Finding You

Time. Time is contradictory; it can be as slow as molasses, or fly by in an instant. It can feel never ending, or forever fleeting. Something we feel so deeply about, yet change our opinion on daily. Currently I'd like nothing more, than to take a knife to time, and kill it. I'd like to watch it suffer, and wish for it's own punishment to end faster. My punishment, is sitting in Mr. Henry's office, counting each and every second that trudges by. All the while receiving yet another lesson on "self control and responsibility." This chair has seen more of me than any other students combined;  so far this year, at least. I have been here so many times that I could give you a tour of the office without even looking. If you look to your left ladies and gentlemen, you will see the school motto painted on the cold cement wall. It reads "1 family." (More like 1 dysfunctional family, if you ask me.) To your right you will find filing cabinets holding everyone's school records, including mine;  which takes up half of the top left drawer. Behind us is the only exit; a wooden portal to hell, other wise known as high school. Last but definitely not least, in front of you sits Principal Henry, creased from years of stress. His dark, black hair is fleeing to the back of his head while simultaneously graying. Early thirties and he already looks eligible for the senior citizens discount. I'd almost feel bad for him, if he wasn't such a stickler to the rules.

"Thomas, you used to be a straight A student, not a dot on your record. Now it's like you're having a mud fight with yourself on your once clean slate."

"A little dirt never hurt." I scoff and look out the window.

"I understand you're going through a rough time; with your mother leaving, and your father..." Mr. Henry stops and waits for me to fill in the blank. With what adjective, I don't know; wife beater, abuser, monster. Any word would do. But I don't finish the puzzle, because he has no evidence, and I'm not itching to lose my brother; the one person who cares about me, to a social worker and a state certified boy's home. Henry lets out a sigh, indication his defeat.

"Is your father available?" He asks while picking up the phone, waves of wrinkles flood onto his forehead.

We play this game almost every week, he yells, I ignore; he threatens to call my dad, I tell him he's working. In the end Abel gets the call, he comes from work, apologies for me, and takes me home. There he rants at me, giving a mini Mr. Henry speech, and makes me do chores until  he gets off work. He makes supper, helps me with homework, and makes me go to bed early for causing trouble. Somewhere in there is his half attempt of an apology for yelling, and a promise to try harder not to curse, if I try harder to stay out of trouble. In the early morning my dad will stager in, blind drunk, pass out on the couch and be gone before we get home the next day.

"Abel, it's me....caught cheating on a test.....no, said he was working....same old same old......sounds good, see you soon." This brings me out of my trance. Mr. Henry is calling Abel, just like every other day.

"What are we going to do with you Thomas?" Mr. H says with a sigh and a pause, waiting for me to make eye contact. Eventually he see's it's not going to happen and continues with his onslaught.

"Im suspending you for three days; but next time you will be expelled. Do I make myself clear?"

Without looking up I mumble, "That's not my name."

"Yes, it is; legally your name is Thomas Cole. Do you understand this is your last chance Thomas?."

"It's my father's name, not mine."

Mr. Henry lets out a long sigh, indicating he's done with the same, old, tired fight. For the next fifteen minutes we sit in silence; Mr. H does his principal thing while I goof off with his office knick knacks. Around 11:45, Abel bounds into the office, grabs my arm, gives the same standard "sorry, this won't happen again" speech and drags me out of the office, through the wooden door to hell. Abel guides me down the hall with his big calloused hand on my shoulder. My classmates gawk and stare while I'm escorted through the school, to the back parking lot by my big brother. Abel graduated two years ago, and his reputation still holds over the school. Being his kid brother has made my high school reputation pretty tough, but I've made quite a name for myself without his help.

"Cole! Hey wait up, Cole!"

Without turning I know it's Cobb. I can tell by his light scattered footsteps and high pitched voice. Cobb has been my best friend since before I can remember. Him and his mom live a few miles down the road on a small dairy farm. Cobb is tall, lanky, and a goof. A lot of kids in school question why we're friends. In middle school a couple of jocks tried to get me to hang with them. I ate lunch with them for a few days but got bored; then when one of them shoved Cobb and told him to get lost, that was the end of that.

Abel stops, and turns to Cobb; taking me with him.

"Sorry Cobb, not today. Cole got sent home." Abel says with a sigh.

"Yeah, I know, saw him in the office. Boy did Henry look mad!" Cobb all but yells for the whole school to hear.

"See ya later Cobb," I say with finality; turning and shrugging off Abel, I head to the truck. Just like any other day.

Later that day...

I've been doing chores since noon. It's currently eight o'clock at night. We live on a hobby farm with a couple fields of corn to harvest and sell for profit; so there's always things that need to be done. Abel should be home in a few, to continue his tirade.

"I can't keep leaving work, or soon I won't have work at all."

"Can you please just try?"

"God dammit Cole! All you have to do is sit and listen to the teacher! What's so hard about that?"

These are just a couple of his lines I know by heart. I finish up in the barn and head into the house, where Abel greets me with a scowl. Judging by the food on the table, he's been home for at least twenty minutes; I must have missed him pulling in.

"Eat," he grunts while sitting in his chair at the table. Gazing at my plate, I see it's piled high with noodles and some sort of meat concoction sauce. Abel has found 999 different ways to make spaghetti; for three different reasons. It's cheap, it's easy (almost impossible to burn), and it's loaded with carbs. Abel thinks I'm a twig and need to eat more. What he doesn't get is I'm just sick of pasta. We sit for a long while in silence; him inhaling his mound of mush, while I pick at a few noodles a minutes. Boredom soon overtakes me and I waste time by studying our small living/dining room. Lining the left wall are two mismatching and worn couches. They both sink in toward the middle and sag in the back. Across from the couches, resting on top of an old dresser, sits our box T.V. which weighs a lot more than it looks. There are two doors on the back wall, wedged between the couches and T.V. One for Abel's room, and one for mine. Down the hall to the right is our father's room, if he ever uses it. Connected to the living room is the dining room; which is just a sad set of cheap chairs and a wooden table we found on the side of the road. The kitchen is small, with only basic necessities. Abel's the only one who uses it anyways.

"At least eat half," Abel throws at me, knocking me out of my daze.

"I'm not hungry," I say while pushing my plate away. Abel get's up taking his empty plate and leaving mine.

"Okay, but no dessert than," Abel says with his signature grin. That little smirk could get him the world; anyone who's ever known Abel knows that grin. It means trouble.  

"We have dessert?" I ask curiously. We rarely have sweets in the house.

"Picked some up after work; your favorite, Butter Pecan Ice Cream. Eat half your dinner and you can have the rest of the carton."

I knew that smirk meant trouble. Butter Pecan is my favorite thing in the world. I would eat ten gallons if I could; and we almost never have it in the house. My dinner was gone instantly. With his devilish smirk, Abel sets the tub of ice cream in front of me with a spoon. Point Abel.