"Oh, no, honey! What's wrong?" Sandra wailed from the kitchen where the other telephone was located, lodged on the wall by the fridge. "Do you need a ride to the Emergency Room? …No, that's all right, I'm more worried about you! Please, don't forget to keep hydrated! …Yes, take it easy on your stomach…And don't forget to check your temperature again in a few hours…"
He tuned out the rest of Sandra's medical advice, but John had an idea of what was coming. Hearing Sandra's customer service voice was always an experience with varying results. John covered Dustin's ears, just in case.
"Johnny…" Dustin squirmed, his face pinching, trying to pry John's hands off. "Stop…"
"Hang tight."
Dustin pouted, slumping his shoulder's slow, leaning back against the cushion in that spoiled-child manner.
"… No, no, no! Thank you so much for letting me know! …You take care, too! I'll call tomorrow to check up with you…Okay. Bye-bye!" Sandra slammed the phone back in its socket, not once, but three times. "God dammit!"
"Any harder and you'll break the phone again." John called out. "Second one in three weeks. I'm sure Michael'll be happy to see ya again—"
"Shut up."
"—you really should stop leaving the guy hanging." John continued. "His pinning's kinda pathetic."
"Shut. Up. John!" Sandra's holler made John smirk. "For the last time, I don't like him! Just because he likes me doesn't mean I'm obligated to go out with him!"
"I didn't say anything about you liking him." John countered.
"You are so—"
John let Dustin free. "Ah, ah. Be careful what you say, Sandra-Dee. There's a child running around that loves playing 'Monkey See, Monkey Do', ya know."
He could imagine Sandra's red face, her mouth opening and closing, holding back insults. "I so do not need this from you right now."
The smirk spread into a wide grin. It wasn't his fault for telling the truth. Sandra clearly liked the store clerk, just wouldn't give the guy the time of a day or a proper chance. John couldn't figure out why.
Turning around, John peeked over the top of the couch. Sandra was pacing around in the kitchen. Her manicured fingers massaged her temples. She looked so tired—shoulders slouched, visible bags under her eyes—but was still ready to go, dressed in her flowery pattered work scrubs.
"So, what's up?"
"Parent troubles." Sandra responded, fingers rubbing her short chin before she pulled the hair tie off her wrist.
"Like…?"
She sighed, long and loud, grabbing her hair in one hand and securing it into a pony tail with the other. "Well, I completely forgot about Emma leaving on a cruise in a few hours. She'll be gone for two weeks. I can't believe I completely forgot! And then, Sally finally called me back just to tell me she's with a high fever. I'm thinking about passing by before work but I now need to figure out who to leave Dustin with."
"You should consider maids, like those chicks from the old age that took care of all the royal babies." John offered sincerely. "Less you gotta do, less you gotta worry about."
She shook her head, frowning. "I would never. Dustin's my kid. I want to take care of him as much as I can. I only leave him with a babysitter because I have no choice. I don't have anyone else."
John look over his shoulder, down at Dustin. The toddler was by his side—a little too close for comfort—watching the latest Alvin and the Chipmunks episode. He loved Theodore. Dustin even adopted green as his favorite color.
"What about his old man?"
Sandra went to the fridge, opening it slowly. Opening it too fast caused some of the magnets holding Dustin's drawings to fall. She took out the half empty carton of orange juice, closing the fridge gently.
"You mean L-i-a-m?" She asked sharply. "What about him?"
John twisted his lips. Lashing out didn't stop at his father or John. Sandra wasn't quick to anger like them, but those rare time he'd seen her like that led John to believe it was an unfortunate family trait he'd never escape from.
"He's a deadbeat—" John treaded carefully. "—isn't he?"
Sandra drank straight from the carton. John was glad he hated orange juice. "You're a perceptive kid. Have I told you that yet?"
"I try not to be." John muttered, balancing on his knees so he could fold his arms on the couch top. Sandra continued to drink from the carton, the way rich chicks sipped from a bottle of wine.
