Excerpt: The Enviable Life of Wyatt Klinker

The Enviable Life of Wyatt Klinker

May 9 - Dear Starlog:

I never really know how to start these diary pages. I think it sounds kinda girlish to write “dear diary”. T-Harv, my English teacher in 10th grade (oh, that’s Mr. Harvey by the way) started us writing daily journals and while I wasn’t much for that back then, I think I’m going to give it a try again. I graduate in a month or so and I thought it would be a good idea to get some of my thoughts down. It seems like the year is going by so fast, and while I’m not a big fan of high school, I would like to have some memories jotted down so I can look back one day and see what all this “I wish I was your age” crap my parents have been feeding me is all about.

Oh, my parents. What can I say? They are okay. I think a lot of times they don’t even see that I’m here, but you know, that’s all good with me. Most of the time I would rather they not be around. They told me the other day that they had a surprise for my graduation. They were buying me a plane ticket to go to Chicago to stay with my uncle for a month or so during the summer. They tell me that I will love the big city and that I need to see more of the world and that this is a great opportunity and that Uncle Rich is a great guy and Aunt Carla is really looking forward to seeing me. Happy graduation they tell me.

Wow, great opportunity, right? Not really. Turns out Mom and Dad are going to Europe for three weeks. My guess is that they don’t really trust me enough for me to stay home by myself while they are gone.

My parents are really possessive. We have whole rooms in my house that I’ve never actually been in. Well, I guess I’ve been in them but as far as being functional, they don’t really have a use. The “living room” is about as dead as a room can be. It is the pace where the nicest furniture goes. It’s the place where we keep the piano, and a nice silver candelabra that has never actually ever been introduced to a burning candle. The carpet is white, and I mean white. Mom intends to keep it that way. Dad doesn’t care as long as he has his big screen TV and I completely ignore the place.

It’s like that in my house. Dad sits in HIS chair, clutching HIS remote. Mom has HER living room, and HER sewing stuff (I learned all about that when I tried to cut up some cardboard with a pair of her scissors). I have MY room, with all ITS rules and regulations placed upon me by my parents. Make your bed. Pick up your clothes. Vacuum your carpet. Dust your dresser. Take those posters off the wall you’re going to scar the drywall with your poster putty. Funny how my space comes with rules governing my behavior while their spaces come with rules governing, well, my behavior.

I can’t wait for graduation.

CHAPTER 1: CHICAGO

With his hand tightly gripping the armrest of seat 32A, Wyatt felt the plane’s tire absorb the bounce of the runway as they touched down at O’Hare airport in Chicago. An audible exhale came from many of the less seasoned flyers and those who were not big fans of flight (including Wyatt) as they began to coast to a stop in front of the terminal.
Immediately the click of seatbelts filled the air as bustling travelers unclicked their belts, stood and began pulling over-stuffed carry-on bags out of the overhead compartments.
Wyatt felt the pressure of a man’s pelvis pressing against his shoulder the guy stretched forward to reach his briefcase shoved back in the recesses of the compartment.
“Welcome to Chicago, Wyatt. Would you mind if I drape my junk over your shoulder?” Wyatt could imagine the man thinking.
“How freaking ridiculous is this? They should make these asses go back to kindergarten and learn about taking their turns,” he thought and he slowly leaned to his left, separating himself from the man’s groin.
Luckily the seat to his left had been empty; otherwise Wyatt would have been cozying up to who knows who.
“Will this freaking guy hurry up,” he thought as the arm rest dug into his side, making him more uncomfortable by the second.
Finally the briefcase came free and the man hurried off down the aisle of the plane, shoving his way past others who continued to struggle with their baggage.
“Well, there’s no sense in hurrying, I’m sure my uncle isn’t all that excited to see me. At least he isn’t if he shares the same sentiment as I do.” Thinking this, Wyatt did the only thing he could think of, he simply sat there, watching as everyone struggled to exit the plane, seemingly at the same time.
After a few minutes it actually became quite humorous. More than once a person shoved past another, causing one to lose balance and fall into the lap of another completely innocent passenger. The image of rats trying to escape a sinking ship crossed his mind. It was pretty entertaining.
It took about fifteen minutes for the plane to completely clear, leaving Wyatt and the flight crew as the only occupants of the deserted cabin. Standing up Wyatt caught sight of one of the flight attendants. A look of impatience appeared on her face. It was clear to him that these people were not only aware of the chaos that ensued at the gate, but welcomed it, for it meant that they too could escape the cabin and free themselves of the oppressive confines of the coach cabin. Wyatt was the last participant of the lemming like departure and the denizens of the air who made their living flying from one city to another were impatient to be rid of them. All of them.
Wyatt took his time removing his carry-on bag, whistling a titleless tune to himself, taking care to look up and smile at the flight attendant every few seconds. He knew what she was thinking and after being powerless for the last four hours he was reveling in this new found control.
It took him a few minutes to get his bag down, check the back of his seat to assure he hadn’t left anything there, retie his shoe, tuck his shirt in and comb his fingers through his hair before he figured there wasn’t anything left to do that could stall his departure. With a smile he made his way to the exit, and even when he caught the slight rolling of the flight attendants eyes, he didn’t allow for the smile to fade.
“You know, you folks really do have a great job,” he said to the woman standing at the exit.
“It’s not too bad,” she replied, allowing her impatience to show in her tone.
“Yeah,” he said with a wink, “all you have to do is sit around flying back and forth, must be great doing nothing and get paid for it.”
He didn’t hesitate to hear what she had to say, instead, he just walked past, leaving her behind to digest his words.

