"Quae volumnus et credimus libenter, et quae sentimus ipsi, reliquos sentire speramus." (What we desire we readily believe, and what we ourselves think we expect others to think)

Julius Caesar, "Commentarii de bello civili, II, 27." Used without permission.
 

MICHAEL:

Finally, quitting time. I usually go over and study with Kelly on Tuesday nights, but she's got a test tomorrow, and a report, and I wanna go see my dad, so tonight we're not gonna be together, which kind of bums me out, but Martha's gotta work, and I wanna be with him, anyway.

I got things to tell him. And it's good news for a change.

I can finally tell him I picked a major, and it looks like I could get some money. That would be cool. I think that should make him happy. Maybe he'll stop needling me so much. Swear to God, most of the time when he talks to me, it's like, so what're you doing next year, boy?

Jesus.

Well, now that I can tell him, hopefully he'll shut up and start treating me like I'm sort of capable of something.

I finish up with the last three students-all from Casey's writing class, so pretty cake, anyway, and sign out and call it a night.

Now if my car would just start, that would be totally cool.

It almost didn't start this morning, which really bummed me out. I was five minutes late for my first class. Great, Frohike. Day after your prof tells you she's recommending you for money and school and other good stuff, you show your ass up late.

Ever get the feeling that no matter what you do, you're never gonna get it right?

Story of my life.

Here's hoping the car starts. And no unwanted visitors in the parking garage.
 

I think the alternator is dying on this puppy. I just gave it a new battery, so I know that's not it. But it's not charging right. I hate electrical problems. They suck.

Actually, I can't believe I ever liked working on cars. Used to sort of enjoy it. I hate it now. I got no time, and it's getting to be a major pain in the ass. Plus I'm trying to keep both Kelly's and my car alive, and that double sucks.

Bet Langly thought he did me a favor when he sold this thing to me for a buck. I think the favor was more for him.

Least there's no traffic now, it's pretty much past rush hour, so I don't have to worry about stalling out in the middle of traffic. Hasn't happened yet, but it's starting to make me pretty paranoid.

I need a car I don't need to think about. At IBM, they used to say, machines should work, people should think.

Yeah, in this case, it'd be a double win. The machine would work and I wouldn't have to think.

I could get behind that.

It's pretty cold tonight, which means of course the 'Stang wants to be stubborn about things, but I finally brute force it into moving. Now the trick is keeping it going.

Which I manage to do, all the way to the apartment building. Now for the second challenge of the night-finding a parking space. This is not the easiest thing to do this time of night. Most everyone's come home, meaning all the good spots are taken. And tomorrow's Wednesday, which is street cleaning, so I have to make sure I don't park on one side of the street, and that makes it even harder, sometimes you have to park on the next street, off Hegal.

Schoolwork, I can handle. Work, I can deal with just fine. It's stupid stuff like this that's always threatening to fuck up my day.

Least no company tonight when I'm trying to get to my car. I haven't seen that lousy bastard and his disgusting cigarettes in a while. The rest of my life would be fine, thank you.

I luck out. Somebody decides to pull out in front of the next building over from where we live, which means reasonably primo parking spot for me. I grab it. I used to think people were nuts when they'd fight over parking spaces. Now I understand why. I think if you take somebody's space who was there first, it's justifiable homicide. And taking up more than one space, well, you should just be shot.

I can see the lights are on, which means nothing, but it's still nice to see lights in the window-sort of like it's more welcoming than if the place is dark, which it is if Dad's still in the office.

He better not even think about going to the office this week. Tomorrow night I'm gonna have to make an extra effort and probably stay late to get November out, which we are so late on it's not even funny, I know Langly's working on it tonight, but I said I was gonna be with my dad, he says that's cool.

Probably thinking better me than him.

I let myself in, and Dad's in his Papa Bear chair, watching CNN.

"Hey," I say to him.

"You're home."

"You noticed."

"Hard not to with all the racket you make."

"Hey, I'm not that noisy!"

He gives me this look like, ha! "You and your sister, you could both wake the dead just moving through daily life."

"Thank you, Dad, I can always count on you to bring me up."

As you can see, we're off to our usual start.

I'm sorry, he's got like no idea how upset I was while he was laid up again. It's like he doesn't even care.

"You feeling okay?" I ask him, trying to be nice.

"Fine." And he acts like it's a big imposition, my asking him.

He is such a pain in the ass.

"Y'know, it wasn't my idea not to visit."

"I'm aware of that." Still sounds pretty pissed about it, though. And he hasn't even looked up yet.

Bastard.

Look, I'm sorry he had a couple shitty days. So did the rest of us, believe it or not.

He just doesn't get it.

Still, I'm so fucking glad he's home and he's okay.

I go over to him, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders. He's probably gonna tell me to get lost.

