I am back from the dead, sorry this chapter took so long to get up. I lost
inspiration but I think I may have found it again, tell me what you think!
Thanks to all my reviwers!
It was halftime of the first game of the season. We were down by eight. Coach Orion was pacing in front of us, trying to be encouraging but tough at the same time, but I wasn't listening. All I could hear was my father's lecture from the morning I kept seeing his face, the look of sheer hatred in his in his eyes. I kept seeing him shake his head from the stands; it was just another failure to add to my growing list.
What the hell are you doing? My Son is better than that. You would think after eight years you would have gotten a little better. Do you have any idea what I've done for you, you ungrateful little piece of trash.
His word echoed through my head, over and over. Some how I had to prove to him that I was good enough, hell I was better than he'd ever imagine. I had to be good enough.
When I got out back on the ice I'd never been so focused in my entire life. I skated up to take the face off. I bent over my stick barley hit the ice when the whistle blew I plowed through the guy in front of me. Driving the puck up the ice and flew down, I shot, and in less than a 48 seconds I scored. I took my place to the right wing letting Charlie take this face off. I whipped past the defensemen beckoning for the puck I plowed thought finally passing the puck off to the capable hand of Connie. She scored.
By the end of the game we won by four. The team cheered and congratulated one and other. My seven goals went unnoticed. Not that it mattered. I changed quickly avoiding the mosh pit that was happening I snuck out of the locker room.
"Adam Philip Jerald Banks," I came face to face with my Father, and he looked anything but happy.
"What Dad," I asked trying to step past him. I was not in the mood to deal with this not right now.
"What the hell do you think you were doing out there?"
"Ah gee Dad I don't know, winning the game."
"You will not have that attitude with me, not after what you did out there tonight. I will not stand by and let you jeopardize whatever shot you have at hockey, the chances were slim enough to begin but with that mockery of what hockey is you did out there tonight. I mean come on Adam, are you even thinking?"
"I'm not the only person out there Dad," That was when He slapped me, He'd never done that before well at least never in public.
"But you are the only one out there's who is my son, and I expect a hell of a lot more than what you did out there tonight." I kept baking up until my back hit the wall.
"Philip that is quite enough," My mother said finally stepping in. He grumbled pulling back and heading out to the car.
I stood there. Unsure whether or not I wanted to follow. It was Friday, and I was supposed to come home for the weekend. "Are you coming?" My Mother asked, she gave me the look. The look that says, no matter what just happened I am still your mother and you are coming. I didn't bother fighting it; no use having two parent's on your back all weekend. So I followed.
I followed my Mother home. I followed to the fighting. I followed to the lecture that most defiantly was coming. My Father stayed quiet the entire ride home. Thank God I got that long, enough time to clear my head, just barley enough time to stop caring. When we got home I followed my Father to his office. I can't tell you exactly what he said to me, I could make a pretty good guess but I never heard a word. It was like I was numb to the whole experience. I guess it happened to many times to have much of an effect.
Then he sent me to bed. And I went, fully knowing that by the time I reached the top of the stair it would be forgotten, swept under the rug, never to be mentioned again. Well not until the next time he needed examples of all the times I'd let him down. That was how the Bank's family operated. And I hated it.
I sat down in my bedroom to sulk. I'm good at sulking. I was mad at the Ducks for not caring, not bothering to see me, for hating me. Mad at my Family for just being the way it was. The entire world sucks, and then we die.
There was a knock at the door. But I ignored it. If it was the maid bringing me dinner I wasn't hungry, if it was my Mother coming to talk to me I wasn't interested in hearing all the excuses she had cooked up on why my Dad was such an ass. But they kept persisting.
"Adam open up this dammed door." My older brother finally said. "Open it yourself," I yelled back.
He turned the handle and came in, giving me a strange look. "It's not locked,"
"Nope," I said simply, hoping he'd get the drift and leave. I was no longer in a social mood. He crossed the room and sat down. He didn't speak he just studied me. Which really got on my nerves, I hate being stared at. "What?" I finally asked having just about as much as I could take of him sitting there watching me.
"Are you okay?" He finally asked.
I just shot him a look. The what the hell do you think look. I'm famous for my looks.
"Alright stupid question," He said standing up starting to pace. I hate people who pace. It's my brother's nervous habit that he inherited from our Father.
"Look I'm beat, I just want to sleep. We can continue this pointless conversation later, I promise." I said hoping he'd leave. He stopped just short.
"It might not count for much, but I thought you did a hell of a job out there tonight," He stopped nodding before closing the door. I sat back, at least someone thought I did a good job, even if it was my brain dead older brother.