If the plane was chaotic, the terminal was insanity. A seemingly endless wave of people pushed past one another, scurrying for whatever part of the airport they needed to get to. Again, Wyatt gave way to them, moving as close to the wall as he could to get out of the main flow of human traffic.
Glancing at the digital readout on his Burger King watch (Wyatt had refused to wear the nice Casio his parents had given him for Christmas instead relying on the less than accurate treasure he picked up in a happy meal). It was now 3:30 local time and he knew his flight had been right on time. He wondered to himself how often that actually happened.
Uncle Rich knew Wyatt’s flight was supposed to land around 3:30 and had told his dad that he would meet him at the entrance to the terminal. The teen figured that was cool, and even though he hadn’t seen him in about five years, was sure he would be easy to recognize with his V-neck sweater with a white t-shirt underneath. Uncle Rich was pretty predictable. As far back as Wyatt could remember he had worn those ugly sweaters. Even in the summer his clothes failed to change. The only thing that ever really fluctuated was the length of the sleeves. In the summer it was a sweater vest. In the winter, long sleeves pushed up to the elbow. In the spring and fall, short sleeves.
Failing to see a sweater vest that he recognized, Wyatt went and retrieved his luggage from baggage claim. He didn’t begin to worry in the least when he noted that it was past four. Most times he was very cognizant of being where he was supposed to be on time, but the rules of the airport spit in the face of normalcy and he guessed that explaining his absenteeism to his uncle would be pretty easy.
After retrieving his oversized duffle bag (it had actually been an old hockey equipment bag he had found and picked up at a thrift store), he made his way back to the entrance of the terminal and with a bit of displeasure at seeing no one waiting there for him, found himself a place to sit and wait.
“Well this kinda blows,” he said aloud to himself. “Hell, if I’da known he was going to be late I woulda hung out on the plane a little longer.”
The blue bench that he sat on was actually a series of egg shell like chairs, bolted together to form a series of seats. Wyatt assumed that was to keep people from using the area as a bed, as he imagined it would be extremely uncomfortable to try to lie across them.
Now he found himself slumped down on one of these chairs, his feet splayed out in front of him. He ignored the looks he got from people who had to either steer around or step over his extended legs. Occasionally he would salute people who looked exceptionally put out, but most times he would simply smile at them.
Wyatt cared what people thought of him. He had spent so many years of his life trying to please everyone. It wasn’t until he figured out that this was an impossibility that he started doing things to invite reaction from people. It used to be that he did things to please people, but he found it was quite different to try to elicit different kinds of reactions. Sometimes he tried to surprise people, other times he tried to anger them, just to see how they would react. He never did anything malicious, he wasn’t a bully, he just figured he was a student of human behavior. Some people went to the mall to people watch; Wyatt went out of his way to try to draw a reaction from those same people.
People were funny animals. It was pretty amazing how they had the tendency to lose control of themselves, even while pretending to be in complete accordance with accepted behavior. Wyatt’s friend Steve had taught him that lesson. Steve had cerebral palsy and had met Wyatt when they were both eight years old. Wyatt had first seen Steve in his wheel chair at a park, sitting in the sun watching the other kids play on the playground equipment. Wyatt didn’t know better and just stood there staring at the other boy, twisted and bent in his red chair. Steve was peculiar to him and Wyatt couldn’t take his eyes off of him.
I woman beside the crippled boy called Wyatt over, “Hey, you. Yeah, you in the blue t-shirt, come here for a second.”
Wyatt had held his ground, not knowing what to think.
“Could you come here please, I need your help,” she repeated, motioning to him.
Wyatt, ever to be one to please others slowly shuffled over to the woman.
“What’s your name,” she asked when he finally got within arm’s length.
“Wyatt,” he replied, stealing glances at the disfigured boy beside her.
“Well Wyatt, I’m Charlene and this is my son Steve,” she stated, pointing to the boy in the wheel chair. “I saw you staring at us. You know it’s not nice to stare, don’t you?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” Wyatt looked away from both of them, ashamed to have been found breaking the rules. “I won’t do it again.”
“It’s okay, it just hurts Steve’s feelings when people do that.”
Wyatt’s mind was racing; he figured that the boy in the wheelchair was retarded or something. It had never occurred to him that he would be upset by people staring at him.
“Wyatt, I know what you’re thinking,” the woman said to him. “Steve is just like you and me. He is actually very smart, he just has a hard time communicating like you and I do. He’s a normal boy; he’s just stuck in the wheel chair.”
As if in confirmation, Steve raised his hand, waved and slurred, “Aaaiii.”
“He’s saying ‘Hi’ to you,” Charlene translated.
“Oh, hi,” Wyatt replied, somewhat amazed by his discovery, a smile creeping across his face.
After that, Steve and Wyatt had become fast friends and while it took awhile, Wyatt had learned to understand his friend’s garbled speech. Many years later, long after Wyatt had completely disregarded Steve’s disability, the two of them had went to an outdoor mall with Steve’s mom. As she shopped in one of the many upscale stores, the two friends sat out in the sun, beside a large fountain.
“See that lady over there,” Steve had pointed out to Wyatt. “Watch her.”
Out of the corner of his eye Wyatt watched the woman. While she was careful not to stare, it was quite evident that she was complete enraptured by the boy in the red wheel chair. She would steal glances at him and even had the nerve to point the crippled boy out to her friend who walked with her. Wyatt knew that she didn’t mean to be impolite, but the presence of Steve captivated her and she couldn’t help herself.
Later Steve had explained to him that he was used to that kind of stuff and that Wyatt had to be ready for it too. More than once during their friendship Wyatt had gotten upset at small children who had stared, or pointed and the disable youth. He had even more problems with adults who stared of mumble to their friends. One lady even told Wyatt how nice he was for pushing his retarded brother through the store one time. It had taken Steve more than a few minutes to calm his friend down when Wyatt yelled at the lady, drawing the attention of more than a few store patrons.
Yet these many times with Steve had taught Wyatt a great deal about people. Steve had constantly said, “Wyatt, they can’t help it.” It had taken Wyatt a long time to accept this fact. That’s when Wyatt started doing things to elicit reaction from people, and that why even with people grumbling as they step around him, Wyatt never even thought about moving his legs out of the aisle way.

June 19 - Dear Starlog

Yesterday’s trip into Chicago was all kinds of fun. I ended up sitting at the airport until well after 8:00pm because Uncle Rich decided to play golf with some guys from work and completely forgot about picking me up. Aunt Carla ended up picking me up and let me tell you, Mom may have said she was looking forward to seeing me, but based on her reaction when she finally found me I would beg to differ. I couldn’t tell if she was mad at me, or at Uncle Rich for forgetting about me. My cousin Lindsey came with her and told me as we were walking through the airport that she was supposed to get her nails done but instead had to come get me after Uncle Rich called and told her that he was going to be home late because he was still at the country club. Makes me feel really good about being in Chicago. My uncle is playing golf and my aunt is making nail appointments while I’m sitting in the biggest airport in the world doing absolutely nothing. What a great graduation gift. I have to make sure to let Mom and Dad know how wonderful everything is starting.

Not everything is that bad though. My room here at the palace is pretty nice (I call it the palace because it seems Uncle Rich does pretty well with the business that he owns). In fact, the whole house is nice. Aunt Carla has a living room as well (although she calls it the sitting room yet no one ever sits in there. Maybe I’ll suggest to mom that we start calling her no enter zone a sitting room too).

Anyway, they stuck me in what’s called an “extra room” over the garage. They moved a bed in there for me and I’ve got a foot locker to put all my stuff in so it isn’t too terribly bad. There are a series of three big windows on both sides of the room looking out over the driveway in the front and the big backyard and pool in the back. It’s a pretty good view. Uncle Rich was using the room as a work out area, so there are a bunch of weights and a punching bag he has hanging in the corner. He also has a big 36” television hanging on the wall. I’m pretty happy about that.

Uncle Rich suggested putting me in the guest bedroom but Aunt Carla told him no. She said I would like it much better in the extra room. I think she just didn’t want me in that room. It has a nice frilly bedspread and a four post bed and I think she didn’t feel I was worthy of sleep in such a nice area. Uncle Rich didn’t care, he just wanted access to his weight room. Frankly I’m happy where I’m at. It is at the other end of the house from everyone else and I figure I can escape here whenever I need to get away, which I’m figuring is quite often.

Lindsey is pretty cool. Actually, Lindsey has completely changed since the last time I saw her. When they came out to visit us in Boston she was pretty much a little geek. Of course she was only eleven back then. She had just gotten braces on her teeth and wore some funky looking pink rimmed glasses. She doesn’t have braces anymore and she lost the glasses. I tell you, she’s still a geek, but there is something about her. She’s kinda cute in a weird way. Anyway, she at least talks to me. I get the feeling that I’m not really welcome, but hey, I should have known that coming in. I don’t mind being shipped off to a place I’m not wanted, at least the expectations of me won’t be that high.

