Good Things I'll Never Do Again

Three: The Chicken

"Guess what, I have flaws. What are they? Oh, I don't know. I sing in the shower. Sometimes I spend too much time volunteering. Occasionally I'll hit somebody with my car. So sue me."

~Michael Scott

~~~~~~~~~~~

As I sit alone in my empty old house, I feel numb. And not numb in a good way, like when you eat so much ice cream in the winter, that your body is frozen inside and out.

A bad kind of numb. Where you feel like you can't process anything because your mind is so backed up with shock.

For the first time, I feel...lonely. Sad.

Like I truly lost something important that I can't get back.

Or maybe it's indigestion from the six Snickers bars I just ate.

I remember a time when this house was full. When there were four of us instead of one.

I don't miss my family. I never have.

My mom and dad would fight, drink, and throw punches. If they didn't have their respectable titles and fancy clothes, you'd think they were western cowboys duking it out in a saloon every Friday.

They even moved their bedroom down to the first floor because the stairs were too difficult to climb when they'd had one too many.

Aimee was the favorite, but if I ever got in the way, I'd be locked in a dark closet until someone remembered I was in there and let me out. That was Mom and Dad's way of punishment—I would've preferred a spanking or two.

Mom would sometimes fill a matronly role, though—baking cookies, sending me off to school with a kiss, or letting me try a sip of her red wine.

But Dad...it was like he didn't exist. I couldn't tell you what he was like when he was sober, because he'd always stay out until he was drunk enough to come home.

He died when I was seventeen, after choking on an olive pit. I wanted to put that on his tombstone, but Aimee said it wouldn't be respectful. As if he deserved any respect.

Life got easier as I got older, however. I swore never to drink—not because I'm noble, but because I never want to end up hanging off someone's roof because I tried to bungee jump into the punch bowl, thinking it was a pool. Not that I'd ever seen it before.

I do my own thing, make my own rules, and do whatever I want.

It still works. I'm the only person I need to care about. I provide for myself and as long as I don't need anybody else, I'm good. It's as simple as that.

Mom overdosed when I was nineteen, the same year Aimee left our community college in Chestnut Ridge to go to Penn State.

Since then, I've been alone. It felt empty at first, without anyone to talk to, or anything to do. Then I got a job at Red Ribbon's. It's been the same routine ever since for eight years.

But now, without my job, it feels empty again.

I come to myself with a gasp. What is wrong with me?

I get up off the couch and yank open the fridge. I toss some frozen egg rolls onto a pan and turn up Keeping Up with the Kardashians loud enough to drown out the sound of my own thoughts.