Marco
August 6th, 1984
Daria and I are looking over the river on a pedestrian bridge covered with flowers of every kind. I just came here. I wanted to go out for a walk.
Instead, I found Daria.
I hear the sound of breathing, and I turn to my left. A gush of wind blows in my face, obscuring it with hair. I can still see Randall in front of me. That's two people I didn't expect to see today.
I turn back to Daria, who's looking me in the eye, her mouth open, but then she shuts it.
"Whacha doing?" I ask.
"Nothing," she says. "I'm bored. Do you wanna have a roast battle?"
"Okay," I say, shrugging. I turn to Randall.
"I'm in," he says, before I even ask.
"Can you find any brains?" I ask Daria. Quickly, she responds.
"Not in your head."
"Oh, boy." Randall and I look at each other. "I already give up," Randall says.
"Let's do something else, then," Daria says. "Tell me about you grandparents, Randall. I've always wondered what it's like to live with your grandparents instead of your parents."
"It's embarrassing," Randall says, "normal grandparents don't act the way mine do. They don't wear mohawks and hair mousse. They don't dress up weird."
Embarrassing, my ass. I would like to have cool grandparents.
"I don't see what's so bad about them," I say. "They're really chill, bro."
"What are they like?" Daria asks. Strands of red hair blow out in the wind. The hair mesh isn't really helping much.
"What did I tell you?" Randall snaps. "Embarrassing." His teeth are grinding themselves together.
"Whatever," Daria says. "I'll see you guys later." We both watch Daria walk away.
For some reason, all I can think of Ms. Kane. I'd be embarrassed to have such grandparents.
Is that what's bugging Randall?
Jack
I open the door as soon as I hear the doorbell ring. I spend most days cooped up in the house, and I hardly see Dad. I can't really remember the last time I saw him after Christmas that didn't involve plans to go to Halifax.
Standing in front of me is a woman with red hair, though at the roots, I can see brown hair. She has my dad's eyes and tanned skin; she's very petite as well. In fact, she's barely my height.
It's Aunt Sherrie.
"Hi," I say. "Grandma's not home." That's true. Grandma went out for a drive outside of Halifax with Dad. She goes on these drives every time me and Dad come here. Last vacation, they stayed overnight. They did that other vacations as well. If they are, then Aunt Sherrie comes over.
"I know that, kid." Aunt Sherrie steps in and closes the door.
"Grandma says my mom's a narcissist," I say suddenly. Why am I talking about this? As soon as I utter those words, I tell Aunt Sherrie about how Mom burned my stuff in the backyard. I also tell her about how I hardly see Dad.
"I'm not surprised, considering this is your mother," she says, "but I'm also not surprised your dad's not around. He's really not that much better than your mother, you know."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"I can see you're in denial about it. You're not even considering the fact that a man with his job shouldn't have so many "business trips." Aunt Sherrie puts quotation marks up to prove her point. "If you told him about your mother burning your belongings, then just watch how he reacts."
This is why I don't want to tell him. I'm scared of his reaction.
What if he says he doesn't want to talk to me anymore?