I haven’t done much today being Sunday. Uncle Rich is out playing golf (again) and Aunt Carla is out shopping. I guess Sunday is shopping day. Lindsey went with her and I’m stuck here with the housekeeper (who normally doesn’t work on Sundays) but Aunt Carla asked her to come by today to “tidy up”. My guess is that they don’t trust me here alone. At least they didn’t ship me off to my mom’s other brother in New Jersey until they got back.

CHAPTER 2: LINDSEY

It was apparent after a short time that while Wyatt was a guest of his aunt and uncle, they were not going to go out of their way to ensure that he had a good time while in Chicago. Most of his days were spent in the room above the garage, watching television, reading or simply sitting around doing nothing.
During the week everyone scurried through their various activities. Wyatt’s Uncle Rich would leave for work around 7:30 and not get home until late in the evening, typically spending a good deal of time in the late afternoon at the golf course. At least once a week he would go out of time for the evening, checking on one of his out of town offices.
Aunt Carla was rarely home. Wyatt didn’t really know what she did with her time, but figured it involved her nails, hair or feet because she always seemed to have a spa appointment. On occasion she would have ladies from the country club over for lunch, which usually meant that Wyatt either had to go find something to do or stay in the “extra room” until everyone was gone. Again, this didn’t bother Wyatt much. He really didn’t want anything to do with either Carla or Rich.
On this particular day his aunt had some errands to run and had left around 10:00am leaving Wyatt at home with Lindsey and Chaya, the housekeeper (who was happily picking up quite a few overtime hours with the extra time she was spending at work over the weekends (on babysitting duty as Wyatt called it).
Lindsey typically went with her mom but today she decided to stick around the house. It seemed her friend Shelly was coming to pick her up and take her to some movie the two wanted to see.
Wyatt decided he was tired of sitting in the ER (or the “extra room” as he called it) and decided he would take a dip in the pool. It had been exceptionally hot all week and he was bored.
The pool was oval shaped and surrounded by chase loungers. One end, closest to the house, had a patio with a slatted veranda that offered some shade from the Midwestern sun. Wyatt figured he would just hang out here all day. While Aunt Carla was anal about certain things, she was pretty open about others and Wyatt was comfortable raiding the refrigerator. Uncle Rich had even told him that he was welcome to a beer or two, as long as he stayed at the house and didn’t have anybody.
This, of course, struck Wyatt as a bit odd. First off, where the hell did Uncle Rich think he was going to go? Secondly, and even more ridiculous, who the hell did he think he was going to invite over. It wasn’t like he had friends calling on him here in Chicago. Wyatt seriously doubted any of his friends would be flying a thousand miles to come and visit him just to drink his uncle’s Budweiser. Wyatt was tempted to point this out to his uncle, but decided against it.
Wyatt grabbed a silver serving tray out of the cabinet and loaded it up with lunch meat, bread, cheese, chips, grapes, and other food from the fridge. There was no way he was going to eat it all but figured he would just waste the afternoon away snaking on it out by the pool. After taking the tray of food out to the veranda her returned and grabbed two beers, sticking one in an ice bucket to keep it cold.
Wyatt had never actually drank beer, but figured he wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity if it was offered to him. Besides, his vacation hadn’t seen much adventure. He figured that drinking his first can of beer might end up being the highlight of this whole trip.
Taking the beers out to the pool he opened and took a long pull on the can. It had a terrible after taste, but in the heat of the day he figured that he could get used to the taste. Besides, it was beer. He figured it would be an acquired taste and today, under the veranda, he had decided he was going to start acquiring it.
After eating a sandwich and finishing his first beer Wyatt got up, pulled off his t-shirt and went to get in the pool. The water was cool and took his breath away when he first dove in. Wyatt had always been a decent swimmer and enjoyed the water. He was swimming laps back in forth and never noticed Lindsey come out. When he stopped and looked over at the veranda Lindsey was sitting at the table drinking the other can of beer Wyatt had iced down.
“Hey, you shouldn’t be drinking that,” he called out to her.
“Why? You’re not twenty-one either!” She called back, a smirk crossing her face.
“That’s not what I meant. You’re dad didn’t say you could have that and I don’t want to get in trouble if he finds out.”
She flipped her hand as if to say who cares and took a long drink from the can.
“Come on Lindsey, you’re only sixteen. Knock it off,” Wyatt called out as he made his way to the ladder to climb out of the pool, intent on getting the alcohol away from her.
“This is ridiculous,” he thought. “Why in the hell is she doing this?”
As he approached her she turned, pulling the beer away from his outstretched hand, “Come on Linds, give it to me.”
“What’s it matter to you if I drink it, it’s not like you care. You just don’t want to get in trouble,” she barked at him.
“I care. Besides, I don’t want you to get in trouble either,” he pled, sticking his hand out again.
“Why would you give a shit about me? No one else seems to.”
Wyatt began to see a different problem arising from this. Lindsey was pissed off about something and Wyatt had a pretty good guess.
“It’s okay Lindsey. I care about you a lot. I don’t want you to get in trouble and there is no reason to be pissed off at me. I can tell you’re mad at your parents,” he wasn’t sure it was her mom or her dad, but he was sure it was one of them.
“I’m not mad at my mom,” she started.
“So, it’s you dad then, what did he do?”
“It’s not what he did, it’s what he doesn’t do. He’s never home. He doesn’t care about me, or mom, or anyone but himself. I’m tired of him promising to be home then not showing up until ten o’clock at night, drunk on his ass. He promised he would taking me shopping for cars for my sixteenth birthday and that was a month ago. He wasn’t even home for my party. It makes me sick that he doesn’t even bother to talk to me,” as she shouted tears welled in her eyes.
Wyatt wrapped his arms around her. “It’s alright” he said as he wrapped his arms around her. “My parents are the same way. My dad rarely talks to me and when he does he’s normally yelling. My mom doesn’t care if I’m ever around, in fact, I think she would rather I not even exist. Why do you think they sent me here for a month, it’s to get rid of me.” Wyatt too was letting his anger show.
“I thought they went to Europe?” she asked, looking up at him.
“They did, but you would think that for my graduation they would do something more for me rather then sending me here. Not that being here with you is bad,” he added.
The look she gave him changed, and immediately Wyatt was uncomfortable. It was as if her eyes glazed over and she looked inside of him. It was not a look he was comfortable with coming from his cousin. In no way was Wyatt experienced in the ways of the world, but something inside of him made him cringe internally. He could only imagine her thoughts and it caused him to loosen his arms just moments ago holding her tight.
“I know Wyatt,” she proclaimed as she took his hand. “It is terrible how they treat us.”
Wyatt broke her stare at the same time removing his hand from hers. “Well,” he stuttered, “they all suck. But that doesn’t mean we should be drinking your dad’s beer. That’ll just piss them off more.”
He was at a complete loss for words. “Come on Lindsey, give me the beer, okay?”
She stared at him for a moment longer and the spell was seemingly broken. She flipped the beer can at him, the nearly full container sloshing the cold drink on his bare chest. “It tastes like crap anyway,” she admitted, getting up out of the chair and heading back inside.
Wyatt just stood there, the beer puddling at his feet. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he was afraid that his cousin had been looking at him as more than just his cousin. Strangely however, Wyatt wasn’t completely appalled, and that’s what bothered him the most.
He had never really dated anyone in school. Mostly it was because he stuck to himself. Some people thought he was weird and frankly he never really pursued any girls. This was really foreign territory for him. The one thing he did know was that he hoped he was wrong. Lindsey was attractive, and sweet, and truthfully had a very nice body, he had seen that when he looked out his window and saw her sunbathing by the pool. But she was his cousin, and he knew that it was creepy to even think about her as being anything more.

