Join Date: April 4, 2004
Location: London, England
Cat's in the Cradle: Chapter One - 1990
This is the first chapter of a book I'm writing called Cat's in the Cradle which tells the story of an irresponsible, abusive father, his younger brother and his son. This is only the first chapter because I don't have anything else yet. Yes, I know it sucks. Any suggestions?
Bea was very excited about her coming child, he was all he could talk about. Jack, however didnâ€™t seem so happy about it. Iâ€™m not going to lie, heâ€™d never seemed like a very capable father. According to Mum he was horrible to me when I was born. Jack was sixteen years older than me and always made this clear when we were growing up. It was a kind of â€œIâ€™ll always be the man and youâ€™ll always be the babyâ€ sort of thing. Of course he had matured as he got older, but not quite by enough. At this point in time he was twenty-nine and I was thirteen and, as he always had, he treated me as if I was a two year old.
â€œYuk! Mattie, would you mind taking that outside?â€ Bea said to me.
â€œSorry, does the smoke bother you?â€ I said to her. I really couldnâ€™t be fucked to go all the way down the seemingly endless flight of stairs in their flats so I stubbed it out on the cardboard wrapper my sandwich had come it and chucked it in the bin.
â€œThank you!â€ moaned Bea sounding irritated. â€œYouâ€™re too young to be smoking anyway.â€
â€œHow so?â€ I replied, my obnoxious tone clearly irritating her.
â€œWell youâ€™ll fuck up your lungs, â€˜init?â€
â€œItâ€™s my body, I can fuck it up any way I want!â€ Jack turned around from doing the dishes, ran across the room and grabbed me by the collar.
â€œDonâ€™t ever, ever, talk to my girlfriend like that! You got it?â€ Jack had always had a bit of an anger problem. So much so that mum once sent him to a counsellor for it.
There was a long period of silence as Bea stared at Jack with a blank stare on her face as he held me by the throat.
â€œJust because Mum sent you to stay with us while sheâ€™s in Spain doesnâ€™t mean you can go around acting like you own the place. Is that clear?â€
â€œIs that clear?!â€
â€œYes, just please let go!â€
â€œFine.â€ he said as he let me down, the anger still not fading from his eyes.
Bea finally broke the silence by saying in a stuttered tone, â€œUmmâ€¦ your rooms down there, Mattie, the one at the end of the hall.â€
â€œThanks.â€ I muttered in a quiet, fearful voice.â€
I entered the room and had a look around. I was an awfully grey, depressing room. The walls were bare and there wasnâ€™t really a lot to look at. There was an empty wardrobe with some plastic coat hangers inside, a seemingly rock-solid bed that looked like it had been stolen from a 1930s mobile hospital and a small, white bedside table with a lamp on it and four draws. I took the cigarettes from my pocket and placed them and my lighter carefully on the table. â€œUgh,â€ I thought to myself. â€œI canâ€™t believe I have to spend six fucking months here.â€ I laid down on the bed and had a deep, long think. I started to cry as I realised how long it would be before I got back home.
I started to think about Jack. He was slightly odd in appearance. He was tall, lanky and had hair that was short but seemed thick enough to balance a coffee mug on. Compared to my below-par looks he was like a supermodel. I wasnâ€™t ugly per-se, but I didnâ€™t exactly look normal. I had extremely strange hair. It was very thin yet blond and curly and couldnâ€™t be styled for shit.
I felt pity for Jack and Beaâ€™s expected child. Knowing what Jack was like myself I hated the idea of the poor kid being brought into a family managed by such a dickweed. I love my brother, as I am meant to, but I donâ€™t like him. Fuck no. Why should I like him? Heâ€™s never been anything but a dick towards me, but that doesnâ€™t mean I donâ€™t love him. No. Liking someone and actually loving them are different things. But whatever, Iâ€™m slightly pissed at Mum for not sending me to live with Dad for these nasty six months. I both like and love him.
I awoke several hours later. I must have dosed off. I looked at my watch and became irritated when I realised that it was 3AM. â€œMeh.â€ I thought to myself. I reached down for my suitcase and pulled out a Richmond, a 32-pack of Rizla and my 1/8. I tore a piece of the cardboard from the Rizla packet to make a small roach, licked the side of the Richmond poured the tobacco in and added the draw. I hadn't brought a grinder with me so I had difficulty crumbling it into the roll.
After I'd finished rolling it and twisted the and I stuck my head out of the window to light it. I was amazed. Jack lived in a shitty area but the look of London at night gave me a thrill. There were cars going up and down the main road, people chatting and laughing on the street... I had always thought I was the only person in the whole damn country that would be up at such an hour but I discovered that I was not alone in my bizarre sleeping habits. I was used to the suburbs where nobody was awake past 10PM and people would think you were some kind of recluse or a weird hermit type if you were up so late.
I withdrew my lighter from my pocket, lit the joint and smoked away. For the first time in months all my problems seemed to fade away. I just lay down on the bed in bliss and fell asleep.
I woke up in the morning to find that Jack and Bea weren't there. I showered before proceeding to the kitchen to eat breakfast where I found a note on the table.
â€œHey, stoner,â€ the note read. â€œBea and I have gone out to the hospital for the ultrasound. Back later.â€
â€œFuck, they smelled it!â€ I thought to myself. I didn't really care. I mean, they smelled my weed. So what?
I had a look through the couple of the century's music collection. Finding nothing but Trance music I was enlightened when I found a â€œThe Whoâ€ LP. I immediately put on â€œWon't Get Fooled Againâ€ and found myself mouthing the lyrics as the record played. I lit a cigarette and sat down in the brown armchair in Jack's dreary living room. I didn't care what the fuck him or his girlfriend said to me. They didn't control me. No. They weren't my parents.
It's me, Felix.
Name changes annoy everyone, I know.