“No, I think you are very flighty and you belong in the front of a kindergarten class, not here,” Matt accused, pointing at me with a manila folder and spinning on his heels.
I couldn’t disagree with that. I didn’t want to be there anymore than he wanted me there. I never had that choice. Luke McClelland was going to make sure his only child would take over the firm. I wasn’t one of those kids that got to daydream about what they were going to be when they grew up, changing it from a ballerina to a teacher. I always knew what I was going to be from the age of six. Six and three-quarters. That’s the age I remembered it from because that’s the age time stood still for me. That’s how old I was. I had just said it moments before it happened.
Gathering my things, I tapped on the glass door with my knuckles. My father looked up from his phone conversation and waved. Seeing me with my things, he shooed me away. Walking down the sidewalk to my car, I bumped shoulders with several people rushing to be somewhere. Everyone was always rushing to be somewhere. Life wasn’t lived, it was labored. People worked so hard at life. I didn’t get it. Why couldn’t we all just be happy, forget about the rat race and just live?
“Oh, excuse me,” I said, turning and bumping into a baby stroller when I realized I absentmindedly passed my car. Damn. Right in the shins. Baby buggies hurt.
Sitting in traffic, I googled the name Becker Cole. I learned that Becker Cole, the high school boy, had become a millionaire before accepting his diploma. The scrawny looking boy designed an app for homework help that went viral in a matter of days. Wow. The guy was smart, wealthy, and nerdy looking, but loaded.
“Whoa,” I said audibly, looking up when the guy behind me blew his horn. Inching forward, I gave him a dirty look through my mirror. It wasn’t like the guy was going very far. I may have moved three feet. I continued to read, edging my way through downtown.
Five years later, Becker Cole did it again—only this time, he wasn’t a nerdy high school boy, too tall and dangly for his body. He’d filled out quite nicely. His hair was longer with a fresh style. The braces no longer covered his white teeth, and the nerdy clothes were replaced with a white shirt, unbuttoned three buttons down. “Whoa,” I said again, letting my eyes wander down his muscular chest, stopping on what I was sure was a bulge. Yep, unquestionably a bulge.
Becker Cole was hot, tall, with a sharp, straight jawline and a distinguished look that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Like he was wiser than his young age or something. Studying the photo, I got lost in his Smurf blue eyes. There was something very scheming about him. I could read it all over his face. The way his narrowed eyes looked at me almost made me feel like I couldn’t look away. I did of course, right after Dickwad laid on his horn behind me again.
Hitting track seven, I sang aloud with The Beetles, thinking about Becker Cole and the online game. The online game made me think about the video game I used to play at Smokey’s Barbeque with my mom and dad. It was old, way out of date, but for whatever reason, my mother loved trying to keep that ball from slipping between those paddles. That’s when my dad used to laugh. I smiled, quietly singing to “Lucy in the Sky” remembering the sound of my mother’s laugh mixed with my dad’s like it was music. It was music. The two of them together, laughing, my mom always being silly, and my dad hanging onto every word that came from her mouth was a song in and of itself. Beautiful melodies.
My dad did buy me a Nintendo and then a Play Station when I got older. His gifts were always so impersonal. I know now the video game was a babysitter, a way to keep me close, but out of his way. Had there been a tournament, I’m sure I could have won the Sonic the Hedgehog title, and then the Crash Bandicoot. I was a pro. Nobody could beat me, not that anyone would ever play with me, but still.
Matt hated it, and he wasn’t even around when I was younger. He would have laid an egg if he had seen the way I used to run around with my toys strung about the office, screaming, writing on the walls, climbing on the desk, or whatever else I could find to get into. Matt would have probably beaten my ass.
My dad didn’t. He didn’t really do anything. He just let me run wild. To a point that is. I couldn’t get out of his sight, but I pretty much did what I wanted in the close proximity of him. I would have much rather him take me to Smokey’s Barbeque and let me play the stupid ball game.
I was never really allowed to do those things. My father needed me to stay close. He couldn’t handle the fact that he wasn’t there for my mother. He was afraid of the same thing happening to me. I’d say he did more harm than good, but convincing him of that was nearly impossible.