June 25 - Dear Starlog

Lindsey won’t talk to me and truthfully that’s all fine with me. I’m really beginning to believe that the whole thing that happened the other day, with Lindsey looking at me and all was completely in my head. Sometimes I think way too much into things. I think she was just pissed at her dad. Maybe it was just hopeful thinking. I’ve had a girlfriend and all, well, not a real girlfriend, but a girl who I went out with for a short time in eighth grade. Her name was Caroline. We started going out at a dance we had and kinda were together for about a month or so. She was okay.

I can’t really picture Lindsey liking me (I can’t believe I’m writing about my cousin like this). She’s pretty cute and really I’m not much of anything. That’s okay with me. It really is. I don’t have self esteem issues or anything. I’ve just never really cared all that much about going out with girls. Sure, it would be cool but I certainly don’t base my life around the whole deal. If Lindsey did like me I really wouldn’t understand it. She told me she had a boyfriend but they broke up back in April so I know it isn’t like she can’t find anyone.

I don’t know. I don’t even know why I’m thinking about this. It doesn’t really matter. I am going to try to talk to her because I don’t want her mad at me seeing as I’m going to be here another three weeks and she is the only one in the whole state of Illinois that has even threatened to have a conversation with me. Besides, I’m not being true to myself if I let her control me. Not talking to one another is her idea and frankly, I’m just allowing it to happen because of this funky feeling that doesn’t really even exist. I need to get over the fact. She has no interest in me and I really should be happy about it. What would everyone think if they thought I had the hots for my cousin? I certainly don’t want to deal with it.

Of course it isn’t really like I even know her. I think I’ve probably only spent about two weeks with her over my entire life, including this week. She has come out to Boston once or twice and stayed with my folks with her family, but that was quite some time ago. We hung out then, but we were a lot younger and being an only child, I never had anyone to hang out with. Whatever. I’ve got to just drop it and quit thinking about it.

I’m kind missing my folks. Well, not really my folks, but my life that I’ve become accustomed to. I’ve never really spent a lot of time away from Boston and I’m learning that it sucks pretty bad. I really miss my friends, though I guess I didn’t even talk to them before I left on my great Chicago excursion. You know, the more I think about it, the more I fail to understand what I really do miss about home. I mean, I have my room at home, but there really isn’t any more their than what I have here. Sure, my books are there and I can always walk down to the gas station for a pop if I get bored, but overall it’s the same. I suppose I just need to keep things in perspective. Things aren’t really that bad and this place isn’t that different than my regular life. Okay, maybe I lied. Wow, my life kinda sucks.

CHAPTER 3: CHAYA

Chaya slumped down on the recliner and flipped on the television in the den. It was Saturday, and she had been working every day for two weeks. Normally she got Saturday and Sunday off, but Mrs. Morgan had asked her to work again. There really wasn’t anything to do, but Carla Morgan had wanted her there to keep an eye on things in case their visitor, Mr. Klinker from Boston, didn’t get into any trouble. The one thing Chaya realized was that Mrs. Morgan wasn’t going to sacrifice her afternoons to baby-sit her nephew. It was okay with Chaya though. She was getting double time and she and her family could use the money.
She heard footsteps in the kitchen and looked over her shoulder, seeing the Morgan’s house guest rummaging around in the refrigerator. She stopped slouching and straightened up in the chair. Sure, she didn’t answer to the boy in the kitchen and Mrs. Morgan was away but she still felt guilty getting caught sitting around when she was getting paid to work.
Wyatt walked in a flopped down on the leather couch, propping his feet up on the glass of the coffee table, “What’s up?” he asked as he bit into a hastily built bologna sandwich.
“Mr. Klinker, pardon me, but I just cleaned that table and I don’t think Mrs. Morgan would be happy with your feet on it,” Chaya replied, lying about the table and Carla’s reaction.
“When is ‘Mrs. Morgan’ ever happy?” he returned through a full mouth.
This caused Chaya’s mouth to curl up in a smile. Immediately however, she changed her expression, appearing stoic and irritated. “Mrs. Morgan has rules against putting your feet on the furniture. Besides, I don’t want to have to wipe the smudges off of it again. I just cleaned it.”
Wyatt put his feet on the floor drawing a “Thank you” from the housekeeper.
“Do you like working for my Aunt Carla,” he asked her, leaning forward a bit while taking another bite from his sandwich.
“She is very good to work for. Of…of course I like working for her,” she replied with a less than convincing answer.
Wyatt laughed out loud, leading Chaya to stare at him.
“What is so funny,” she asked, becoming irritated by the teen.
“I can’t imagine anyone actually enjoying working for my aunt. Hell, I can’t even stand being around her. I can’t believe anyone would enjoy working for her. You must be some kind of saint or something,” he replied.
Chaya felt a bit embarrassed by the accusation, mostly because it really hit home, “It isn’t easy to find a job,” she explained. “I’ve got three kids that I’ve got to take care of and your aunt pays me decently. There are better jobs, but I’ve not found one yet. She’s isn’t that bad…”
Immediately Wyatt looked at her with that ‘you’re lying to me again’ look and Chaya back tracked, “Well, she’s very strict, but she’s the boss and I guess you have to be…”
“Bullshit,” Wyatt interrupted with a laugh. “My aunt treats everyone like they are beneath her. She does it to me and I bet she does it to you. You mean absolutely nothing to her or this family.”
Chaya looked down at her hands as she wrung them in her lap. What could she say? The boy sitting next to her was completely right. She glanced up but didn’t say anything. Wyatt just stared into her eyes and she once again dropped them to avoid his gaze. She could feel tears starting to well up. She felt humiliated.
She was able to choke out a question, “Why are you saying this to me?”
“Because this is all a load of crap and you shouldn’t have to put up with it, no one should. Lindsey says you have what, three kids?”
She nodded.
“Well why aren’t you spending today with them? It’s a beautiful Saturday and you are stuck here with me. There isn’t anything to do here, the house is spotless. You and I both know that the only reason you are here is that my Aunt Carla wants you to keep and eye on me. Tell me I’m not right?” he pressed.
“You’re right, she admitted. “But I need the money, and Mrs. Morgan does pay me overtime. These is easy money, my kids are okay.”
“Whatever,” Wyatt pressed. “I’m sure they don’t mind you being gone all week and then going to work again on Saturday and Sunday.”
“Well, what do you expect me to do? I can’t bring them here?” she justified.
“Why not? My uncle has a big pool in back, a huge lawn they could play in. It seems to me that you have every right considering you are stuck babysitting me. You might as well watch your own kids as well,” Wyatt continued. “Besides, you could always tell my aunt that you CAN’T work for her unless she’s lets you bring them.”
Chaya considered this for a moment, but before answering Wyatt cut in again, “Just tell her you don’t have a sitter. Tell her you have to bring them in or you can’t work. You think she’s going to let me stay here by myself? There’s no way. She doesn’t trust me.”
“I don’t know,” the housekeeper replied, though Wyatt could feel her cracking.
“You bring your kids in and there is no way in hell my aunt is going to be anywhere near this place. Chances are she would be gone long before you even got here. Come on Chaya. Stand up for yourself and quit letting that old bitch control you,” Wyatt allowed his voice to rise, trying to inspire the young Hispanic woman.
“Why do you care about me and my kids?” she asked him.
“Don’t change the subject Chaya. Are you going to bring them?” he retorted.
“Tell me, Mr. Klinker. Why does it matter if I bring them here or not?” she pressed.
Wyatt looked at her, his blue eyes staring into hers. He was testing her. If she broke eye contact he knew that she would give up on asking. He held her gaze and after a good fifteen seconds she continued to stare into his. She was strong when she wanted to be. He allowed himself to relax and took a deep breath.
“I’m lonely. I hate it here. I don’t fit in with Aunt Carla and Uncle Rich.”
“But what about Lindsey, she’s about your age. Why don’t you hang out with her?” she asked.
“Lindsey is stuck up and snobbish,” he snapped back quickly, as if anticipating the question.
“No she’s not, she’s nice. She’s the only one that will talk to me. You should ask her to do something with you, she would probably enjoy that. She’s here a lot more this summer than she was last year.”
“Listen, I just don’t like her,” Wyatt was visually uncomfortable. “Okay, just drop it.”
“Okay, but I don’t know why you just don’t try to like her. She’s a sweet girl,” she stopped when he glared at her. “So why don’t you go out and do something if you are bored?”
“I’m not bored; I’m just tired of being here by myself. I like being around people, but I don’t know anyone and I’m not entirely comfortable running around Chicago by myself.”
“Chicago isn’t a bad town, you’d be okay. You should try going down to Navy Pier,” she offered.
Wyatt was tired of the focus being on him. He was never comfortable with it, “Maybe sometime, but right now why don’t you just bring your kids over and see how it goes? You know you like the idea. Besides, I’d love to meet them.”
“Okay, I’ll ask her, but you’ve got to promise me that you’ll ask Lindsey to take you out to see the city before you go. Okay?”
Wyatt considered. He was only here for another couple of weeks and it was possible his time would run out before he had to make good on his promise.
“Okay,” he said, seemingly giving in to her request, “it’s a deal.”

