ANOTHER BRICK IN THE WALL, PT. 1

"You seem...troubled."

That's what the shrink told me before my own mother shipped me clear across the country.

      We sat in his office on the fifth floor of some immaculate sky rise that late Thursday afternoon—a huge favor on his end, and he analyzed me. After ten minutes of a loud and awkward silence, he spoke up with his diagnosis: I seemed troubled.

      Give me a break.

      Troubled? No. Betrayed? Yes!

      At the news of my going to live with my father, I couldn't believe it.

      I didn't know my father. Let my mother tell their story, the guy sounded like a chump if you asked me.

      They were together for a short period, long enough for me to be conceived, and then poof! It was just my mother and me. She never spoke of him. He never called, wrote, or e-mailed.

      And I never asked about him.

      It wasn't like I had daddy issues or whatever, I just didn't know the guy. How could she send me to live with a complete stranger? Because that's exactly what Scott Stanley was to me, a stranger. All I had of him, was his last name. Or maybe more, who knew? I carried my mother's heart shaped face, her long blonde hair, and my brown eyes were all my own. Sometimes, if I squinted, I looked a little like her.

      Now I didn't care. She was throwing me to the wolves as far as I was concerned. One little mishap and she was sending me south.

      Apparently, Scott lived in the state of Georgia, in a small town, barely on the map, called Meadow Grove.

      God, I was about to see my first cow, I just knew.

      "You'd be troubled too if your mother abandoned you," I replied to Dr. I-Have-the-Answers.

      His bushy eyebrows peaked at my response. "Do you feel abandoned, Saylor?"

      I sat back in the plush cherry colored chaise. Around Dr. I-Have-the-Answers' office were shelves with book upon book lining them, no doubt on shrink stuff. His desk, a simple sheet of glass affixed on chrome legs, held a clock, a couple of photos, a funky hourglass, and Newton's Cradle.

      By my read, Dr. I-Have-the-Answers was OCD. He had used a can of spray dust cleaner to wipe off a fingerprint smudge on the coffee table before me within the first two minutes of our meeting.

      Even his comb over was neatly into place.

      He adjusted his glasses, offering me that I'm-Your-friend smile once more. "Saylor?"

      I sighed. "No, Doc., not at all."

      For the rest of our session he tried to get to the root of my rebellion, the cause of my abnormality, and the reason my mind worked the way it did. Honestly, I was just seventeen.

      Before my move, I tried calling the boys, but none of them would answer.

      Each and every one of them sent me to voicemail, leaving a sour feeling in my gut. The boys didn't do angry or moody. Going without saying goodbye didn't sit right with me. In many ways, they were more family to me than my mother and her husband.

      There was just no time to psychically go and seek them all out. I had to go.

      My leaving was abrupt, there was no time to think before my mother arranged my departure and transfer. In the blink of an eye, I was no longer a resident of Los Angeles, and all that I loved was packed to bring with me to Meadow Grove.

      She attempted a sit-down, to talk about my being sent away, but I wasn't interested.

      I hurled a fuck you at her and stayed hauled up in my bedroom for as long as I could. The familiar lyrics of Aerosmith comforted me as I rocked back and forth in the middle of my bed.

      It was Ian who got me into the classic rock band. Once I started hanging with the boys, none of the contemporary stuff sounded as good. Steven Tyler soothed me in my final hours of all that I had known.

      After I really started getting into music, I made over my whole bedroom, littering my walls with vintage posters of old bands I'd fallen in love with. Ticket stubs from concerts and bar shows were collected on a bulletin board. At first, my mother hated my décor, it wasn't prim and proper, but then, she grew quiet and began taking it in and admiring the art for what it was. My room was a cave of a true music lover, and now I was parting with it.

      I intended to leave in a harsh silence as my mother escorted me out to her car. Mine would remain in our four-car garage until my return—if I returned.

      Maybe good behavior would get me sent home in enough time. It was fall of senior year, I doubted they'd let me change schools twice, but I was hopeful.

      "You're really not speaking to me the whole way?" my mother asked me as she drove with her hands attentively at ten and two on the wheel.

      I folded my arms across my chest, pushing my breasts up just a little. Traveling across country, I hadn't taken in account what the weather was like in Georgia.

      A quick glimpse at the weather app on my phone told me it was surprisingly hotter there. Hopefully it didn't snow in Meadow Grove like it did in some places from my research.

