Page 46 of So This Is War
“Uh, no, I think I’ll start small and work up to the book. He seemed really into the sharpened pencils, so I’ll work on thattonight, perhaps. Then the Skittles and the stain. I think I can bang those out tomorrow morning and possibly work on some social media posts during lunch. I also have to go shopping for him. I think if I complete a few of the things that will give him instant gratification, I can show him I’m working hard, and slowly tackle the harder tasks.”
“Probably smart. At night, will you be working on your art?”
“Yes,” I say. “That’s why I got that lap desk, so I can hang out here on my bed and field any requests.”
“Do you have any prospects?”
I steam the black curtains I purchased and shake my head. “No, but I want to enter some competitions, and I’m also working on updating my portfolio. Now that I don’t have to worry about classes and telling my dad, I can contemplate how I want to handle this career change.”
“I think that’s smart.” She glances over her shoulder at me. “I’m proud of you, Wylie. I know this was a tough decision, but following your heart is what will bring you joy.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I just truly hope my dad can see it that way. He’ll see how I can make a life of this by giving me this opportunity.”
“He will. I know he will.” She smiles at me. “Just keep your mouth, hands, and vagina to yourself.”
I let out a loud laugh. “Yes . . . Mom.”
I standin the middle of my room, exhausted, sweaty, and ready to plant my face into my pillow, but oh my God, I’m so glad I stayed up late to finish setting up.
I found a plush area rug that we placed partially under my bed and then rolled out to cover most of the floor. It feels likeI’m walking on a cloud rather than the old, scuffed-up hardwood floors. I took some duct tape to the splintered bed slat and patched that up. We hung the curtains higher than the window, making the room’s space look larger and grander. The emerald-tone bedding looks luxurious, and we added some greenery with a potted Monstera plant. I built a movable rack for clothing and a small black cube shelf that fits perfectly next to the door for my undergarments. Sweatshirts and T-shirts are in bins under my bed, which we propped up with risers. And in the bathroom, I used the space the best I could by building one of those over-the-toilet shelves as well as using storage shelves under the sink. It’s tight in there, but it works.
And now that I’m fully moved in and ready to start this new chapter in my life, I don’t think I’ve ever been more hopeful.
Smiling to myself, I crash onto my bed, ready to go to sleep when my phone rings. I glance over at the nightstand and see my dad calling.
Sighing, I pick it up and answer. “Hey, Dad.”
“It’s late, Wylie.”
“You’re the one who called me,” I say. “Also, nice hello.”
“Why aren’t you home?”
Smiling, I say, “I moved out, Dad.”
“What?” he asks.
“I told you I found a place. I moved out today. I’m currently at the new place and, before you ask, there is one window, and I put up a bar so no one can open it. I also have my Addalock in my door as well as the doorjamb. No one is getting in, and the only one getting out is me.”
He’s silent for a second before he says, “I knew you were moving, but I thought you would actually give me more than just a quick heads up.” Almost sounds like he’s regretful.
“You gave me one week to find housing, Dad. What did you expect me to do? Wait until the last minute? No, I’m seriousabout this. I want you to know that I can do this. That I can live on my own, support myself without your help, and make this dream of mine a reality.”
He’s quiet again, and then he finally clears his throat. “Well, glad to hear it. Have you met with Posey? Been advised of your responsibilities?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Met with him this morning. Between you and me, there are some odd things he wants done. Almost feels like he’s trying to make things difficult for me. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?” I thought about it earlier when I was working with Sandie. The tasks he laid out—like the barbecue stain—seem so odd, like they were purposely given to me to keep me busy. Sandie brought up the idea that maybe my dad was telling him to make things difficult.
“Do you really think I have time to come up with idiotic tasks for you to do? What Posey asks you to do is up to him. He might have odd requests, given he hasn’t had an assistant before. As long as you’re earning a wage and you’re learning what life will be like for you if you leave school, I’m okay with it.”
I take a look around my apartment and realize if this is what life will be like if I leave school, then I’m not doing too bad. Nope, I could totally manage this. And that’s what my dad doesn’t realize. He didn’t raise a fool. I have a good grasp of common sense. He provided me with a wonderful roof over my head and anything I could have wanted growing up, and while I’m grateful, it’s all material things.
What I really want is to feel satisfied and happy. Like I’m doing something that fills my heart with joy, not irritation.
And I don’t think he realizes that. He’s too far into his career to remember where he started. I’m sure his parents scoffed at the idea of him wanting to be a head coach, but look at him now. We all have to start somewhere, and if that means working a nonsense job to get to where I want to be, then so be it.
“Well, I’m doing pretty good right now. I’m comfortable. Safe. Happy. And at night, I plan on working on my artwork. I know it’s probably not what you want to hear, but I think I can handle this.”
“Good to know,” he says, sounding angry about my happiness.