She didn't keep alcohol in her house—only bottles of rubbing alcohol. John had grown up knowing the substance to be his father's breath freshener. His old man wasn't complete without one beer in the morning, and God help them when they ran out. Sandra didn't smoke either. She didn't do anything except go to work, come home, and spend whatever time she had with Dustin. It was weird to him.
Didn't she have anything else to do besides be here? She was still young, not even touching the big four-oh yet, still attractive enough that men fell at her feet whenever they went out even if she was taller than most of them. John wasn't sure what women her age did but shouldn't… He didn't know… Shouldn't she be out and about doing whatever almost forty-year olds do?
"So… What's the story?"
"The long version or the short one?"
John flicked his wrist around. "I think you can skip the introduction about how you thought he was the prince charming personified and get to the fallout."
Sandra looked pointedly at the living room, gauging if the television was loud enough. "Maybe another time. The trees have ears."
John groaned, turning around and flopping down. Dustin whirled his attention back to the television. The credits were starting to roll.
Without a word, Dustin hopped from the couch, passing the coffee table where he left the remote. He stopped at the racks full of VHS's. Sandra had the strangest love for Disney animated movies, though John couldn't recall seeing her watch any of them.
Dustin pulled the cases out one by one, placing them all across the floor. He couldn't read yet but he could identify the ones he knew just by the covers.
"I'm not sure who else to call." Sandra said out loud. She talked to herself a lot. "Alena, maybe? Wow, I haven't spoken to her in forever! Who knows what she's up to? Maybe I could call Jeffrey… He babysits dogs, though. Babysitting animals isn't the same as watching a kid…"
It slipped out. "I can do it."
"Hm. There's always Chris… I think he works today, too—I'm sorry. Did you say something?"
John inhaled deeply, speaking louder and clearer. "I'll do it."
He didn't get a response.
Dustin opened the case for The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh. John crossed his arms and put his head back.
"Can we watch something else?" John asked, trying very hard for it to not come out as a whine. "G. I. Joe's about to come on."
"No." Dustin responded adamantly. "I wanna watch Pooh."
He sighed. Not again. How did Sandra, and his babysitters, and all the parents in the universe, put up with this?
Dustin crawled over to the television, squeezing the bulky cassette into the VCR. He pressed rewind and changed the input from the television. Then, Dustin stood up, coming back to the couch.
"Eeyore!"
John helped him up, and Dustin sat by his side again. "Tigger's better."
"No!" Dustin shouted. "Eeyore!"
Sandra poked her head by the arm rest and John almost jumped. "Did I hear you right?"
"I said what I said." John replied. "Tigger's like me. We're one of a kind. Eeyore is—"
"Not that! I mean, you'd willingly spend a whole Saturday, maybe even all day Sunday, with your little cousin? Watching movies with him? Play with him? Feed him? Start potty training him for me?"
John held his palms up, shrugging. "How hard can it be?"
Sandra's brow rose. "It's not the same as when I go to the store for a few minutes, John. I'll be gone. I might not even be back until Monday."
"Obviously." John replied. "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it. Leave me a list or something."
"Are you sure?" Sandra hesitated. "It's the weekend. You should be doing stuff with your friends. You should be at the fair or the arcade… I… I don't know what else teenage boys do now-a-days…"
"But I thought you were a teenage girl once and could guess." Sandra flicked him on the forehead. "Ouch! Your nails fuckin' hurt!"
Sandra pointed. "Watch it!"
He rubbed the spot that stung. "I'm serious, Sandra, it won't kill me to watch him. Tin-can's good company, anyway."
Better company than most, John wanted to add but didn't.
Those new friends he'd made ceased to exist the same day John ditched them at lunch. That was over two week ago. His attitude and personality were taken personally. Good, he was more than fucking fine with it. He could walk the road alone. There were only a handful of a months until graduation anyway.
And the only other people he'd consider friends were questionable at best. One was a mute whose name he still hadn't figured out no matter how much he paid attention to roll call for once. And he'd been ignoring Brian Johnson ever since the morning he'd showed him around Shermer. Brian always made it a point to greet John whenever they saw each other in the hallways—apparently a lot of their classes were nearby one another—but John pointedly ignored him. Brian gave up.
