A day in the life of an intellectual pariah

I hate that according to human physiology the ability to forget to pull out is the only prerequisite for being a father. Eighteen years and two months ago a pudgy, ape-like, redneck, fellow with big glasses and an “afro” knocked up a twenty-two year old girl. (Likely in a fashion that was somewhat less than romantic) Ten months later a small blonde child was pulled forcibly out of the girl’s womb. The baby tried so hard to avoid his family that he legally died briefly in the process. Unfortunately a doctor with forceps is stronger than an overdue fetus and the child was bound to his new life as the first born of his generation in the Bland clan.
Since that time Tomas Bland, the father in this story, has become pudgier, more ape-like and definitely more redneck. He has caused some unreasonable, infuriating situations in the past but on the night of July 19, 2005 he bested himself.
I had the house to myself this afternoon so I took a walk up to the grocery store. Yay! I got a lovely baguette and some Danish camembert and picked up a couple of movies. By the time I got home my brother was back, no problem. I fixed him something to eat and took out a cheesecake I had in the freezer. It had been a nice calm day and cheesecake would be really good after dinner. Mom got home first, she’d had a bad day but was still in a pretty jovial mood.
When dad came home he stood on the step and shouted for beer. He was hot and tired from work. He didn’t want to waste the energy walking all the way in to the fridge for beer. Jer brought him some. He had three beers and came in to take a shower, pausing in the living room just long enough to tease the music (the garden state soundtrack) for not being for men. He was in the shower for no more than a few seconds when the phone rang. I was making dinner and my brother was playing video games so my mom got it. It was Revenue Canada calling. They had my mom on the phone just long enough to get her all stressed out looking for receipts and credit cards that her content attitude faded before realising; “wait…no…wrong Tom Bland, sorry”.
After my dad’s shower we had dinner. The only one of us who spoke was my brother and he didn’t stop speaking. “…So-thenI-shot-the-parasite-queen-and-she-died-sooooooo-easy-but-it-wrecked-the-ship-so-I-had-to-run-and-I-ran-but-I-didn’t-have-the-speed-upgrade-yet-so-I-couldn’t-run-fast-enough-and-the-explosion-caught-up-with-me-and…” After dinner I put in the first of the two movies, we’ve moved the xbox up from the basement so I now have to watch movies in the living room. That of course means we now watch movies as a “family”.
The first movie went pretty well. I’d gotten Constantine because I had foreseen them complaining I never rent anything “good” to them a good movie is one with bad acting and an even worse plot. Constantine was an immediate hit. Glad I finally got to watch “my” movie (I’d paid for both of them) I switched the DVDs. My brother got up to go to bed, my mom decided to tidy the kitchen but my dad just got out his magazines, turned on every light in the living room and wriggled deeper into HIS CHAIR.
“I’m going to watch my movie now dad.” I squeaked, timid from similar fights I’d had with my father in the past.
“I know, I’m watchin’ this one too. Might as well get my money’s worth.” Not having any Idea what the HELL he was talking about I sat back and got ready to watch Sideways. I could at that point be CERTAIN he would badmouth it seconds in but I didn’t dare say anything. Just like the lights I had learned from previous arguments.
Suddenly the room filled with the clink clanking of glassware and “Sorry, but I have to do these dishes before they set in.” No problem, I would simply wait until the dishes were done. Instead of hitting play I waited.
“What’re you waitin’ for?!” My dad shrieked from the iridescent back corner of the living room.
“I’m going to wait until mom is done in the kitchen before I start the movie.”
“You are so fuckin’ anal about everything. You can’t put up with a bit o’ noise fer five fuckin’ minutes while yer mom cleans the dishes. Fuckin’ anal.”
I tried to reason and he yelled. We’d had this fight before and I wanted to avoid it so I was playing the possum. The one sided argument persisted for a while until my mom came to my defence. Unfortunately for me she is even worse at arguing than my father. Soon she’d made him even angrier.
“Don’t try an’ fight fer him. Yer always sayin’ what a smart shit he is, if he wasn’t pussy he’d fight fer himself.” For the first time in the argument I made a return remark, something about how he was attacking me over nothing. “Don’t you get fuckin’ smart now. I’ll fuckin’ punch you in the head if you keep bein’ smart!”
There was nothing I could say to that. What can you honestly say to a man who says “I’ll fuckin’ punch you in the head if you keep bein’ smart!” to his son. I gritted my teeth, turned my chair obediently towards the television and turned on the movie. Play. The opening credits began and I continued to stew. I could feel the muscles in my right eye tense with each open-mouthed breath that came from the ape behind me. I was yelled at that the volume was too high and that (at nine-fifteen) I was going to wake my brother. My eye began to twitch as I turned the volume down to an acceptable level. Less than three minutes later my mother started the water back up and I was yelled at to turn the water back up because it was “too fuckin’ quiet”. I sat there, bolt upright, tense and twitching as I paid attention to his loud breathing, in out in out, relishing in the heartburn that was causing him audible difficulties.
I was sad, when Matt saw this movie he said it was one of the funniest he’d ever seen. How could I enjoy it? I didn’t want a funny movie, I didn’t even want a movie. I just wanted to get out of that hellish cave of a living room. So when my mom came in and guilted me that I could’ve watched the movie tomorrow and it was my fault we’d had this fight I tossed the remotes to my dad and took off. I didn’t even take the time to put on shoes. I just grabbed sandals and ran out barefoot. I slipped them on when I was well away from the house.
My first stop was Conor’s house. I was desperate for someone to talk to and quite frankly, he hates my father as much as I did just then. I knocked on the door and who I believe to be Liz Harland answered the door. Meredith, inside, told me that Conor wasn’t there and I stormed on along my warpath. Keewatin is a terrible place to storm. Only one of my good friends lives within the boundaries of Keewatin so with him gone I was forced to storm all by myself.
I found my way to KPS and sat on the jungle gym watching lightning in the clouds overhead. The sky was pulsating with pathetic fallacy. Cloudy, rain-free, twighlight bristling with lightning and thunder. It was as if the air around me was angry. I just stared and stared and gradually realised I was sitting on a metal jungle gym watching LIGHTNING. I moved to a wooden step just as a group of seemingly stoned teenagers emerged from the shadows of the school. They sat on a step a ways down and chatted enthusiastically about skateboarding before heading down the street.
I lingered around the school for a while, taking a brief walk in the woods and, after a phone-call to one of my friends vulgarly venting about my brutish ape of a “parent”, I headed home. As I was passing the store where I work I was still FURIOUS and needed to vent more so I went in. To my luck the people working were chatty and I was able to release some of my frustration. The rest of my anger melted away as easily as eating an enormous bar of Lindt chocolate.
Two hours after leaving I arrived on my step. The truck was missing from the driveway and I felt even better. My first thought was that my dad must’ve felt bad and was out trying to find me so that he could apologise. I waltzed down to my computer and began typing this two-thousand word epitaph when he got home. He stood at the top of the stairs staring down at me long enough that I could smell the cigarette smoke wafting off his clothes. He hadn’t gone to find me he’d gone out for a drink so that he didn’t have to face my angry mom. He shut off the lights and went to bed without saying a word to me.
I hope now that you look back on your days more fondly than I do. Good night.