      I scratched the bridge of my nose. "Nope."

      My mother sighed. "Saylor." She shook her head. "This is for your own good. Rich and I have tried to level with you and be patient, but you don't seem to be doing any better. Maybe you just need a break, a vacation, some time to discover yourself."

      Rolling my eyes, I focused on the passing scenery. Goodbye L.A., goodbye sneaking out at midnight to go and hang at my favorite spots with the boys, goodbye ditching class to smoke behind the dumpster at school, and goodbye late nights living life on the scene.

      If I were the sentimental type, I would've cried.

      My mother did that for me as we arrived to my way of travel.

      What would've been a four-hour flight turned into a near three-day bus ride. The Asshole, formally known as Richard, figured I didn't deserve first class—hell, I would've settled for a coach seat than a gross bus.

      My mother tried to hug me and I swatted at her, staring her down with hate in my eyes. As much as I wanted to tell her to go fuck herself, I didn't. Her teary eyes were warning enough for the looming breakdown she'd endure at my leaving.

      Serves her right.

      "Saylor..." she tried to say.

      I huffed. "I don't need this. I gotta go and prepare for my ride."

      She wiped at her eyes. "I love you."

      "You have a funny way of showing it."

      She hiccupped and I scowled.

      This was my fresh start. Richard had pulled major strings in my not doing time over my little joyride, or the breaking and entering. Even Jack and the guys walked away free. I should've been grateful, really I should've, but all I felt was anger.

      My mother clearly hadn't known my father all that well, or else she would've foreseen herself being abandoned with a baby to take care of. Now, I was subjected to go and live with the guy.

      I wasn't afraid, but on my toes.

      I kept a utility knife on my keychain, not that it would do me much good with how long it took to get the damn thing open.

      Hopefully I wouldn't have to stab my father or fight him.

      When it came time for me to board the bus, I allowed my mother to wrap her arms around me. Because I was sure I'd miss some form of her always bitching at me, I told her to have a nice life.

      And then I took the early bus to nowhere.

⚓

Traveling two days by bus was hell. There were multiple buses or transfers, instead of a straight shot. Each bus was crowded with smelly people, crying children, and some moron who insisted upon carrying a conversation.

      Each time I arrived at a transit center I contemplated taking off and running away. I still had my credit cards, if my mother hadn't cut me off yet.

      As many times as it crossed my mind, I didn't run. I just endured.

      After leaving early Friday morning, I arrived in Atlanta, Georgia Sunday evening exhausted and stiff.

      I gathered my luggage from the bus and made my way inside the transit center. It felt like I'd been awake for days without a bite to eat. There'd been a few stops that offered the convenience of fast food chains, but what I wanted was a real meal.

      That was the one thing the Asshole was good for. He could grill and cook like no other.

      It dawned on me as I was coming through the lobby that I didn't even know what my own father looked like.

      How fucked-up was that?

      I knew I had a father, or else I wouldn't be here, but the living breathing version of him never existed outside of my mother's tale of their brief union and my conception.

      How had she even gotten into contact with him after all this time?

      Nonchalantly as possible, I scanned the crowded bus station.

      I saw him before he saw me. He was standing by the exit. Smart man.

      He was standing by the back of an Asian family, holding up a poster.

      I cringed at the corniness before taking him in.

      He had dark eyes, dark hair, and Mediterranean skin. In another life, he was probably handsome once. Now he just looked tired.

      Squaring my shoulders, I made my move, trying to get by him as casually as possible. I had no real game plan, but I wasn't in the mood for the introduction. Maybe running away wasn't such a bad—

      Scott stepped in my path, eyes lit up with hope. "Saylor?"

      "Nope." I went to leave, but he wouldn't budge.

      His eyes narrowed a little. "It's just that you look like a girl I'm waiting for."

      How would he know what I looked like? "Have you ever met her?"

      "No, but I imagine—"

      "Then you've got the wrong fuckin' girl."

      My swearing offended him momentarily before he blinked and chuckled. "I named you Saylor because I used to go sailing. From the phone call with your mother I had an hour ago, I learned you've got quite the sailor's mouth."

      At my five-eight height, Scott wasn't that much taller than me. He definitely wasn't intimidating, but there was a hint of authority about him, like when pushed he could go there.

