Lewis' family, tinkering with air conditioners and oil changes or changing carpets. Lewis and his family had always been good to Bobby, paying him slightly more than what his labor was actually worth. Although it shamed Bobby to accept their charity, he was grateful for it, and showed it by never being late and always volunteering for menial tasks that didn't actually fit his job description. His wage, combined with his mother's monthly Social Security check earned enough to keep the house lit and the fridge mostly full. His older brother Frank was a register jockey at a local convenience store, but those wages barely covered his daily pot habit. No matter. His mother would never ask anything of her first born, the apple of her eye. By accepting this offer, he would earn three times what he made at the garage, along with health benefits that would include his mother. Four blocks.
It was hard to get your foot in anywhere these days. The Vietnam War had been over for years, but the economy still suffered. Businesses closed left and right, and there was no work anywhere, especially for a kid fresh out of college, and lacking any real world experience. You couldn't get a job if you didn't have experience, but you couldn't get experience if no one would hire you. Only places still accepting applications were the Sanitation Department and…well, this. Bobby knew that he would return from his travels a more experienced man, a well rounded man, the favor of the Armed Forces opening any door he pleased. Three blocks.
Every day, his brother sank deeper and deeper into his birthright. It started out with beers in the alley after school. Eventually, some punk who got into his dad's stash had offered Frank a joint. It was all downhill from there. Frank started skipping school to hang out at friend's houses, playing Atari and getting high. This led to his expulsion from school, and landed him in his current minimum wage position. Bobby saw his brother going the way of their father, showing strong signs of an addictive personality. Of course, he was in no position to judge. Bobby was a normal kid, and had tried his share of alcohol. He found beer to be distasteful, but slowly acquired a taste for the scotch Lewis pilfered from the top shelf of his parent's pantry. It wasn't long before he found himself sneaking over to Lewis' after a long day of school and grease monkey work, eyeing the square bottle longingly. Bobby didn't want to follow in his father's footsteps, or find himself too close behind his brother. This was a chance for him to learn some discipline, some…self control. Two blocks.
His breath hitched in his throat. She wasn't going to like this. Bobby prepared himself for the shrill berating that would soon follow his announcement. First, she would laugh, thinking that he wasn't serious. Then, she would scream, calling him an idiot for risking his life in the name of Big Brother, a government that could send her boy to die at war but couldn't send her checks out on time. She would think his decision to be another plot in the government's ruthless campaign against her. Then, and this is the worst part, she would cry, hurling accusations at him, begging him not to abandon her like his good for nothing father had. He shuddered at the thought. His mother's wild mood swings caused her tears to be nothing out of the ordinary. But, to be the source of those tears was something he wasn't sure he could bear.
He straightened his spine and pulled his shoulders back, reminding himself that it was all for the greater good, his as well as hers. Inhaling deeply, Bobby reached for the doorknob.