John's desire for a clean slate couldn't beat his stupid pride. A clean slate meant not tacking 'Kick Me!' notes on Brian's back, or stealing Brian's clothes during gym, or stuffing Brian's locker with dog shit and whatever else he and his buddies could get their hands on and watching it explode when Brian opened his locker. A clean slate meant Brian—and any other dorks like him—being left perfectly alone.
Besides, there was no way guys like John associated with guys like Brian. There was no way they enjoyed each other's company. And there was absolutely no fucking way they had anything in common besides walking the same halls.
The only real friend John ever had was back in Lyons; hopefully hopefully staying out of trouble, working towards that basketball scholarship he wanted. He wanted to call Jeremiah but every time John reached for the phone his fingers wouldn't dial the numbers. It wasn't like he didn't remember. He had Jeremiah's number committed to memory but the thought of talking to him drenched him in cold sweat.
What was up with him lately? Ever since quitting weed, he was constantly waking up from nightmares. Nightmares about being trapped in a place so dark he couldn't remember what color was. Nightmares about dying slowly, painfully, grubby hands wrapped around his neck, suffocating him. His father. Many nightmares about his father. John hated feeling this way, hating waking doused in sweat and his hair clinging to his face, his heart hammering like it would burst; like there was just no end.
Why was he feeling this way when everything was normal? Like at any second, he would finally wake up from this dream and see it'd had all been fantasy. He'd have to go through another day, just trying to survive. Because guys like him don't live, they just survive. He wasn't even sure how he got out of bed every morning now. It was getting harder, weighing on him like boulders.
Sandra stared, searching his face, then shook her head. "Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me something?"
"What's there to tell?" John put his bare feet up on the coffee table, one foot on top of the other. "Every time I try, you shut me out."
"That's not true." She said, brows knitting. "You never try talking to me. You're the one who shuts out."
"You haven't been around." He deflected. "How can I?"
"That's not fair, John." Sandra said in such a motherly tone it made his heart clench. "I know it doesn't make total sense to you now but it will when you get older. I'm doing everything I can to give Dustin the life he deserves… And now you. I'm trying to give you the life you should've had even if it's a little too late… You didn't pop out of my stomach like Dustin but you're still my responsibility as much as he is."
John clenched his jaw. He didn't expect her to retaliate with kindness. He was so accustomed to his anger being thrown back in his face in the form of back hands, insults, or both. Sandra was clearly furious with her grim eyes and rigid posture but she chose a different route. If she could do it then maybe there was hope for him. He never wanted to be his father.
"I didn't ask to be here." He said quietly.
"I know you didn't, but someone thought you should have a chance." She said gently. "That's why you're here. No matter how you feel, someone cares. They really do care."
John thought about George. He hadn't thought of George since the first day here. George just wanted him off the streets. John was the problem child they'd been trying to get rid of for years. Was he happy now that John was gone? He imagined so. But he relished in the idea that George was probably bored without him.
He scoffed, crossing his arms. "Yeah. Right."
"John?" She tried. "Have you ever considered seeing a therapist? Did they ever make you go to group sessions in p-r-i-s-o-n?"
He turned to her with a sneer. "That's only for crazy folks. I snuck outta there any chance I got. They wanted us to hold hands, and talk about our feelings, and expect us to sing Kum-ba-yah."
"Oh, Johnny-boy…" Sandra trailed off sweetly, ruffling his hair which he hated so much and she did it so often. "For a smart kid, you can be unbelievably dense. You have so much to learn about people and life."
John glared at nothing. "Like what?"
"Like how even the most normal looking people—people you'd never think in a million years would ever need it—see therapists on occasion."
"What for?"
"Even rich people have problems, John." She took a sip from the carton. "It's not unheard of. You can go to therapy for something as simple as being stressed about school."
"They should live a day in my shoes." He countered. "Then they can talk about real problems."