      Ha!

      I threw my hands up in surrender. "You got me."

      He gave me a tightlipped smile, taking my luggage and showing a hand towards the door. "Shall we?"

      "Not like I have much choice," I mumbled.

      Scott took the lead and opened the door for me before wheeling my two suitcases behind us.

      "It's a forty-five-minute drive back to Meadow Grove, would you like to stick around here and get something to eat first?" Scott asked.

      My stomach grumbled for attention, but I didn't bite. He'd probably pick a restaurant, which meant awkward small talk.

      "No thanks." I made a mental note to raid his fridge whenever we got to his place.

      In the parking lot Scott stopped at a dark purple Ford pickup before stowing my luggage in the truck bed.

      He eyed me before studying his mode of transportation. "Need a lift in?"

      We were too alien to each other for touching.

      I declined his offer before going around to the passenger side and helping myself inside the truck.

      Scott climbed in beside me, looking nervous as he set his key into the ignition. He scratched at his head, which only held a few gray strands in it. He must've been a lady killer, Scott, because even though he appeared tired, with his spicy cologne and decent build, he was easy on the eyes.

      "What, uh, do you like to listen to?" He nodded towards the radio for emphasis.

      I considered saying screamo to be a brat, but decided against it and shrugged my shoulder instead.

      "My father," Scott began as he started up the truck, "your grandfather, is a big country fan, my mom too. I got into rock in my teen years, but every now and then I catch myself listening to the stuff Dad used to play. I was never appreciative when he was around. They, uh, live in Florida now, with my sister, your aunt, Irene."

      My mother and the Asshole both like indie music, and my mother even liked some jazz and reggae every once in a while.

      I didn't tell Scott this.

      Scott settled on a modern rock station before beginning the drive to his house.

      "Ah, you probably don't know this one," Scott noted of the song that was playing. "They're an oldie, but such a goodie."

      I recognized Queen instantly. "Hell yeah. I love Queen."

      "Most kids your age wouldn't know bands like this from the '70s," Scott remarked, seeming impressed.

      "One of my best friends has really old parents and a way older brother. They had him late or whatever, but his older brother's record collection saved his life—it saved all of us. The music back then—"

      "Was the best," Scott concluded. "Guess I won't have to endure you listening to boy bands and stuff, huh?"

      I cringed. "God no!"

      This comment served to make Scott smile and laugh.

      Along the way to his house my mother texted me, asking if I made it safe. She'd texted me throughout my trip and I had barely responded. I typed in an answer to her latest question and hesitated to send it.

      Let Scott tell her I'd made it.

      Exactly forty-five minutes later Scott was driving by a sign that said Welcome to Meadow Grove. I took the time to be alert and take in my new home. The drive into town introduced all the businesses on either side of the street. Several different eateries lined one block, another offered mom-and-pop shops from health foods, repair, and even stationery goods, there was a movie theater with a large marquee listing that students with straights As got in free, and I had just spotted town hall when Scott made a turn, going towards the residences.

      "A lot of kids hang downtown, there's a lot to do," Scott said. "In some ways, if you spin in a circle, you'll have seen the whole town, but there are a lot of places to go and do things. Painting, hiking, kickboxing, there are a lot of fun activities."

      I negated to mention all of those activities weren't my style.

      One thing I really noted were the trees, there were so many of them lining the streets, and beyond the trees there were floral arrangements at every corner. All the green, whites, reds, and yellows made me sick inside. The atmosphere was too cozy, jovial, and quiet for me.

      In L.A., everything was busy, alive with sound and people on the go. Admittedly, the people could be quite rude. If you bumped into a stranger on the street, they'd flip you the bird before going about their way. Here, I could tell one would spend a good five minutes going back and forth apologizing and taking the blame for the mishap.

      Scott finally pulled into an area called Cherrywood Drive before taking another minute to find his house. All of the houses on the street were fairly close together, separated by fences or hedges. Back home, we had space. The only time you would see your neighbor would be when you were taking the garbage bin to the curb and you happened to bump into them.

      One of Scott's neighbors was out jogging, and another was walking their dog.

      Scott waved to each as he got out of the truck.

      "Everyone's really friendly," he told me.

      It was like he was really trying to sell this town to me, but it wasn't about to work.

      Scott gathered my luggage and I followed him up the front path to the front door.

