Andrew and Tyler Scene
In general, Andrew never took buses. They were too hectic, people always hurrying to get where they thought they should be. He preferred to walk, dragging his feet and taking shortcuts that were longer than the direct route. There was no need to rush anything. He'd get there eventually and then he'd wish he'd put it off for longer.
But Thursday was different. Thursday was the day his son got home early. He, on the other hand, let himself in late, suit disheveled and feeling like everyone who looked at him could tell what he'd paid people to do in that back alley. As soon as he set the keys on the counter, his little boy would turn and look at him with disappointed blue eyes and Andrew wished he could tell his son to stop hoping. If he couldn't pull his life together in the 37 years he'd lived so far, it wasn't going to happen and his son should just give up now. Like Andrew had.
His kid was still clinging to some fanatical hope that he would be there for him, though. His wife had conned Andrew into taking him to the zoo, so Andrew stared out at the dreary gray sky and let his son drool on his lap in his sleep. Why did kids like the zoo, anyway? Shouldn't all those animals locked up in cages make them depressed? On the other hand, maybe it wasn't so bad. Stuck in a cage, following the same routine day after day; it'd be hard to disappoint anyone. No one would expect anything more than you going about your business, even if it meant following your carnal instincts and curling up into a ball in the corner or throwing away your dignity to eat food out of grimy little hands.
As if popping forth from his mind, a grimy little hand waved in front of his face. Belatedly, Andrew jerked back, jostling the sleeping boy in his lap. His son snuffled and frowned, but didn't wake. Andrew lay a hand on his head and looked at the redheaded girl who'd disrupted him. She grinned widely at him, showing off her missing front teeth, and moved across the aisle to sit facing him. "You look sad, mister. Well, actually, you look kinda like this bad man I saw, but you look really sad, so I don't think you're a bad man."
Andrew blinked. "I'm not sad," he said, brushing hair from his son's face.
"You're lying." She didn't look put out, though, just delighted to have an audience. "I can tell. I can always tell. Gracey says it's a trick, but I can!"
He cleared his throat. "Shouldn't you be with your parents?"
"Nope." She popped the 'p'. "Mama's a mi-chan-ic. Can't you tell we're not moving? She's fixing the bus so we can all go again! 'Cept me, 'cause she drives me. We're going to the zoo, too, though, she said. If I act right. So I gotta stay here and make you stop looking so sad so I can go see the zebras. Do you like zebras? They're really neat, right? Like horses, but cooler, 'cause they have stripes and I think they run faster, but Gracey says horses do. She's lying, though. Like I said, I can tell."
Andrew pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the coming headache. How could people talk so fast? It was as bad as hurrying to get where you were going. What was the point? The end wasn't going to be any more appealing just because you got there faster. "Speed is overrated."
The girl blinked at him, her smile fading slightly. "Liiiiiike, oh! I heard my daddy saying that once. Oh-ver-rated. Is it a bad thing?"
"It means people think too much of it. There's no point to it."
"But it's fun! I like going fast. My uncle, he has a car-bike that goes really fast and he took me on it once. It felt like I was flying! Why wouldn't you want that?"
"Because eventually you have to land. Some days, it seems like all you do is crash and land and look up and realize that you'll never be able to fly again."
By now, the girl's smile had completely vanished. "Try flying again, Mister. Even if you land, isn't it good to fly for at least a moment? Won't that make you wanna do it again?"
Andrew frowned at her and opened his mouth to say something. He was interrupted, however, by the rumble of the engine starting and a shout of "Tyler!". The girl hopped down, smile recovered, and skipped out of the bus, arms spread and bouncing every other step. Andrew shook his head. Kids were idealistic, but she'd learn soon enough. You couldn't fly forever.
But Thursday was different. Thursday was the day his son got home early. He, on the other hand, let himself in late, suit disheveled and feeling like everyone who looked at him could tell what he'd paid people to do in that back alley. As soon as he set the keys on the counter, his little boy would turn and look at him with disappointed blue eyes and Andrew wished he could tell his son to stop hoping. If he couldn't pull his life together in the 37 years he'd lived so far, it wasn't going to happen and his son should just give up now. Like Andrew had.
His kid was still clinging to some fanatical hope that he would be there for him, though. His wife had conned Andrew into taking him to the zoo, so Andrew stared out at the dreary gray sky and let his son drool on his lap in his sleep. Why did kids like the zoo, anyway? Shouldn't all those animals locked up in cages make them depressed? On the other hand, maybe it wasn't so bad. Stuck in a cage, following the same routine day after day; it'd be hard to disappoint anyone. No one would expect anything more than you going about your business, even if it meant following your carnal instincts and curling up into a ball in the corner or throwing away your dignity to eat food out of grimy little hands.
As if popping forth from his mind, a grimy little hand waved in front of his face. Belatedly, Andrew jerked back, jostling the sleeping boy in his lap. His son snuffled and frowned, but didn't wake. Andrew lay a hand on his head and looked at the redheaded girl who'd disrupted him. She grinned widely at him, showing off her missing front teeth, and moved across the aisle to sit facing him. "You look sad, mister. Well, actually, you look kinda like this bad man I saw, but you look really sad, so I don't think you're a bad man."
Andrew blinked. "I'm not sad," he said, brushing hair from his son's face.
"You're lying." She didn't look put out, though, just delighted to have an audience. "I can tell. I can always tell. Gracey says it's a trick, but I can!"
He cleared his throat. "Shouldn't you be with your parents?"
"Nope." She popped the 'p'. "Mama's a mi-chan-ic. Can't you tell we're not moving? She's fixing the bus so we can all go again! 'Cept me, 'cause she drives me. We're going to the zoo, too, though, she said. If I act right. So I gotta stay here and make you stop looking so sad so I can go see the zebras. Do you like zebras? They're really neat, right? Like horses, but cooler, 'cause they have stripes and I think they run faster, but Gracey says horses do. She's lying, though. Like I said, I can tell."
Andrew pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the coming headache. How could people talk so fast? It was as bad as hurrying to get where you were going. What was the point? The end wasn't going to be any more appealing just because you got there faster. "Speed is overrated."
The girl blinked at him, her smile fading slightly. "Liiiiiike, oh! I heard my daddy saying that once. Oh-ver-rated. Is it a bad thing?"
"It means people think too much of it. There's no point to it."
"But it's fun! I like going fast. My uncle, he has a car-bike that goes really fast and he took me on it once. It felt like I was flying! Why wouldn't you want that?"
"Because eventually you have to land. Some days, it seems like all you do is crash and land and look up and realize that you'll never be able to fly again."
By now, the girl's smile had completely vanished. "Try flying again, Mister. Even if you land, isn't it good to fly for at least a moment? Won't that make you wanna do it again?"
Andrew frowned at her and opened his mouth to say something. He was interrupted, however, by the rumble of the engine starting and a shout of "Tyler!". The girl hopped down, smile recovered, and skipped out of the bus, arms spread and bouncing every other step. Andrew shook his head. Kids were idealistic, but she'd learn soon enough. You couldn't fly forever.