July 3rd - Dear Starlog:

Chaya brought her three kids over yesterday. It was pretty cool. Her son, Eduardo is a pretty cool kid. He’s only eight but he acts a lot older. I was nice to actually have someone to hang out with. Her two little girls were pretty nice too. I think Sophia is six and Josephina is four or five.

Aunt Carla was not real happy when Chaya asked her if she could bring her kids over. She walked around here grumbling for two days before finally agreeing. I know she spent at least an hour calling around trying to find someone to come over here. I have no idea why she doesn’t trust me. I think it is a bit of a paranoia complex. It’s not like I stole her mother’s fine china or anything. Hell, I hardly know the lady and she thinks I’m a parolee or something.

Anyway, Chaya brought her kids over at about nine o’clock. I could have sworn Aunt Carla was in the garage waiting for her to pull up so she could immediately race off to where ever she goes to on weekends. It’s pretty sad if you really think about it.

Chaya and I have been talking a lot and she has really loosened up a bit. Yesterday she sat out on the veranda with me as we watched the kids swim. I guess she’s a single mom. Her husband left her about a year ago and she really hasn’t heard from him. She guesses he probably went back to Mexico or was deported. It’s sad to think that he just left his kids here without regard to them. Funny, that’s exactly what my parents did to me, though I suppose being eight and being eighteen are two completely different things. Besides, in two weeks I get to head back to Boston and all this will be behind me.

I wonder what he is like. I can’t really picture Chaya with anyone. I mean she’s cool and everything, but she seems so busy with her work here and her kids. I can’t imagine her going home to a husband.

I was surprises when she told me she was only twenty-seven. I hate to say it but I thought she was older than that. I mean she’s not bad looking, maybe a little chunky, but not ugly at all. She just looks older than twenty-seven. I guess people have said I look a lot younger than eighteen. Appearance is a strange thing.

Chaya asked me again today if I had asked Lindsey to take me into the city. I told her no because I haven’t, and I don’t plan on asking her. I’m just not comfortable around her. That day a week ago really freaked me out and I hate being out of control. I’m probably just crazy, but I’d just as soon play it safe.

Chaya lives on the south side of the city. She says it’s not that nice, but the rent is a lot cheaper. It makes me sick to see someone like her struggling while my aunt just seemingly takes everything for granted. This world is one strange place. I wonder if my aunt was like this when she was younger or if my uncle’s money made her this way. Lindsey doesn’t seem like her. I hope she doesn’t evolve into a she-bitch like her. That would be sad.

