As the young teen strolled pass the many dirty houses and broken homes, he couldn't help but scowl. How he didn't like this life, how he didn't like his life. He sometimes secretly toyed with the thought of going to college and living in a nice home with kids and a nice wife. But poor old Superman couldn't get to collage, how would the likes of him get there either? He could smell worry and pain at every corner, as well as cheap liquors and smoke of all variation. He passed by every house, each aching with it's own story. He kept on walking until he was at his own, rumidged house.
The paint was chipped off and weeds flourished in the garden. This was one of the better looking houses. The teen opened the door quietly, hoping his father wasn't home. His hopes were let down as he spotted his middle aged father sitting on the couch with a cold one in his hand.
"Hey, Pop", he softly greeted his father. His father grumbled. "Whatchu want, boy?", he inquired. "Nothing", he mumbled back. "You eat anything for dinner, you what me to whip up something for you?", he asked his father. As much as he hated him, he loved him equally. It was a painful relationship. Nobody really understood, except for maybe Johnny. The look in his eye explains it all.
"Oh, so now you wanna spend dinner here", his father snapped. He remained quite as he got some vegetables out. "You spend to much time at those kid's house."
"The Curtis'".
"Yeah, them. You ain't never round here anymore."
"Thought you would enjoy the house more if I was out. You'd just kick me out even if I was here".
His father scoffed. "Damn kid, I only kick you out when you start acting like a hood. Maybe if you would spend more time out of trouble you'd spend more time at home. Speaking of trouble, I heard you got picked up by some cop. Lizzie Waterstone told me yesterday.I told her that I don't want to know what shit you got up too, but she did tell me that you got a girl. And that she was crying, crying for you! I wouldn't cry over you, and your my own son." His dad thought for a minute while he prepared vegetables and some left over chicken.
"But," his father started with the first hint of empathy rather than the icy cold words he had been throwing earlier. "I want to know why you didn't call me to pick you up from the station. I am your father".
It was his turn to scoff. "You wouldn't have picked me up. I ain't that dumb. You woulda just hollered at me and thrown me out." spite dripped in his voice. "You'd do that even if I wasn't picked up".
His father sighed. "Steve", he said, "Listen here, if you really are my son, I know this won't be your last time going to that station. I was a troubled child too. But, that girl you got..". "Evie". "Yes, Evie. Waterstone told me that she was really upset about your arrest. Keep the girl around. I met your mom after senior year and she really could keep me in check. Seems like you got one of those woman who just know exactly what to say to soothe your anger. Keep her around. If your mother were still round..." he trailed off.
"Well, she ain't here no more. An' we just gotta deal with it", Steve said. "Now grab a plate, I made some leftovers".