Sandra sighed. "You're looking at it the wrong way, but I don't expect you to know how to look at it another way. Just know that everyone needs help sometimes. Everyone, even you."
"I don't." He flopped back down, facing the television. Eeyore was on screen which made Dustin clap excitedly.
"All right, I'll drop it." She paused. "I'm just worried about you. You haven't been out of the house since the Saturday you went looking for jobs."
"Everything's peachy." John averted.
"I forgot to ask before. Did you find anything?"
"No." John stopped, trying to come up with something. "I figure since I can't find anything out there then I gotta do something here. When you think about it, it works in both our favors."
"Are you sure? Positive? Positively-positive?"
John waved her off. "Yes. Positive."
"Okay." Sandra paused, he could feel the smile at the back of his head. "Thank you, John. I'll pay you this coming Friday."
He shrugged, though she couldn't see, and heard her light footsteps going up the stairs. The sickening part was that he'd do it for free.
A gust of cold air passed making his hair tickle his nose and cheeks.
John stirred awake, shivering. His head felt so heavy and he was exhausted. He shouldn't be. He'd napped in all three of his classes today and now lunch.
Babysitting for three weekends straight was starting to take a toll on him. Sandra was also starting to dump Dustin on him during weekdays. And Dustin was also beginning to get comfortable sleeping in his bed. He was as much of a little tornado in sleep as he was awake.
God, is this what it was like being a parent? Being exhausted to the bone all the time? Walking like a zombie throughout the day? Having all these fucking cartoon lines stuck in your head?
John groaned into his arms.
"Stop moving."
His nose scrunched in confusion. John opened his eyes, finding the direction he thought he heard the voice come from. It was her that spoke—the girl he thought to be mute.
Now that John finally had a chance to see her face, he realized she was a looker. Messy, brown hair paired with whimsical, brown eyes and a heart-shaped face. The only make up she wore was around her eyes, imitating a raccoon. She looked ticked off like he'd just ruined something of hers that was special. The sketchpad he'd tried several times to peak at was on her lap.
"… You drawing me?"
Her face contorted. She quickly hugged the pad to her chest. "No."
Both edges of her palms were smudged in black, providing the answer she wouldn't admit and the answer John already knew. She wouldn't look at his face either. Embarrassed to be caught like a child that'd done something bad.
"Then why can't I move?"
She mulled her lips, fingers drumming on the hardback. "You're tolerable when you're not awake."
John laughed, feeling it deep in his stomach. "That's a nice way of saying I'm annoying."
"Not entirely." She admitted quietly.
John smirked while rubbing his face and eyes. "So… Am I ever gonna get a name?"
She took a moment, still staring into a distance far away that John couldn't see. He didn't think she'd speak again. Her voice was nice while it lasted. At least it confirmed she spoke human.
"Allison." She finally said. "You're John."
His brows rose in surprise. "I'm flattered. That's the first time a girl knows my name before I know hers."
"Vernon says your name a lot." Allison deadpanned. "You guys fight like cats and dogs."
His face fell. "Ah."
John placed his cheek on his palm, frowning. He watched the people in the courtyard. Most of the band geeks hung outside, parading and practicing. It drove him inside before but he was used to it now. The television production kids were also around, trying to figure out their portable cameras that were way too big for their frames. Some art kids were on a grassy knoll, and John wondered why Allison never sat with them. She belonged there. Her too dark, loose fitting clothing and quiet personality would be a perfect match.
"You don't like 'em, do you?"
Allison followed his gaze, and shook her head. "No. They don't like me."
"Why not?"
Allison shrugged, squeaking. She went back to whatever she was drawing.
One day, he'd understand her language. Or maybe he did. All he had to do was think about Dennis and his crew. They'd only been friends with him for the havoc he could cause. And, of course, drugs.
"Have I mentioned how much I fucking hate being the new kid?"
"It's high school." Allison replied. "Everybody loves a new toy… They always need a new thing to play with."
John scowled, brushing his fingers through his thick hair. He needed a haircut. "Yeah? Well, I don't get played."
