The Work in Progress By: Tyler Hooks
I was five years old when I was sentenced to the principal’s office for the first time. Unfortunately, I was in trouble. I was just trying to show Sadie my affection when I bit her in the arm, and she barley even cried. Why did I have to be punished? I looked up at the clock, I was feeling rather restless that day. I started mimicking the sound the clock made. I did this until the receptionist with the mole that took up almost half of her left cheek scolded at me, and made a shushing sound that meant I needed to be quiet. I glared at her for a second, never looking her straight in the face. I was scared that mole might come off her face, and attack me, and I was only five, meaning I had the attention span of a small cat. When Principal Glades walked into the office, to “chat” with me, she smiled. Why was she so happy? I had just assaulted one of her students. “Hi there Ross.” In response I nodded at her, I had no intention of paying attention to anything she had to say. After what seemed like thirty minutes of “chatting” I was taken back to the classroom to apologize to Sadie. She called me stupid and told me I was in a lot of trouble, and ran off to go play with her friends, not even giving me a minute to say I was sorry ( even though I wasn’t), and to ask her to be my friend. When walking to the swings, I started to think about what she said. She called me stupid, but so did a lot of people. “No sweetheart, you’re not stupid, you’re just intellectually challenged, that’s all.” My mom said, if the topic of my stupidity ever came up in our array of conversations. I was just intellectually challenged; it was a hundred times better, and fifty times worse than being called stupid. Every time I tried explaining it at a soccer game, for accidentally scoring a point for the other team, people looked at me like I was a retard. As a matter of fact, that’s what they called me.
“Hey Man, are you alright?” The bartender asked.
“Uh-hh.” I groaned, after my fifth bear, I must have dozed off.
“Hey, we’re closing in like fifteen minutes.”
I looked up at him when he said this; he was a white kid with long locks, a nose ring, and a lot of piercings in his ears. I tried to count them as I got up to leave, but failed.
When I reached the parking lot I dipped my hand into my coat pocket to grab my keys. While searching in the pockets of my coat, I managed to trip over a stone, and face plant myself onto the cold, gravel surface. I laid there for a second, and started to contemplate life. All my friends were out there making money either at a job, or starting a company, and here I was, face down on the ground, getting thrown out of bars, and tanking any kind of interview I’ve had in the past three months. What was wrong with me?
I get up and make another attempt at finding my keys after several attempts of trying to locate them, I finally discover them in the front pocket of my pants. I unlock my car; it was the BMW my parents got me when I was accepted into Columbia. It had a dent on the side, which made it nearly impossible to get in on the driver’s side. “You know, if you were smart enough to get into Columbia, you’d think you’d be smart enough to get your car fixed.” My dad said, every time he saw me. This was often, after finishing my undergraduate years at Columbia I relocated back to New Jersey, and into my parent’s basement. Instead of paying for the dent to be popped out, every time I get into the car I climb in on the passenger side, and into the driver’s seat.
My father and I were not nearly as close as we used to be, every time I see him I can feel the resentment in the air, even when he’s not even speaking to me. But when he is, I can sense it in his tone. “Hey Ross, you remember Brandon? Well he’s in the paper, he just launched his new company, can you believe you two used to go to school together? Man, I don’t know what he did that you didn’t.” I nod at this, rather than make a comment and start an argument over something that was so irrelevant to me. I didn’t care what my friends were up to these days, and because of the lack of communication between us, I’m pretty sure the feeling was mutual. “So, have you started putting mouse traps in the basement?” I shook my head. I tried to keep my breakfast in my mouth to avoid saying anything to him.
It’s finally the next morning, my head beats hard, and I’m sweating, but I remember I have an interview in New York. It’s eight o’clock in the morning, and in order to avoid seeing my parents I decide to leave a little early. I jump into the shower, and begin to get ready. After what felt like a five minute shower, I grab an aspirin and head into the kitchen to find something to eat, only to find both my parents up.
“Good morning sweetheart would you like some eggs?” My dad looks up at me when my mother says this, as if he thought it were time I left too.
“No thanks.” I was just on my way out.
“Don’t forget your lunch.”
“Thank you.” I say, giving her a hug goodbye, and I nod at my father.
I don’t know when my mom started to become so oblivious, anyone could have felt the tension in the air, anyone except for her.
I climb out of my Uncle Ray’s truck and onto the pavement. “Now listen here,” he went on, “this is the first day of the rest of your life, in other words, go out for the football team, meet a pretty girl, and hold onto the memories.” He said this while driving off. That had been the most profound thing I think he ever said, either that, or he was still as drunk as he was the night before. Instead of saying something smart, I nodded at him, and thought there was no way possible I’d ever end up like that. I wasn’t going to dwell on all the high school memories I had, if anything I bet I would try to forget them. I told myself a long time ago, my life would not start until I was out of my parents’ house, but most importantly out of Jersey. As I began to trot towards the building, Sadie approached out of nowhere. God, she got cuter over the summer, her soft porcelain skin with freckles sprinkled all around it, her emerald green eyes, her silky honey colored hair whipping around every time someone came up to say how much they missed her, or how they wanted to hear about her summer. The way the sun made her freshly tan skin look was almost intoxicating. I don’t know how long I was staring at her, but it was long enough to get her attention, and she kindly got up in the middle of the conversation she was having with Michelle Vale, and started walking my way. Every time she got closer, my heart raced even faster. She was the one high school memory I would never try to forget.
I finally reach New York City, the traffic wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t a breeze either. As soon as I made it off the bridge and into Manhattan, I parked my car on a random street, and took a picture of the street name, Seventeenth right off Park Avenue. I enjoy walking around the city, getting a feel for it, and even though it’s Monday during rush hour, I can’t help but feel so calm, and so at home. New York was my home for a long time I couldn’t see myself living anywhere else. I love this city more than I loved Dexter, the fat cat that lives in the backyard bushes. My mom gave him to me when I was eleven, and I’m pretty sure he was the same cat the Lebam family owned before they moved away the summer before fourth grade, but I loved him anyways. I remember my first time here; it was with Sadie Clumber when we were high school freshmen. I remember it like it was yesterday, we did all the stupid tourist things, but it was absolutely perfect. The first short story I ever wrote was about the time we spent just gazing at each other in Central Park, even though it had so much meaning to me it ended up sounding as cheesy as the pizza we ate. I looked at my watch it was ten o’clock, and my interview started at eleven thirty.
I finally reach the building across the park; I noticed it was down the street from Goldman Sachs. When I entered into the building I felt a surge of panic run through my system, and up my spine. What if this is just like all the other interviews I’ve had in the past few months? No, I said to myself. This would not be like all the other interviews, this one was different, it was for a blogging company called Blabber. I was happy when I saw the ad in the paper, finally, something that I knew a thing or two about. After discovering the ad, I decided to do a little digging. The company was founded by Will Curs a computer tech guy, who wanted a mix between Tumblr, Blogger, and Word Press. It was the most used blogging website in the world. I also found out they own a publishing company and partner with big companies like Amazon. This couldn’t get any better. I thought.
“Ross Braxton.” A petite woman, with a fairly large nose said.
I immediately stood up. Don’t screw this up, you got this! I tried motivating myself.