I sprawled on my bed, exhausted. I stayed awake all day at school and then spent four hours cooking at Denny’s. In our speck of a town, it passed for fine dining. It was Friday night. All my friends were at Dylan’s party. Anybody who’s anybody was there. Even the nobodies were there…except me. I have no life because my parents are losers.
Dad left before I turned three. I never kept track of him, but Grams told me “his worthless butt’s in jail now.” Of course I can’t imitate the self-righteous tone she used to stitch her words. Then, Ma lost her mind last year, soon after my thirteenth birthday. Grams said it wasn’t my fault, but Ma always told me I drove her crazy. I have no doubt I did.
Two knocks tapped the door and then it cracked open. Grams frowned when she saw me. “Child, you best be doing homework. Idle hands lead to stagnant minds. And stagnant minds…well, ask your daddy where that leads.”
I sighed and sat up. “Yes, Grams.”
She closed the door and her heavy footsteps clomped down the ceramic tiled hallway. Grams meant well. She was just scared I’d take after my parents and end up lazy or crazy. She also feared she’d lose the house. She never said as much, but I’d seen the notices in the mail and heard her cry late at night from the weight of her worries.
I think Grams forgot what she used to tell me during her visits when I was a young child: God will provide. She didn’t need to fret over me. She didn’t know I had the fire; ambition my parents never possessed.
She also didn’t know that I was the anonymous donor who’d started paying the utilities three months ago.
Idle: (a ): shiftless, lazy; (b): having no evident lawful means of support
This week is a community-voted challenge. If you want to check out the other entries (or write your own) click the tricycle picture to visit Trifecta’s site. Voting opens at 7PM Eastern on Thursday.