“That asshole cut of my monkey’s finger!” I shouted.
“Of course he did,” dad said as he sat down. “Don’t forget that I’ve
also been sending hookers up to your room all afternoon long.”
I momentarily forgot about the monkey finger. “But you did!”
“Of course I did,” he said and, when he made sure nobody was looking,
winked at me.
It dawned on me then that I was living in a house full of retards, but
not your normal, run of the mill retards. These were retards who were
all out to get me, making them the worst retards of all.
Talk around the table turned from me and focused on my brother’s
imminent departure to art school. This was a good thing, my parents
felt, since it would finally get him out of the house since he had a
tendency to sit inside all day long watching monster movies and devising
ways to torture me.
“Now, what about those hookers?” mom asked when the art school
discussion had ended.
“Definitely drugs, ma,” Geoff said as he spooned mashed potatoes into
his gaping maw. “Little punk bastard’s on drugs.”
“Just because his biological mother never knew who the daddy was….”
“I’m adopted?” I asked even though I already knew I was but felt it was
the perfect opportunity to fuck with my mother and also give me a way to
get away from the dinner table.
She took a long sip of scotch. “I thought you already knew that?
Besides, we love you as if you came squirting out from between my own
“That’s SICK!” I yelled as I picked up my milk and threw it against the
wall. “I can’t deal with this shit anymore!”
I got up and stormed from the kitchen as my father shouted, “Young man
you get back here AND FINISH YOUR DINNER!”
I chuckled as I ran to the garage, got on my bike and pedalled furiously
Fifteen minutes later I was at my friend Richie’s house and, after
getting Tom who lived a few houses down the street, we piled into his
Barracuda and went to a showing of a 3D movie.
On the way to the theater I had my first taste of marijuana.
Things would never be the same.
COMING NEXT: Changes