Allison shrugged again. She closed her sketchpad and shoved it inside her messenger bag with the mountain of other stuff inside. She took a sip from her Coca-Cola.
He'd noticed her infatuation with all things sugar. She always had pixie sticks on her. Always. And she always came up with the most disgusting food combinations. She once had Cheetos and milk. And another day, Doritos and chocolate pudding. Just last week, she brought grilled cheese and decided to stuff Frosted Flakes in it. Those were the times John left their table early.
Another gust passed through them, making him pull his legs together and stuff his hands in his pocket. God, he hated winter so much. The weather report said it'd start snowing soon. That meant blankets and blankets of snow as white as the sugar Allison always ate would cover every square inch of everything. Cars, roads, roofs, sidewalks, those grassy knolls those kids were sitting on would be covered. And all the snow meant he'd have to wake up earlier to shovel Sandra's driveway… Which meant the stairs leading down would probably be slippery… And he'd fall on his ass… And he'd have to worry about the sharp icicles dangling from the porch roof… And not to mention all the fucking Christmas music that'd start playing on the radio…
God. He hated winter. Absolutely hated it.
John flicked his hair out of his face. "So, can I see when you're done?"
"No."
John's lip curled into a deeper frown. He could've been angry but at least now there was a name to a pretty face.
This was Dustin's first time watching Bambi.
Despite Sandra's collection, there were a few Dustin hadn't seen. She couldn't find the time to show him so it fell on John. Great. Just another weekend. In an effort to not watch that stupid Winnie the Pooh movie again, John decided they should flip a coin. Tails gets to choose. John won.
Dustin sat on the floor, arms crossed and pouting. "No fair!"
"I won fair and square, twice in a row."
Dustin's frown deepened. John popped the cassette out of the case and into the VCR.
He wasn't sure why he picked this movie. By the cover alone, it looked okay. They watched Peter Pan last Saturday and John wasn't afraid to say he found it likable. Peter was a little asshole. John was all for it.
Almost ten minutes in and John didn't have much of an opinion yet. The forest animals gathered around the doe, watching curiously. John thought it was creepy until they kept referring to Bambi in royalty terms, like 'young prince'.
Dustin seemed to like it, though. Bambi trying to walk for the first time sent Dustin into a fit of giggles. When Bambi started walking through the forest on his own the next day in the movie, Dustin went into interrogation mode.
"What's that?"
"A squirrel."
"A… squirrel?"
"The one holding the acorn. Or nut. I can't tell. They're the ones we see at the park, climbing trees."
"Ooh." He paused. "What's his name?"
"I dunno, Dusty." John replied, pulling one leg up and hugging his knee. "It's my first time watching this."
Dustin shook his head. "That's not my name, John."
"Sorry, Tin-can."
"That's not my name either!"
John tried not to laugh. That'd only make things worse. "Okay, okay."
Thumper, Bambi's bunny friend, and sisters ended up finding Bambi on his walk. Thumper decided to guide Bambi around, showing him what was what. They came upon a bed of flowers and Thumper told Bambi he should sniff them.
Bambi sniffed through a bed of flowers, his nose touched something. Another animal. Thumper was cut off before he could reveal what Flower really was.
"Flower's so cute!" Dustin cooed.
"Flower's not cute." John denied, grimacing. "He's a skunk."
"A skunk?"
"Yeah, a skunk." John repeated. "They stink."
"Then take them a bath!" Dustin countered.
"It's not that simple, Tin-can. They're always stinky. Doesn't matter if ya wash 'em…" John explained. "It's not like having a dog."
"I don't like dogs!" Dustin announced. "They step all over me and they drool. I like cats! They're soft and they make funny noises."
John smiled. "I like cats, too. You should ask your mom for one for Christmas."
Dustin smiled. "I want a big, fluffy cat that's white and blue eyes!"
"Like Duchess and Marie from the cat movie?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! But if we get Duchess and Marie, we have to get O'Malley, and Toulouse, and… and Ber… Ber…"
"Berlioz." John said though he probably pronounced it wrong. French sounded like a mouthful of a language to learn. "That's a lot of cats, Dustin. You sure you want that many?"