CHAPTER 4: OFFICER

Wyatt walked around Navy Pier in Chicago, Lindsey talking as they walked. He wasn’t really paying attention; instead he took in the view. Lindsey was a lot more talkative then he had ever guessed she could be.
He had never had any intention of asking her to take him in to town and evidently Chaya had figured that out because on Tuesday she had called in and said she could not come in to work because she had been up all night with two sick kids.
It wasn’t long after his aunt had made this announcement that Lindsey had suggested they go in town to Navy Pier and maybe head down town to walk around and “see the sights”. Carla had feigned excitement and said that she thought that going downtown was a great idea. She even gave Lindsey some money and told her to make it a day, maybe have some dinner down there as well. She said she felt bad that they had missed the Fourth of July fireworks the previous day and wanted to make it up to them. Wyatt knew that she just wanted him out of her house.
It was sunny and hot and while it was a work day, the holiday had drawn quite a few people to the city. You could tell that most of the people around them were tourists. Many had cameras draped around their necks and a smile plastered across their faces as they enjoyed the city.
Wyatt could have been mistaken for a local. This really wasn’t his idea of a good time. While he loved watching people he did not like being out amongst them. He preferred to watch from the shadows, only coming out when he chose. Lindsey on the other hand looked completely comfortable in these surroundings. She talked and laughed about different trips down to this area of the city and of different things she had done with her friends. She constantly asked questions that Wyatt struggled to answer. When given a choice he usually just replied with a lazy “I don’t care” and let her lead him around to where she wanted to go.
One good thing about this trip into town was that Lindsey had not shown any of the interest she had displayed on the veranda a week earlier. Wyatt had been nervous while he was getting ready to go yet once they had left he could not detect any of the sexual tension that had been present the last time they had been alone together.
This made him feel good. While he wasn’t very conversant, he was comfortable at the moment and he could live with that. The control that he had seemingly lost when Lindsey had given him that “look” had really disoriented him and thrown him off. He needed control; it was all he really had.
“Let’s go over to Louie’s!” she explained suddenly, breaking off from a story she had been reciting about how her friends had eaten so much cotton candy they had gotten sick. “They have the best pizza in Chicago. You’ve got to try it!”
For once Wyatt was in agreement. They had been down here since ten o’clock and it was going on two. Had there been one thing that Wyatt had hoped for when he flew out here it was getting to taste the pizza. Steve had told him about the super thick dough and the huge amounts of toppings so prevalent in pizza out in Chicago.
A short ride on the “L” brought them within blocks of Louie’s, a tiny place crowded between two no descript businesses in the heart of downtown. The windows were tinted dark and Wyatt couldn’t see inside but when the door swung open he could smell the wonderful aroma of fresh baked pizza. Immediately his mouth started to water.
The inside of the restaurant was a lot more spacious than what the street view conveyed. Being mid afternoon there were few customers and Lindsey and Wyatt were able to choose a comfortable booth towards the back of the restaurant.
The dark green vinyl booths were worn and ripped in places and the walls needed a new coat of paint, but the place was comfortable, and Wyatt liked it immediately.
“What can I get you kids to drink?” a chubby man in a stained white apron asked them, not quite approaching the table.
“I’ll take a Coke,” Wyatt replied.
“Me too, please,” Lindsey followed.
“Two Cokes, no problem. I’ll be right back,” he said as he turned and walked through a swinging door into the kitchen.
“Well, you’re the native, what’s good here?” Wyatt asked his cousin, reaching for a menu tucked in behind the salt and pepper shakers next to the wall.
“Well, I’m a traditionalist. I usually just go pepperoni but I’m willing to try something different if you want. You are the foreigner after all,” she replied with a smirk.
“Well, they do say that the merit of one’s pizza is based on the basics. Why try replicating a Picasso when you can’t even color inside the lines? Let’s do the pepperoni and see if this place is as good as you say it is.” Wyatt accentuated his words with a nod, drawing the same from his cousin.
When the waiter came back she ordered for them and they sat back relaxing in the cool air conditioning while they waited for their food.
“What’s Boston like Wyatt?” she asked him out of the blue.
“I don’t know, I guess like this place only a little smaller. I know it’s a hell of a lot cooler in the summer than this place is,” he laughed. He sat for a moment thinking, the smile leaving his face. “Its home. I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to explain. The people are rude, the traffic is terrible. But I miss it. I don’t know why, but I do. I look forward to going home.”
“You get along with your parents?” she asked and for a minute he was afraid that they were about to revisit their conversation from the patio a week earlier.
“They’re okay I guess,” he told her. “I mean, they give me a hard time, but overall they just leave me alone and I’m cool with that. Mom, she sometimes gives me a hard time about my room or dad yells at me when I don’t mow the lawn when I’m supposed to, but overall they aren’t bad.”
He sipped on his Coke.
“Do they ignore you like mine ignore me?” she asked and he realized she was fishing.
He thought for a minute, “Yeah, they do, but I think that’s just what parents do. They get so involved with life that sometimes I think they want to forget. I remember that when I was growing up my mom stayed home and didn’t work so she could take care of me. I remember her telling me they she was so fed up with me and that she just need to get the hell away from me sometimes. I suppose she is just taking advantage of that now.”
“That’s how I feel,” she replied, her eyes dropping to the red checked tablecloth. “My mom and dad really don’t spend too much time with me anymore. Sure, mom wants me to go with her when she goes shopping or stuff like that, but usually she just ends up telling me to meet her somewhere in a couple hours then I go off on my own.”
“What about your dad?” he asked.
She looked up with a smile, “I remember there was a horse farm way out south of the city. Dad used to take me there when I was little. I loved our trips out there. They had a little corral with pony rides and we used to go and pick out a horse for me to ride. I remember being way up on the horse, him holding on to my leg so I wouldn’t fall off. Afterwards we would go out and get ice cream or just go to a little country store and pick out a bunch of snacks to eat in the car on the way home. Dad used to tell me not to tell mom that we were eating all that junk food because she would be mad we spoiled our dinners.”
“Sounds like you really had a good time,” he said as she continued.
“Yeah, we did. When I turned ten we quit going there and then he stopped taking me anywhere. I don’t know why. I still miss those days.”
“Ya know, sometimes people just get caught up in other things. Before you know it you’ve left that other life behind,” he said as she nodded, “it’s kinda like best friends that just grow apart. My guess is that you and your dad grew apart as you got older.”
She watched him for a minute, not saying anything. He fidgeted with his napkin, folding it into a paper airplane, thinking nothing of the silence.
“You’re different Wyatt. Why is that?” she asked him.
“What do you mean, I’m different?” he quizzed her.
“You know, you’re different. I wouldn’t say you’re weird or anything, because you’re basically normal, but you don’t act like most guys. I don’t know what it is,” she toiled with how to explain it.
He looked at her intently. He was extremely uncomfortable discussing himself, giving away his secrets. He still wasn’t sure about his cousin, but her admission about her father made him feel akin to her. He had been told before how complicated he was and had thought about that a lot. He had a pretty good idea what people saw, and as simple as it seemed to him, those who analyzed him had a difficult time figuring him out. On the other hand, by explaining how he worked to others, he gave away his power, and that wasn’t something he liked to do.
“I don’t think I’m different,” he said, not quite willing to give full disclosure. “Lindsey, I’m just like everyone else, I just don’t act like everyone else.”
“Well duh! That’s no real secret Wyatt. Why do you think we are having this conversation?” she smiled broadly, her teeth as straight and white as any he had ever seen.
“What I mean is, I spend more time watching people, learning about people, figuring people out than most people do,” he admitted to her, feeling some relief and some trepidation.
“Do you watch me?” she asked with a bit of a coy expression.
It was completely lost on Wyatt whose mind was racing, trying not to disclose everything, “Yeah, I watch everyone,” he replied without thinking.
“What do you watch me doing,” she prodded.
“Just about everything actually. I watch you eat, how you look at each bite, almost like you are analyzing it before you finally take it”
“I do not!” she interrupted, a huge grin playing across her face.
“Hey, you asked. I’m just telling you what I see,” he defended himself, hands up in front of him as if to ward off a blow.
“What else,” she relented, sitting back in her seat so as to listen fully.
“I watch you talk on the phone. I watch you from the window of my room, when you are swimming or sunbathing or just sitting in the backyard. I watch you all the time,” his mind carried him back to the many times he had focused on her. The memories played in his head, and he seemed lost, distant from the present.
He recalled one day a couple of days ago when he had seen her climbing out of the pool. While she was very well built and extremely sexy in her royal blue bikini, it was her face he had focused on. He had noticed that she was completely expressionless. He remembered thinking how sad that seemed. It had been a beautiful day, complete void of clouds. The heat was no excessive and a cool breeze made it just perfect, yet he remembered her climbing out of the pool and a sense of dread filled him.
How could someone who seemed to have everything she could ever want, living in a beautiful house, look so stoic and melancholy? It just hit him as wrong, and it bothered him.
She was saying something to him, but he didn’t hear her, instead he just let that memory play in his head. The worse thing about watching people was that there were so many mysteries, ones that in most cases you would never solve, no matter how long you watched them.
“Wyatt, are you alright,” she asked, shaking his hand.
He snapped out of the trance he had seemingly entered and smiled at her. “Yeah, I’m okay, I was just thinking.”
At that, the waiter arrived with the pizza, steam rising off of it as he set it in the middle of the table.
“One pepperoni for the happy couple,” he proclaimed as he placed plates in front of each of them and began the task of shoveling a slice of the ultra thick pie from the scalding black pan it was housed in.
Neither Lindsey nor Wyatt corrected him, intent on the meal in front of them. Based on looks alone Wyatt was positive he was about to experience paradise.

