You Don’t Know How Good You Have It

Not once did I have to interview either of my parents for school.  I didn’t know about their life growing up.  Why would I care?  Whenever they talked about growing up, they made it sound so hard.  “You don’t know how good you have it,” they’d say, and I’d stop listening.  I’m sure I had it better than you.  I’m sure your parents told you the same thing, too, when you were in high school.

I can’t say, “You don’t know how good you have it,” to the kids in this house.  When they want to get dropped off down the street so nobody knows where they live, you get the hint.  Their friends have houses without flying texture dust.  Their bathrooms have accessories and fixtures rather than missing doors and walls. 

Dylan, the vegan high school senior, has a report to write about someone he knows.  With my relaxed parenting, A.D.D.-like focus on my career, and pathetic attempts to provide a welcoming home, I figured I’d suck as a subject.  Maybe that’s why he chose me.  It’d be a short paper.

He put off the interview until the night before the due date.  “You only have to answer like five questions for now,” he says.  “I still get credit if I do the minimum.”

I could give him a lecture like my parents did, about going above and beyond but it didn’t do any good for me.  When I went above and beyond, I got tired.  His sister, the General, goes above and beyond all the time and we wish she wouldn’t.  It usually means we have to spend more money.

“Okay,” the vegan says.  “Where and when were you born?”

This is going to be the world’s most boring paper if this is what he has to write about.

“California,” I say.  “A long time ago.”

“That’s not enough.”

Now who’s going above and beyond?  There must be a lecture I can give him about being boring, but I don’t want to discourage him.  He’s doing homework.  

“That’s all you need to know,” I said.  “Ask me another question.”

“What was your favorite job?”

I can imagine his teacher grading 35 of these papers.  I’d shoot myself.

“Selling popcorn at a big theme park when I was in High School,” I said.  “I was all by myself, I could eat all the popcorn I wanted, and at the end of the night my friends and I would go underneath the biggest roller coaster and pick up stuff that fell out.  You can’t believe the things people lose: wigs, glasses, false teeth, bras and underwear.”

<>“Wasn’t that your first job?” 

“Yeah,” I said.  “It went downhill from there.  Prestige, big paychecks, and national awards don’t compare to free popcorn and finding people’s underwear late at night.”

Cheyenneh, the General, runs into the room like she’s on a mission.  Nicci, her friend who looks like she’s never done a wrong thing in her life, follows behind.

“My binder rings popped in history,” she says.  “They just popped.  I wasn’t doing anything.  I need school supplies and I need them now.”

“I have an extra binder.”

“No, no,” she says.  “That’s not going to do.  I need a bigger one, and well, that’s just not going to do.”

“Do I have to deal with this now, ten minutes before Office Depot closes?”

“Dylan can drive us.  Give me a ten or maybe $15.  I need a journal for biology and that’s going to be $5 or $6, at least.”

“You think I have cash?  If I had cash, you’d have sniffed it out and spent it.”

“I’ve learned my lesson with the credit card,” she says.  “I’ll only spend exactly what you tell me.  You know I’m responsible.  It’s for school supplies.”

“Ask Charlie.  He makes it so he should watch you spend it, too.”

She runs downstairs with Nicci right behind.  Dylan and I follow, too.  We want to see if she can get away with this.

“Charlie Charlie Charlie!”

“Yes?”  He’s working on the downstairs shower, trying to remove what was once the door.  It’s now a moveable wall of mold which hits you in the back when you walk by. 

“You have to look at me,” she says.

He stopped working to look at her.

“You have to look into my eyes,” she says.  “You can’t say no if you look at me. You can never say no if you look at me.”

Nicci laughs.

“What, Cheyenneh?”

“You know I’ve learned my lesson.  I need school supplies and we’re out of cash so I need to use the credit card.  I promise I won’t spend over what I need to get: a binder, a mechanical pencil, and a journal.”

I see the look on Charlie’s face.  How can he say no to that?

“How can I be expected to get a 4.0 without the proper materials?”

“You’ve learned your lesson, right?” Charlie says.  “You won’t go over your limit?  You won’t spend ridiculous amounts on crap?”

“I’ll give you the receipt as soon as I get home,” she says.  “I won’t hide it this time.”

“Okay.”

She runs upstairs, Nicci following.  She never does anything alone. 

Dylan the vegan picks up his interview notes and shoves them in his backpack.  I doubt I’ll see those questions again until the night before the next due date.

“I have a problem,” the General says when she walks through the door.  Nicci follows close behind.  The General holds a receipt and a $10 bill, looking a little humbled.

“Go talk to Charlie,” I say.

“I’m counting my allowance toward this, and I have this $10,” she says.  She hands the $10 bill to Charlie.  I can’t remember the last time he’s touched cash.  He’s a card kind of a guy.

“I couldn’t control myself,” she says.  “I wanted everything I saw.”

“I was pulling things out of her cart when she wasn’t looking,” Nicci says. 

“I have a problem,” Chey said.  “I really needed these cool pens.”

“Yeah, she really needed those pens,” Nicci said.

Chalrie looked Nicci straight in the eyes as she said this.  Nicci quickly looked away, smiling.

“What do I do with this?”  Charlie held up the $10 bill.

“I’ll take it,” I said.  I didn’t avert my eyes.

The Vegan came downstairs and said, “It’s senior skip day.”  Speed Racer, his skating buddy, followed behind.  The Vegan must have picked up Speedy as male support before shopping with girls.

“Yeah, I talked to my Mom about it,” Speedy says.  “She said ‘it’s your decision.’  My decision is I’m skipping school.”

“Senior skip day?” Charlie says.  “When I went to school, we didn’t have senior skip day.”

“You didn’t have algebra,” I said.  “You went to school in Florida.  Every day was senior skip day.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the General says.  “It’s senior skip day.”

“It’s sophomore skip day, too,” Nicci says.

“Yeah,” the General says.

“Nicci, I was hoping you’d rub off on the General,” Charlie says.  “It appears that the General is rubbing off on you.”

Nicci giggled.  The General looked straight at Charlie like, ‘what did you think would happen?’

They don’t know how good they have it.

A little help? [] 5:27:40 PM