He doesn't.

He leans hard into me, grabs my hands as if he doesn't want me letting go.

Which makes me start crying.

Shit!

He pulls me in closer. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay, everything's fine. Relax."

"No, it's not fine! You scared the hell out of me!" I want to stop crying.

I can't.

"Michael, it was minor. I'm fine. Really, I am." He rubs his hand over my back now.

"Yeah, real minor! Like every time you have the sniffles, we all go nuts, and you act like it's no big deal!"

God, I'm acting like an idiot.

"Michael, I can't guarantee I'll never get sick again."

"Yeah, I know, but like, you could try taking care of yourself!"

I don't like that I'm crying, and I don't like how mad I sound. I'm supposed to be happy he's here and he's okay. Aren't I?

"Michael, I'm doing the best I can."

"Yeah, well, I don't think so! Seems like you don't care if you're around when I graduate from medical school, do you?"

He looks up at me, kind of baffled like. "I'm sorry? Come again?"

"I said, you don't care if you're around when I get done with med school, do you?"

"When...did you decide you were going to medical school?"

"Hey, I got professors that think I'm good...they think I should do it. At least somebody thinks I'm good at something!"

"Which professors?"

"Mostly my bio prof, but my chem prof thinks I'm good enough, too, and they're gonna recommend me, and my bio prof's recommending me for some scholarships, so how do you like that?"

This is not the way it was supposed to happen.

"I think it's nice that you have teachers that are encouraging you, but have you thought about this?"

Oh God. If this is not typical Dad, I don't know what is.

"Oh, Jesus, Dad, it's only about all I've thought about!" Well, that, and Kelly.

"Well, I know you've thought about what you want to do."

"I would think you'd be happy I decided!"

"That depends on what made you decide, and what you're going to do about it."

"Such as?"

"Such as, where are you planning to attend? Have you applied yet? How do you plan to pay for it-"

"I told you, I'm getting recommended for two scholarships."

"That doesn't mean you'll get them."

"My bio prof thinks I will."

"Well, I hope you do, but if you don't, then what?"

"What, I'm supposed to have all the answers right here and now?"

"I would think if you'd come to a decision, you would have a few of them."

"Well, I'm working on it!"

He just looks at me. "Work harder."

I storm off to my room.

Bastard!
 

I have to work some calc problems for tomorrow. I can't concentrate too good right now, but calc's not too hard, so I can muddle through.

What a bastard. To think I was stupid enough to think he'd be happy.

God, I don't think anything makes him happy.

Well, boinking Martha does. But he can't do that 24/7.

Too bad. He'd be a lot more agreeable, and I'd have to deal with him a lot less.

I'm working on a problem that's not that hard, but it's one of those designed to annoy the shit out of you, when I hear a knock on my door.

"What?" I don't need company right now.

"Can I come in?"

"You will, anyway." Even if I tell him no, he'll barge right in.

He opens the door, slow. I can see he's still sort of limping.

This makes me want to cry.

But I'm still pissed as hell at him.

"Are you all right?" he asks me, not coming out of the door.

"Fine." He can lie, so can I.

"Look, Michael, I wasn't trying to throw cold water on you-"

"Sure you were. You always do." I keep trying to graph this problem. Fuck, it's not working. This bugs me-I almost never have trouble with math.

"No, I'm not trying to drown your ambitions. But I'm curious. What led you to this?"

"Why do you care? You haven't cared about my motivations yet, only that I get somewhere. So I get somewhere, and then you give me shit."

"Michael, I don't think I asked any questions that weren't warranted."

"Maybe."

"Look, it's not a crime to say you don't know."

"I did say that. You said work harder."

"Well, you will have to work harder."

"Like I don't know that."

"I hope you do. Because if this is really what you want to do-and quite honestly, I'm not convinced yet-"

"And you never will be. You don't think I can cut it."

"I did not say that."

"You don't have to."

He can't stand up anymore. He hobbles over to my bed and tries to sit down, which is a trip, it's a waterbed. He'll be lucky if he can get up.

Oh God. Him stuck in my room forever. Aargh!

I keep trying to work this stupid problem. Fuck it, I'll come back to it. I move to the next one, which is easier.

"Michael, I'm worried you're doing this because Kelly is. And if that's the case, it's not a good plan."

"That's not the reason. She thinks I can do anything. Like if I decided I wanted to study journalism or computers-and I did consider that, by the way-"

"Thank God that's not what you chose."

"Oh, Christ, why don't you just tell me what to do, since you seem to have all the answers?"

"Wish I did. I'm just asking, what pushed you this way?"

"Lotta things."

"Such as?"

I finally look up at him. "I like kids. They like me. I don't piss them off, like I seem to do everyone else. I thought maybe if I worked with kids, I'd be happy, maybe do something good."

