A/N: You know it's gonna be a good one when there's a Taylor Swift chapter title!
"You know how we feel about that boy, Margaret."
"How can you know how you feel about him if you haven't even met him?"
"We've heard enough to know we do not approve of you courting him."
"This isn't about your approval, it's about me introducing you to the person I love!"
"Please Margaret, you're 18. What could you possibly know about love?"
I stepped away from the door, tired of eavesdropping. Arguments between my sister and parents were not an uncommon occurrence, but lately Maggie had been in some sort of mood and they'd been happening almost daily. I was no saint myself, but Maggie seemed to have a special talent for infuriating our parents. Nobody liked to tell me anything, though. Happens when you're the baby of the family. So I sat and eavesdropped, able to gather that Maggie's latest boyfriend didn't meet my parents' standards. This could mean he was poor, a Democrat, or a non-Christian. Heck, maybe he'd hit the whole trifecta and be all three.
The slam of Maggie's bedroom door usually signaled the end of an argument; Maggie usually sneaking out the window, my parents sitting in the kitchen, fuming. This time, though, the argument ended with a knock at the door. I found myself throwing open my bedroom door and running to the foyer before I anyone could stop me. I threw the front door open and was met with a tall, dark-haired man. His brown eyes shone as he stuck his hand out to greet me.
"I'm Darrel. You must be Mikey, Maggie's told me so much about you," he smiled.
I scowled but shook his hand anyway.
"It's Michael." Maggie's the only one who calls me Mikey, just like I was the only one who calls her Maggie. At least, I thought I was the only one.
I felt a tense hand on my shoulder and knew my father was standing behind me, his eyes likely shooting daggers. He stuck his hand out in a similar fashion, cold and unwelcoming.
"Richard. Richard Price. So you're the infamous Darrel Curtis?"
Maggie's boyfriend was either really dense or really friendly because he didn't seem affected in the slightest by my father's coldness. He shook his hand warmly with a wide grin on his face.
"Yes sir, that's me. Darrel Curtis. How do you do?"
My father didn't bother responding, such pleasantries were saved for those deemed worthy of his time. I knew my mother had a similar mindset, though she hid it better. You wouldn't be able to guess her feelings toward Darrel by the way she greeted him.
"I'm Katherine Price, Margaret's mother. Lovely to meet you, please come in."
The four of us stood silently in the doorway for a few moments, simply staring at each other. My father's grip on my shoulder began to tighten with every second that passed. He finally let go and led everyone to sit in the foyer, thankfully. I hoped my shoulder wouldn't bruise.
Maggie must've decided it was time to make a grand entrance, stepping in and choosing to sit by Darrel, on the couch opposite to my parents. I sat in a lone chair, at the head of the madness.
"So Darrel," my father started, already up and pacing, "what does a young man such as yourself spend his time doing?"
Maggie rolled her eyes, likely already having told my parents this information. My father was a lawyer, and according to him the first rule of law was to never ask a question you didn't know the answer to. He didn't care to know this guy, he just wanted to make a point. And poor Darrel didn't have a clue.
"I split my time between my family's farm and working part-time at Dan's Grocery," Darrel explained.
My father gathered a bottle of scotch in one hand and a glass in the other, setting both on the fireplace mantle. He began to pour himself a drink, his next question already locked and loaded.
"So you've graduated high school, then?"
Darrel rubbed his hands nervously on his pant legs and cleared his throat. "No sir, I dropped out when I was fourteen to help with the farm."
To my surprise, Darrel's embarrassment, and Maggie's utter horror, my father began to chuckle to himself.
"Richard," my mother admonished, also surprised by this behavior, "not here."
"I just think," my father stopped to sip his drink, "it's all very ironic, isn't it? I work my whole life to give my children a life worth living; a nice house, home-cooked meals, a God-centered family, heck, a college education. And they choose to throw it all away."
"Daddy stop!" Margaret shouted. He continued.
"You do know that Margaret is attending college, right Darrel? How do you expect to marry a woman more educated than yourself? I pay my daughter's tuition to give her the gift of knowledge, but I had hoped that one day she would be taken care of. How do you expect to take care of her with an eighth-grade education?"
My mother's jaw had dropped and stayed that way. Darrel continued to rub his hands on his thighs and Maggie's eyes burned with an anger I'd never seen before. I pulled my knees to my chest, hugging them to me, and watched as my father loudly sipped his drink, reveling in the drama of it all.
"Sir, I—"
"No! You don't owe him anything, Darrel. It is obvious that my father can't see past his own pride and judgment, I think it would be best if we left."
Maggie stood and offered her hand to Darrel, who hesitantly took it and stood with her.
"Don't go, we should all sit down for dinner," my mother suggested, attempting to salvage the situation. She seemed to be the only one who hadn't realized that we were past the point of no return.
"No Katherine, Margaret's right. I think it would be best if he left," my father concurred. Darrel moved toward the front door nervously, Maggie clutching his hand and following him out. My father turned to face the fireplace, his back to the couple.
"Oh," he continued, his volume increasing rapidly to a shout, "and if you decide to leave with him…"
My father threw his drink on the ground, the glass shattering.
His next words were no louder than a whisper. "Do not, under any circumstances, even think about coming back."
Tears of rage filled my sister's eyes as she spared me one last heartbroken glance. My eyes pleaded with her to stay, but she followed Darrel out the front door anyway.
My father stormed out of the room, likely planning to nurse his wounds with the not-so-secret liquor cabinet in his office. My mother began to sob as I continued to hug my knees to my chest, silent tears rolling down my face.
That was the last time I saw my sister, and the one and only time I met the infamous Darrel Curtis.
— — — — — — — — — —
"Just make sure to keep that knee iced and elevated and you should be back on your feet in no time," I advised, signing the last of my patient's discharge papers. I sighed and glanced at my watch, which read 7:15. It was later than I had planned to work tonight, but I suppose it didn't matter all that much. Wasn't like I had anyone waiting for me at home.
I rolled my shoulders and neck as I made my way through the maze of hallways that was this building, trying to work out the soreness that always made its way back after a long day. I could really use a massage right now, I thought.
Today's workload had consisted mostly of sprains and bruises, with a few broken bones here and there. Nothing compared to the action I was used to working in the ER, but I knew what I had signed up for. I just hoped it was worth it. At least it was Thursday, only one day left in the workweek. I approached the front desk to grab my time card and clock out.
"Any plans for the weekend?" asked Martha, our front-desk receptionist.
"Nothing much, just some much-needed relaxation. And yourself?" I replied, making small talk.
"Oh, not much for me either. Going to my nephew's track meet tomorrow, though," she replied, showing me the local newspaper in her hand. She pointed to an article in the sports section.
Track State Semifinals: Who Will We Be Seeing in the Championship?
The writing under the headline, though, is what really grabbed my attention.
Will Rogers High will not only host the meet, but is expected to sweep it. Key runners such as Senior David Miller and Sophomore Ponyboy Curtis seem to be the key to their recent victories.
It can't be, I thought. Then again, how many Curtis' could there really be? Ponyboy wasn't the most conventional name, but I wouldn't put it past that Darrel character. It was at least worth investigating, not like I had anything better to do on a Friday night.
I felt Martha's eyes on me as I continued to scan the paper.
"Can I keep this?"
A/N: Pretty please leave a review and let me know what you think of the story so far, it means the world to me!