Wyatt ate all he could and still only managed two slices of the delicious Chicago style pizza. He wasn’t sure how he was going to go back to Boston and eat the stuff he was used to. Lindsey had been right about this place and Wyatt knew that he would have to hit the non-descript restaurant at least one more time before he headed back home.
Offers by the waiter to box up the leftovers were met with multiple confirmations, as Wyatt raved about the food. Lindsey simply sat back and smiled with a knowing “I told you so” look on her face.
Glancing at his cheap watch, Wyatt noticed that it was well past three thirty. “Well, you think we should get going?”
“Yeah, Mom wanted us home by five and it will take a good forty-five minutes in rush hour to get home,” she replied, gathering up her purse.
“Aunt Carla wanted YOU home by five,” he thought without saying anything. “He didn’t figure he would degrade his host anymore with her daughter, considering Wyatt felt Lindsey was already passing her own judgment on her family.
They walked out of the restaurant and were immediately hit by the mid afternoon heat. It had grown almost oppressive by this time and both agreed that they should race back home so they could jump in the pool.
They turned right and walked the four city blocks to reach the train station. As they approached they noticed a man standing beside the entrance, an old worn White Sox hat in his hand, extended to those who walked past him. As they approached they heard him ask, “spare a few coins for a meal?”
The man had very dark skin, and graying hair. A scruffy white beard covered his face and extended down his neck. His forehead was covered in sweat, yet he wore multiple layers of clothes. His pants were old blue Dickies, torn and patched in multiple places. A layer of filth spotted them. Underneath his open wool coat he wore a grungy black t-shirt. A logo on the breast pocket was faded to the point where it was no longer recognizable. His hands we wrinkled, the palms callused. His nails were long, and a thick grime was noticeable beneath each.
His eyes we heavy and sad looking, and Wyatt was moved by his paltry appearance.
“Can you spare a couple bucks so I kin git me a sandwich?” he pled with them as they neared? He pushed out his ball cap, and Wyatt noticed it had a couple of coins in it, but nothing more.
Wyatt reached into his pocket to fish out some money but Lindsey stopped him, “What are you doing? You don’t give money to those scumbags otherwise they’ll follow you around forever. Just ignore him. If he wants a sandwich he can go to the shelter or get a job. He only wants the money so he can buy some more booze tonight.”
Wyatt was a bit taken back by Lindsey’s words. For a second there he saw her as his Aunt Carla, callus and unfeeling.
Wyatt gave the man a look, and the poor bum smiled back, yet there was morose in his face, one that told Wyatt that he understood Lindsey’s words and that this wasn’t the first time he had heard them. He nodded at Wyatt and then just turned away, retreating into the shadow of the building until the next person came along and he tried his luck again.
Lindsey and Wyatt made their way down to the train platform, crowded with a mass of people, pushing through turn styles and waiting for the next train. It didn’t take long before the correct train came barreling into the tunnel, its brakes squealing as it came to a stop along the long concrete platform. The doors opened and hundreds of people spilled out moving in mass to one of the exits from the station.
The two teens waited their turn and like the others, pressed into the rail car with its red seat and grungy lights.
The “L” was crowded and smelled of summer sweat as people jostled for seats, or attempted to maintain their balance as the train rattled down the tracks. There was a distinct sound to the train, one unique to Chicago.
The car was loaded with people of all walks of life. Just when it seemed as if the cabin had been packed as full as it could, the train would make another stop and few would leave in comparison to those who got on. It was nearing the end of the work day and people were making their way home to the city outskirts, or in Lindsey and Wyatt’s case, the suburbs.
The two cousins stood facing one another and the train continued to plow forward stopping every few minutes to exchange passengers. A man bumped Lindsey and shoved her in to Wyatt, who grabbed her to keep her from toppling. She immediately pulled herself away and apologized. It was at that point that Wyatt began to realize that the feelings he had thought she had displayed on the veranda were false. Lindsey wasn’t interested in him, and he was relieved.
The trip back to Kenilworth (the suburb they lived in) was the end of the line for the “L” and by the time they had arrived at their stop, the train was much less crowded. About half way there they had grabbed a seat from a group of people that had hurriedly exited the train.
Wyatt thought about the day they had shared. It was nice and it suddenly hit Wyatt that this was the kind of day you were supposed to have on vacation. He knew that the rest of his time here in Chicago was likely to be uneventful, but he was glad he had one day that he could look back at and remember fondly. Now he figured he just needed to put in the rest of his time, which shouldn’t be a problem now that Lindsey was not the problem he originally concerned himself with.
The trained screeched to a halt at the Kenilworth station and the two of them, along with a few dozen others exited the car and made their way through the station and out into the afternoon sun. When they had left to go downtown Lindsey’s mom had dropped them off at the station and planned on picking them up at five thirty when they got back.
Wyatt wasn’t surprised when he didn’t see the car, having enjoyed the wait at the airport weeks earlier. The two of them plopped down beside one another on a dark green bench in the shade outside of the station. It had cooled slightly, but was still baking in the sun and the shaded spot felt good.
It wasn’t long before Wyatt spotted a black and white patrol car pulling into the station parking lot, making its way to the front of the building. It pulled up in front of the two of them and the officer rolled down his window.
“Are you Wyatt Klinker and Lindsey Morgan?” he asked them to their surprise.
“Yeah, we are,” Lindsey answered, leaning forward, “is something wrong?”
“I need you both to get in. I’m supposed to take you home,” he told them, a bit of tension in his voice.
“What’s wrong?” listened asked, a hint of panic in her voice.
“Just get in, please. We’ll talk about it once we get you home. The back door is unlocked.”
“Is my mom okay? Is she hurt?” Lindsey was beginning to lose control.
The officer turned around as they slid into the cool interior of the cruiser, “I’m Officer York, and you’ve got to calm down. Your mom is okay. We’ll discuss this once we get you two home.”
Wyatt knew that something had happened and he immediately felt bad for Lindsey. She really cared for her dad, though he never seemed to offer her any attention. Wyatt allowed a hundred different scenarios to play through his head though he figured it was going to be a lot less traumatic that what Lindsey was figuring. Uncle Rich had probably been pulled over for drunk driving or something and Lindsey’s mom had gone down to bail him out. He figured that once she realized Lindsey was sitting at the train station waiting for her she had asked the police to send someone to pick them up.
The trip back to the house was a short ten minutes, but to Lindsey it seemed like an eternity. As they pulled up to the house they saw another police cruiser as well as both Carla’s Lexus and Rich’s BMW in the driveway.
“Well,” thought Wyatt, “it wasn’t a DUI otherwise they would have impounded Uncle Rich’s Beemer.” Now Wyatt was even more curious.
The officer turned to them, “Officer Rawlings is inside with your parents. He’ll explain everything.”
The officer got out of the car and opened the back door for them so they could slide out. He held the door as they both turned to thank them and Wyatt was sure he saw remorse in the young policeman’s eyes.
“You two take care of yourselves,:” he said as he got back behind the wheel of his car before backing out and driving away.
“I wonder what that is all about,” Wyatt asked Lindsey as they made their way through the garage and in through the kitchen door.
They found Rich and Carla in the den with who they assumed to be Officer Rawlings. He was an older, heavy set man with white hair. His cheeks and nose were bright red, as if he had recently been exerting himself.
Lindsey ran to her mom and dad who stood up and wrapped their arms around her.
“Oh my god!” the young woman exclaimed, “I thought something had happened to you!”
Both Rich and Carla had grim looks on their faces, and when Rich opened his arm up and offered Wyatt an embrace, he knew something terrible had happened.
Wyatt didn’t move as he turned to look at the officer, “What?” he asked, “tell me.”
“Wyatt, I’m Officer Rawlings, and I’m afraid I’ve got some terrible news regarding your parents.