      "Your mother's already arranged things for you at the high school. You'll go to Roosevelt High, and in the morning, I'll take you," Scott said as he unlocked the door and pushed it open for me.

      I scowled as I stepped inside. I was not in the mood for high school just yet. Couldn't I settle in for another week first?

      I took in Scott's décor as I stood in the foyer, noticing that the flooring was all wood. There was nothing really to the foyer, and as Scott showed me to the next room, I realized he had no sense of decoration or feng shui. With all the high ceilings and spacious rooms, there was room for creativity, which Scott clearly lacked. The living room simply held a coffee table, an ugly beige sofa, a brown leather chair and a large flat screen.

      The kitchen lacked anything personal either. The island counter was wiped clean and the fridge was a large empty steel canvas. There was nothing more to the brown cabinets and white countertops as well.

      Every room was like this, as if Scott had just moved in. When he showed me up to my bedroom, I was surprised to find a stuffed teddy bear on the large queen-sized bed.

      I went over and picked up the little guy, looking back at Scott speculatively.

      He smiled softly. "I wanted to decorate, but this was all so fast and I didn't know what you liked."

      "Of course not," I replied.

      He set my luggage down by the door and looked around my room.

      It was hollow, much like the rest of the house. Four white walls, cream colored carpet, a walk-in closet, and a nice poster bed with a navy and baby blue theme.

      I removed my white low top Converse, taking it all in. This was my sanctuary, at least until I found a better place to be.

      "What's your favorite color?" Scott asked me. "We could paint this room and decorate it however you please."

      I lifted and dropped my shoulder. "Don't have one."

      When I was a kid, I was obsessed with the color green, and then I liked red, and then I liked black. After a while, I thought it was dumb to have a favorite color, every color had their purpose to me.

      Scott led the way back to the first floor, mentioning something about food, which immediately caught my attention.

      "I work at the local grocery store," he informed me. "I'm their grocery manager, that's the department I run, but sometimes I act as store manager or manager on duty. I could see about getting you a job at the bakery or even a cashier. There are a lot of departments at Marty's, so it could be up to you."

      "Manual labor? Eww," I said.

      Scott chuckled. "Gotta make a living, Saylor."

      My mother came from money, and even she enjoyed teaching her pottery classes. Marrying the Asshole hadn't stilled her once. I guess in a lot of ways, that was admirable of her.

      "My schedule varies, I work a few nights a week, but I made sure to adjust my schedule this week so that I could take you to school until we can figure out a ride arrangement," Scott said. "On weekends I like to practice with my band and—"

      "You have a band?" I perked up just a little. Maybe Scott wasn't some pathetic and boring sap after all.

      He chuckled. "I'm in a Pink Floyd cover band. We're called P. Floyd, and I play bass."

      I settled down, drowning in my disappointment. "Oh."

      "You know them?"

      "Not really." I knew they were some old band, but I couldn't even think of a single record by them.

      It was still pretty neat he was into that kind of thing.

      "We play some shows every once in a while. I'll have to introduce you to the guys." Scott drummed his fingers on the countertop, appearing awkward and nervous. "Hungry?"

      I stood from the island and went and raided his fridge, discovering a drawer of lunch meat and cheese, and a lot of fruit and vegetables to snack on. In the pantry were a lot of dry ingredients, nothing that would be quick to whip up. Something told me Scott was a homemade type of guy.

      Upon eyeing the box of corn flakes, I noted that the option for milk wasn't up to par.

      "Almond milk? You a health freak?" I asked.

      Scott shook his head. "Nah, a friend of mine recommended it. It just grew on me, but we can get regular if you like. You should try the almond though. You get used to it."

      I smirked. "Like I want to get used to this."

      "I get it, you've got a lot of distress. You must really hate me. I'm prepared." He said this expectantly and innocently. Like he practiced for my teen angst bullshit.

      I didn't know Scott Stanley, but I felt nothing negative towards him either.

      "Can't hate what you don't know," I said.

      He nodded. "You must have a lot of questions."

      "Why did you agree?" I demanded to know first. "You don't know me."

      "You're my daughter."

      "Barely."

      "There's a lot of unresolved issues here, but I'm glad I can help now. Your mother says you're reckless, and this last episode is really concerning, Saylor."