"I want lots of cats when I get big!" He replied cheerily. "And I want Flower-the-skunk!"
John gave a tight lipped smile. "Your mom wouldn't let you have Flower."
Dustin frowned, crossing his arms. "Why not?"
"I just told ya! They're stinky."
Dustin's shoulders slumped. "But I want it…"
"What about a black and white cat?" John offered. "You can call it Flower."
Dustin considered this and smiled. "Okay!"
This movie was absolutely boring. What made him think it'd be remotely decent? He should've suffered through watching Winnie the Pooh again instead.
John leaned his head back on the cushion, closing his eyes. He wasn't going to sleep. There was no way with Dustin awake. He couldn't even try with all the annoying trumpets and cymbals that played every time Bambi—or any other character—so much as moved a single step. The ending couldn't come fast enough.
"Who's that?" Dustin suddenly asked.
John opened his eyes, watching the way Bambi lit up when the stag peered down at him. He remembered the stag from the beginning of the movie, watching as Bambi was brought into the world.
"I think that's Bambi's dad."
Dustin's brows furrowed, peering up at John. "What's 'dad'?"
John's froze, heart pounding in his ribcage. His throat suddenly felt about as dry as the Atacama Desert. He fucked up. He fucked up so bad. Sandra was always careful never talk about Dustin's father. Not even mention him or words associated with him.
Telling the truth—no matter if people believed him or not—wasn't something he shied away from. But this was so different. He'd never been stuck with an innocent, yet loaded, question. If he lied, it'd come back to him. He already lied to Sandra about Saturday detention… But he didn't think he could lie to Dustin. Never Dustin.
Dustin waited patiently, blinking those brown eyes he must've gotten from Liam. John thought about all the things he wanted from his father.
"A dad's a guy who takes care of you. He teaches you new things every day. He listens to what you say, feeds you, clothes you, takes you to the park. He'll hang your drawings on the wall."
"Ooh." He cooed. "You're my dad, John."
It was so fucking pure. It broke the heart he didn't think he had anymore.
"No." He said, torn between laughing and crying. "No, I'm not."
Dustin's head tilted the way a Husky's would. "Who's my dad?"
This was definitely not his place. How could he tell a two year old his father didn't want him? John couldn't. There were no words. Usually, nothing could get him to shut up when he had things to say. But he couldn't do that to Dustin. Never Dustin.
Thinking about all the reasons why Liam wanted nothing to do with Dustin made everything hurt, because there was no reason. None. Dustin was an awesome kid—so full of life, always giggling, always asking a hundred-and-one questions because he was just so curious to know more than what his little mind could retain. How could this guy wake up one morning and decide he wanted nothing him and leave Sandra to do it all by herself?
One of the things he'd thought about often was how better his life would've been if his own father had just left—left his mother alone, left him alone. But John was wrong. It wouldn't have been any better. Not for him. His father taught him all the things not to do.
"Look." John pointed, thankful for the distraction. Thumper was trying to teach Bambi to slide across the frozen river. "Flower's back."
Dustin's attention averted just like he wanted. "I like Flower! And Thumper. Thumper's funny."
"Yeah, me too." John smiled. "Are you hungry?"
Dustin nodded, humming his response.
John got up, heading to the kitchen. He breathed a huge sigh of relief. But he knew it wouldn't last. Sandra would find out.
There was nothing in the fridge. Well, there was, but nothing Dustin liked. He may love the color green but he hated vegetables. They'd eaten all the left over pizza earlier. And the only other solid food Dustin liked was spaghetti. John didn't know how to make that.
He tried calling Sandra at work. Nothing. The person at the reception desk said she was busy with some surgery. Sandra left no cash behind for another delivery and John didn't have any money.
John blew a raspberry. Now what? He should call someone else, but who? Allison? Yeah. Allison was a girl. She knew how to cook. She had to. He went through the cabinets, trying to find the yellow pages.