July 6th - Dear Starlog

I don’t have a lot of details, but I know that my parents died when the tour bus they were riding on overturned and rolled approximately five hundreds yards down an extremely steep embankment in a rural part of southern France. In addition to them, thirty-seven other people, including the driver, died. There is a forthcoming investigation but initial reports say that mechanical failure was the likely cause.
I don’t know what to think right now. It seems very unreal to me. My uncle was pretty shook up, seeing as it was his sister that had died as well. After the officer had told me he asked if I was alright. What kind of question is that? I really didn’t know how to answer it. If I said “yes” it was a lie. How the hell could I be alright, my parents had just died in a freaking bus crash? If I answered “no” they would think I was losing it.
I’m sad that my folks died, I really am. My dad was a good guy and my mom, though psycho at times, was a decent enough lady. I know they loved me, and I loved them too. Sure, we didn’t have the greatest relationship and we weren’t incredibly close, but they were my parents and I like to think they did a pretty good job raising me. It’s not like I’m a crack head or anything like that.
What do you use to grade the success of a parent? The more I think about it the more I realize how ambiguous the whole “good parent, bad parent” thing is. I once heard that Jeffrey Dahlmer’s parents were good people. Did they do something that someone didn’t know about that was the biggest sin of parenting?
My parents fed me, they gave me a place to sleep, and they took care of me when I was sick. They would talk to me, and took interest in my grades. My dad would come watch me play little league baseball and would even play catch with me when I was younger.
My mom helped me with homework and did my laundry and put band-aids on my knees when I was a kid. She told me she loved me, at least she did when I was little. I can remember that. I got spankings from both parents when I was little and did something wrong but they never really hurt me or anything like that.
The more I think about the more I realize that my parents, if anything, were normal. They didn’t do anything crazy other than be possessive of the remote control and lounge chair and have an off limits living room in our house.
Maybe it’s me? Maybe if another kid had been born instead of me, that kid would have turned out differently. Maybe I’m who I am much to the conflicting efforts of my parents. I wonder if they ever thought, “I wonder why Wyatt isn’t how we want him to be, are we doing something wrong?”
The more I think about it, the more I realize that there is something seriously wrong with me. Here it is, less than twenty-four hours since I learned my parents were killed in a horrible bus accident and I can’t think of anything but myself. Why aren’t I sadder than what I am? The truth right now is that I’m scared. I don’t know what I’m going to do. My parents are dead, I’m eighteen years old, and I’m completely clueless about what comes next.

CHAPTER 5: SECRET

July sixteenth was a somber day for Wyatt. In his room above the garage at his aunt and uncle’s home he realized that this was the day he had originally been scheduled to fly home to Boston. Instead, he was unpacking his things again. He had traveled back east with his uncle to attend the memorial service for his mom and dad, and gather up some of his things to bring back to Chicago.
He remembered how empty his old house had seemed when he and his uncle had gone there.
“If there is anything of your parents’ that you want, get it now,” he remembered Uncle Rich telling him as they pulled up to the house. “The auctioneer is going to come in a do an inventory and make a list of everything to sell. If you don’t take it, it’s getting sold or thrown out.”
“What are they going to do with all of money they get from selling our stuff?” Wyatt had been curious.
“Well, my sister and her husband weren’t really very thoughtful about that part. Evidently you are set to inherit the entire estate, but it goes into a trust until you turn twenty-one. They’ve left very little to you directly. When I talked to the lawyer he assured me that in the very least they would release enough money for you to attend college, but that’s about it. It seems like they would have left something for Carla and me seeing as you have to live with us now,” Wyatt wasn’t sure that last part hadn’t been Uncle Rich talking to himself.
Wyatt hadn’t been sure whether getting his parents’ money was a good thing or not. He would have rather just moved back to Boston, but unfortunately no provision was made in the will for the house and all the belongings inside to go to him. To the letter of the law everything was sold except for those items of sentimental value claimed by the family. Uncle Rich had evidently decided that Wyatt’s mom’s jewelry and his dad’s coin collection had sentimental value to him.
Wyatt’s other uncle, Bernie, had come up from New Jersey and went through and took a couple of photo albums of his parents which Wyatt’s mom at meticulously arranged. She had been a fiend for scrap booking and the work she had done was incredible. Wyatt had made sure to take the remaining scrap books for himself.
They had spent the entire day at the house rifling through boxes in the basement, going through drawers and closets and packing up a few of Wyatt’s things. He had wanted to bring his bed and dresser, things that he was comfortable with, but Rich had told him no. The stuff in Chicago was good enough for him, even if these things held sentimental value.
In the end Wyatt had settled on a few of his books, his stereo, Playstation, and some of his clothes. The rest he left behind, never to see again. As he walked out the front door, his arms loaded with his stuff he looked back and felt a pang of sadness. The house, ever his sanctuary was no longer his. He was heading back to Chicago, where he had never felt comfortable.
The day after they had sorted through all their belongings at the house Wyatt and his uncle had went to the memorial service. There had been a lot of people there that Wyatt hadn’t known and relatively few family members. Everyone however took a moment to offer their condolences to the young man, shaking his hand, patting his back, hugging him and generally saying how sorry they were for his loss.
Wyatt had found the most difficulty in saying goodbye to his friends, particularly Steve, who had shown up in his red wheelchair, pushed faithfully by his mother. It had been difficult for either of them to say anything and after a few awkward moments they simply hugged each other and said goodbye, promising to write each other and even visit if it was possible.
Wyatt had been gone six short days though it had seemed like an eternity. Each day had been difficult for one reason or another. It was a less than memorable trip, though as he lay on his bed, in the room above the garage in the suburbs of Chicago, his mind was back on those few short days in Boston. He had missed his house so much that it tore at him just to be there again. He had felt strange standing in the kitchen, absent his mother who seemingly was just another fixture. The chair in the den where his dad wiled away the evenings, watching sports or some documentary on the Discovery Channel had sat empty. Thoughts of that made him smile as he recalled tucking the television remote into his book bag: Uncle Rich had told him to take stuff with sentimental value.
A house is a house he thought to himself, though he found himself grieving more for that place than he did his parents. For this Wyatt felt disgusted. He should be bawling his eyes out over the loss of his parents. Sure, he had shed some tears, but like the day he had heard of the accident, fear for what was to come had been the overwhelming emotion that poured over him. Now, it was dread over spending his days trapped in this room, trapped in Chicago living with surrogate parents that certainly didn’t want him.