      I held up my hand. "Do not shrink me, Scott. You don't know me to judge me."

      He raised his hands in innocence. "I'm not judging, I'm just assessing the situation at hand."

      "I like going out at night, having wild sex in orgies, and doing drugs and drinking until it all fades away."

      Scott blinked, releasing a breath through his nose. "Well that certainly won't be continuing here. This is a new start, for the both of us."

      I groaned and shut the fridge. "Save me the afterschool special."

      "Listen, Saylor, this isn't temporary. You are here now, at least until you go off to college."

      "I'm not going to college."

      This disappointed him. "No?"

      "College is just this big expected cliché. I don't like to do what's expected of me."

      Scott made a face. "I expect you to become some uneducated loser then."

      I snorted. "Nice try." This whole line of conversation was nauseating. "Look, can we just order a pizza and save time?"

      I didn't wait for his response before leaving the room and heading for my bedroom.

      As I was passing by the front door a figure appeared behind the frosted glass and knocked a few times.

      I should've waited for Scott's permission, but I was hoping it was Jason Voorhees out to kill us all.

      No such luck.

      A boy was at the door. He was tall, with tawny brown skin, and had arms as though he worked out on the regular. He had freckles on his nose. Freckles that seemed as though someone had taken a stencil and sprayed them on perfectly.

      He was sporting that fancy fade haircut, short on the sides and with natural coils on top. A few Black guys back home went around wearing this style.

      The boy stood there, almost as though he'd never seen a girl before.

      I snapped my fingers in his face. "Well?"

      Blinking, he soon held up what was in his hand. "Is Scott here? Harry keeps delivering your mail."

      "Scott!" I shouted for him.

      The boy continued to stare at me while I practiced the patience not to ask him what his fuckin' deal was.

      On his t-shirt was one of those Hello, My Name is... stickers, and on it he'd written Dreux.

      Tilting my head to the side, I scrunched up my face. "Dre?"

      Dreux looked down at his sticker before looking back at me. "Dreux, like Andrew."

      "That's a weird way to spell it."

      He shrugged. "My dad's Creole, so my mom wanted a French name."

      Scott came into the foyer and lit up at the sight of Dreux, almost as though he were thankful for the arrival of a third party to cut into our awkward tension.

      "Dreux! What's up?" Scott asked as he greeted the boy.

      Dreux peeled his eyes off of me and faced my father, holding out the mail. "Harry keeps forgetting about a letter a day."

      Scott chuckled as he fiddled with his mail. "Yeah, I see that. Stanley and St. Julien, what's to get wrong?"

      Dreux smiled, only with his lips though. He had thick lips I noticed, they went along with his face, complementing his chiseled jaw, and facial hair.

      Scott reached out and grasped Dreux's shoulder. "Saylor, this is our neighbor Dreux St. Julien, he goes to your school as well. Dreux, this is my daughter, Saylor."

      Dreux's thick brows perked up. "Daughter?"

      Scott bobbed his head. "She just moved to town." He flashed me a smile. "Dreux here is quite the All-American. He's like a star on the baseball team, am I right?"

      "It's just for fun," Dreux offered.

      "Great." I headed for the staircase without looking back. "Tell me when the pizza gets here."

      Up in my room, I stood in the middle of the floor, examining my surroundings and feeling antsy. Back home, I'd be preparing to get into something with the guys. I sometimes ditched school on Mondays, but now none of that would be possible. At least until I found some trouble, and trouble was exactly what I needed to survive this dump.

      The curtains to my bedroom window were pulled back and the blinds were up, exposing me to our neighbor's house.

      Across from me, I could see into the room next door. A boy's room, as seconds later I spotted Dreux making his way inside. From my view, all I could see was his bed, the edge of a dresser, and an acoustic guitar.

      He noticed me as well and froze.

      His eyes remained fixed on me, as if he were fascinated by what he saw. The longer he stared, the more something in me stirred.

     I didn't know what pissed me off, but I just was.

     Feeling the flames burn on, I made a middle finger and lifted it. Dreux's face became awash in a stoic expression, blinking, he looked elsewhere before walking away entirely.

      I pulled my blinds down and closed my curtains, letting out a sigh.

      I went and fell face first into my bed.

      I was going to die.

__________________________
Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 1 🎶 Pink Floyd

https://youtu.be/-cfJqYtmmqA