JunkBondTrader
July 4th, 2006, 01:56 PM
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 didn’t seem so happy about it. I’m not going to lie, he’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 “I’ll always be the man and you’ll always be the baby” 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.
“Yuk! Mattie, would you mind taking that outside?” Bea said to me.
“Sorry, does the smoke bother you?” I said to her. I really couldn’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.
“Thank you!” moaned Bea sounding irritated. “You’re too young to be smoking anyway.”
“How so?” I replied, my obnoxious tone clearly irritating her.
“Well you’ll fuck up your lungs, ‘init?”
“It’s my body, I can fuck it up any way I want!” Jack turned around from doing the dishes, ran across the room and grabbed me by the collar.
“Don’t ever, ever, talk to my girlfriend like that! You got it?” 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.
“Just because Mum sent you to stay with us while she’s in Spain doesn’t mean you can go around acting like you own the place. Is that clear?”
“Yes…”
“Is that clear?!”
“Yes, just please let go!”
“Fine.” 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, “Umm… your rooms down there, Mattie, the one at the end of the hall.”
“Thanks.” I muttered in a quiet, fearful voice.”
I entered the room and had a look around. I was an awfully grey, depressing room. The walls were bare and there wasn’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. “Ugh,” I thought to myself. “I can’t believe I have to spend six fucking months here.” 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 wasn’t ugly per-se, but I didn’t exactly look normal. I had extremely strange hair. It was very thin yet blond and curly and couldn’t be styled for shit.
I felt pity for Jack and Bea’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 don’t like him. Fuck no. Why should I like him? He’s never been anything but a dick towards me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love him. No. Liking someone and actually loving them are different things. But whatever, I’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. “Meh.” 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.
“Hey, stoner,” the note read. “Bea and I have gone out to the hospital for the ultrasound. Back later.”
“Fuck, they smelled it!” 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 “The Who” LP. I immediately put on “Won't Get Fooled Again” 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.
Bea was very excited about her coming child, he was all he could talk about. Jack, however didn’t seem so happy about it. I’m not going to lie, he’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 “I’ll always be the man and you’ll always be the baby” 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.
“Yuk! Mattie, would you mind taking that outside?” Bea said to me.
“Sorry, does the smoke bother you?” I said to her. I really couldn’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.
“Thank you!” moaned Bea sounding irritated. “You’re too young to be smoking anyway.”
“How so?” I replied, my obnoxious tone clearly irritating her.
“Well you’ll fuck up your lungs, ‘init?”
“It’s my body, I can fuck it up any way I want!” Jack turned around from doing the dishes, ran across the room and grabbed me by the collar.
“Don’t ever, ever, talk to my girlfriend like that! You got it?” 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.
“Just because Mum sent you to stay with us while she’s in Spain doesn’t mean you can go around acting like you own the place. Is that clear?”
“Yes…”
“Is that clear?!”
“Yes, just please let go!”
“Fine.” 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, “Umm… your rooms down there, Mattie, the one at the end of the hall.”
“Thanks.” I muttered in a quiet, fearful voice.”
I entered the room and had a look around. I was an awfully grey, depressing room. The walls were bare and there wasn’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. “Ugh,” I thought to myself. “I can’t believe I have to spend six fucking months here.” 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 wasn’t ugly per-se, but I didn’t exactly look normal. I had extremely strange hair. It was very thin yet blond and curly and couldn’t be styled for shit.
I felt pity for Jack and Bea’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 don’t like him. Fuck no. Why should I like him? He’s never been anything but a dick towards me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love him. No. Liking someone and actually loving them are different things. But whatever, I’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. “Meh.” 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.
“Hey, stoner,” the note read. “Bea and I have gone out to the hospital for the ultrasound. Back later.”
“Fuck, they smelled it!” 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 “The Who” LP. I immediately put on “Won't Get Fooled Again” 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.