It was halftime of the first game of the season. We were down by eight. Coach Orion was pacing in front of us, trying to be encouraging but tough at the same time, but I wasn't listening. All I could hear was my father's lecture from the morning I kept seeing his face, the look of sheer hatred in his in his eyes. I kept seeing him shake his head from the stands; it was just another failure to add to my growing list.
What the hell are you doing? My Son is better than that. You would think after eight years you would have gotten a little better. Do you have any idea what I've done for you, you ungrateful little piece of trash.
His word echoed through my head, over and over. Some how I had to prove to him that I was good enough, hell I was better than he'd ever imagine. I had to be good enough.
When I got out back on the ice I'd never been so focused in my entire life. I skated up to take the face off. I bent over my stick barley hit the ice when the whistle blew I plowed through the guy in front of me. Driving the puck up the ice and flew down, I shot, and in less than a 48 seconds I scored. I took my place to the right wing letting Charlie take this face off. I whipped past the defensemen beckoning for the puck I plowed thought finally passing the puck off to the capable hand of Connie. She scored.
By the end of the game we won by four. The team cheered and congratulated one and other. My seven goals went unnoticed. Not that it mattered. I changed quickly avoiding the mosh pit that was happening I snuck out of the locker room.
"Adam Philip Jerald Banks," I came face to face with my Father, and he looked anything but happy.
"What Dad," I asked trying to step past him. I was not in the mood to deal with this not right now.
"What the hell do you think you were doing out there?"
"Ah gee Dad I don't know, winning the game."
"You will not have that attitude with me, not after what you did out there tonight. I will not stand by and let you jeopardize whatever shot you have at hockey, the chances were slim enough to begin but with that mockery of what hockey is you did out there tonight. I mean come on Adam, are you even thinking?"
"I'm not the only person out there Dad," That was when He slapped me, He'd never done that before well at least never in public.
"But you are the only one out there's who is my son, and I expect a hell of a lot more than what you did out there tonight." I kept baking up until my back hit the wall.
"Philip that is quite enough," My mother said finally stepping in. He grumbled pulling back and heading out to the car.
I stood there. Unsure whether or not I wanted to follow. It was Friday, and I was supposed to come home for the weekend. "Are you coming?" My Mother asked, she gave me the look. The look that says, no matter what just happened I am still your mother and you are coming. I didn't bother fighting it; no use having two parent's on your back all weekend. So I followed.
I followed my Mother home. I followed to the fighting. I followed to the lecture that most defiantly was coming. My Father stayed quiet the entire ride home. Thank God I got that long, enough time to clear my head, just barley enough time to stop caring. When we got home I followed my Father to his office. I can't tell you exactly what he said to me, I could make a pretty good guess but I never heard a word. It was like I was numb to the whole experience. I guess it happened to many times to have much of an effect.
Then he sent me to bed. And I went, fully knowing that by the time I reached the top of the stair it would be forgotten, swept under the rug, never to be mentioned again. Well not until the next time he needed examples of all the times I'd let him down. That was how the Bank's family operated. And I hated it.
I sat down in my bedroom to sulk. I'm good at sulking. I was mad at the Ducks for not caring, not bothering to see me, for hating me. Mad at my Family for just being the way it was. The entire world sucks, and then we die.
There was a knock at the door. But I ignored it. If it was the maid bringing me dinner I wasn't hungry, if it was my Mother coming to talk to me I wasn't interested in hearing all the excuses she had cooked up on why my Dad was such an ass. But they kept persisting.
"Adam open up this dammed door." My older brother finally said. "Open it yourself," I yelled back.
He turned the handle and came in, giving me a strange look. "It's not locked,"
"Nope," I said simply, hoping he'd get the drift and leave. I was no longer in a social mood. He crossed the room and sat down. He didn't speak he just studied me. Which really got on my nerves, I hate being stared at. "What?" I finally asked having just about as much as I could take of him sitting there watching me.
"Are you okay?" He finally asked.
I just shot him a look. The what the hell do you think look. I'm famous for my looks.
"Alright stupid question," He said standing up starting to pace. I hate people who pace. It's my brother's nervous habit that he inherited from our Father.
"Look I'm beat, I just want to sleep. We can continue this pointless conversation later, I promise." I said hoping he'd leave. He stopped just short.
"It might not count for much, but I thought you did a hell of a job out there tonight," He stopped nodding before closing the door. I sat back, at least someone thought I did a good job, even if it was my brain dead older brother.