"Dustin?"
"Yeah?" He immediately responded.
"What're you doing?"
"Watching the movie!"
"Okay."
John found it in the drawer by the fridge. He opened it, opening it up to the J section without realizing. A wave of something coursed through him. Ever since the day Allison finally spoke, he'd been debating on trying to talk to Brian. Wasn't Brian's last name Johnson?
His index finger trailed down the pages. There were a couple of Johnson's. Mardock, Peyton, Jordan, Brian R.. Wait. Brian had his own phone line?
John dialed the number.
A woman answered. "Hello?"
"Hi." So much for his own phone line. "Can I speak to Brian Johnson?"
"Who's this?"
"John Bender, from school."
"I'm sorry, but my son doesn't know anyone by the name of John Bender." She replied snobbishly and his eyes narrowed, glaring at the back of the couch. "May I ask why you're calling?"
"I need to ask him a question."
"About what?"
John gripped the receiver. "Can you just put him on the phone?"
"Sorry, but Brian's not in right now." And she hung up.
John stared at the receiver, blaring the dial tone. Where would Brian be on a Sunday night except at home, studying for some Physics exam? Or coming up with something for the Latin club? Or his SATs? Then, a light bulb went off in his head.
John went back to the living room, watching the rest of Bambiwith Dustin.
"Where's the food?"
"Not ready."
A million questions and a life time later, the movie was finally over. Dustin liked it. But he still liked Winnie the Pooh more. He crawled over to the stacks to find it.
John picked up the receiver, clearing his throat before dialing. He hadn't needed to use his vocal range in so long.
The same woman's voiced pick up again. "Hello?"
He mustered up his best airy voice. "Yes, is the Johnson residence?"
"It is." She responded. "May I ask who's calling?"
"My name is Paul Newman. I'm a recruiter for LSU. Your son sent in an application a few months ago and I'm calling to follow up." He stopped, then quickly added, "How're you this evening, ma'am?"
"I'm doing fine, thank you, but LSU?" She asked out loud, confused. "I don't remember Brian putting an application towards Louisiana…"
"Well, he did." He pushed. "I'm just calling to follow up with a couple of questions and to talk about what our school has to offer."
"Okay, what'll they be?"
"Sorry, ma'am, but this conversation is only for Brian Johnson."
She surprisingly relented. "I'll transfer you over."
"Thank you!"
"Hello?" Brian answered a few moments later, as equally confused as his mom was earlier.
John went back to his normal voice. "What's up, Big-Bri?"
"… Bender?" He said breathlessly. Something crashed in the background. "I thought I heard your name earlier… but, uh, did you really impersonate a college recruiter just now?"
"Sure did!" John glanced at the living room and saw nothing out of the ordinary. "She hung up on me earlier. Needed to try a different approach."
Brian chuckled nervously. "Sorry. She, uh, does that…"
"So," He leaned on the counter, having a clear view of the back of the couch. Dustin was still trying to find the Pooh VHS. "You mean to tell me you got your own phone line but your mom picks up the phone for you?"
Brian chuckled again. "Yeah. She, uh, she needs to know who's calling first. It's an approval thing, I guess. Phone's are a privilege."
"Well. I guess you weren't wrong about your mom throwing a circus." John said. "I get why you're so hesitant to talk about your parents now."
"It's not, uh, really just that." Brian said hesitantly.
"Any chance she's tapping the line?" John asked curiously.
"She'd be tearing my door by now if she was."
"Crazy bitch." John let out, sitting on the counter by the stove. "I can't imagine."
"Yeah…" Brian trailed off awkwardly. "So, why're you, you know, calling me?"
The first thought that came was the first thing he said. "To apologize."
"For what?"
"For giving you the cold shoulder." John watched his dangling feet. "I've got no excuse other than I'm an asshole. I'm working on it."
"Thanks." Brian finally said after a brief pause. "I appreciate the apology."
John rubbed his face. "And I know this is probably the most dumb fucking question on the face of the Earth but you know how to make spaghetti, by any chance?"