He just nods. Probably not a very good argument, not by him, but best I can come up with on short notice.

"Medical school's long, hard, and stressful."

"My life is long, hard and stressful."

He shakes his head. He's got the ratty ponytail in it-can't he just lose it already? God, it's ugly.

"Michael, long, hard and stressful hasn't even started."

"That's what I like about you, Dad. You're such an optimist."

"You ever dealt with sick people?"

Okay, this one I can answer. "All the time, Dad. All the time."

He sort of winces, but he doesn't get up. Probably because he can't. Ha.

I'm waiting for one of his witty comebacks. Doesn't happen. Too bad. This means more lecturing from Daddy Dearest.

"Michael, not only is medical school long, hard, and stressful, but it's very expensive. And if I'm going to be paying for it, I'd like to know."

"Look, I'm trying to do it so you don't have to."

"Scholarships don't cover everything."

"No duh! But it's better than nothing. I mean, I was like so jazzed when my bio prof said she'd recommend me-I mean, nobody ever tells me I'm good for shit-"

"Not true, Michael, not true."

"And like she said she'd recommend me to her husband, who's on admissions committee at University of Maryland."

"Well, that's fine. But what about your-er, fiancee?"

"She's getting recommended, too."

"Doesn't guarantee you'll be in the same spot."

"No, but it's nice to have SOME people pulling for us!"

It was meant to hurt, and I think it did.

Only problem is, why is it so fucking unsatisfying to play gotcha with Dad?

"Michael, why do you think I'm always against you"

"Because you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Well, let's just say you're not exactly my biggest cheering section."

"I beg to differ. I simply think it's important you have a bit of reality check."

"What, you think I got no reality checks in my life? Get real, Dad. You seem to think I'm living this perfect dream life since I moved in with you, and lemme tell you, that ain't the way it's happening."

"I just don't think you know what you're getting into."

"You say that about everything."

"Because it's true."

"You just think I'm fucking clueless, don't you? Like I'm just some moron who can't do anything!"

"Michael, why can't I have a discussion with you about this? Or anything? I try to talk to you, and you just go off like a rocket launcher on cocaine."

"Dad, your idea of having a discussion is simple. You lecture, I shut up, I agree with everything you say or else. Right?"

"No, that's not the way it is."

"Then why do you act like it is?"

"I don't."

"You do, too. You treat me like I'm some sort of half-wit who'll never get it right, no matter what! And you know what? I'm getting pretty fucking tired of it!

"Watch your mouth!"

"Oh, here we go again, watch your mouth! Jesus, like you never cussed in your life!"

"It doesn't reflect good upbringing."

"Well, then I'd say that's a pretty accurate reflection, wouldn't you?"

Gotcha.

He looks like I slapped him.

Good.

"We've been through this, Michael. I've told you I wanted it to be different. I've apologized. I don't know what else I'm supposed to do."

"You could try like being a little more supportive of me."

"Why do you think I'm not?"

"Because no matter what I say, I have to goddamn defend myself every inch of the way!"

"Well, that's not going to change, dear boy. And if you think it's bad from me, dear boy, you ain't seen nothing yet."

Yeah, well, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. Meantime, I got a math problem that's making me two steps short of insane.

"I got homework." I'm trying to tell him to get lost.

Nicely.

"You looked like you were having some problems when I got here."

"I'll be fine!" Last thing I want to do is let him help me and say, I told you so.

Why does this always happen? Why does it have to be like this with us?

I mean, I love the old dude. He's my dad.

I'd die if anything happened to him.

So why when we're together, all we do is bite and claw each other?

Maybe he's sorry I'm here. Maybe he like lies awake every night and thinks, I was out of my mind to look for that kid.

"Let me see the problem."

"Why? So you can tell me how stupid I am?"

"No, so maybe I can give you a strategy for working it."

I don't feel like being up all night. And I still got a lab report to finish.

"Here." I hand him my book. "Number 8."

He reads the problem, takes a couple minutes. "Let's see what you've done."

I hand him what I've worked so far. I'm just waiting for him to rip into me about how I approached it all wrong.

He looks at the problem, looks at my work.

"Well, the logic's correct. But if you restate it, reduce your polynomials, you'll probably find it comes out more accurate."

He hands it back to me. "Here, try it."

I do what he says. I have a solution inside of three minutes.

"Here. You tell me." Since you're the genius here.

He looks at it. "It's correct. You're not going to get much closer than that unless you carry it out at least six more places, which would be a waste of time for your purposes."

Well, well, well.

I finally did something right.

"I guess I'd better let you get back to work."

"Yeah, I got a lot to get done tonight."

He looks over at me. "Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"I need you to help me get up."

So I stand up and help him get off the waterbed.

You know, that's the problem with me and Dad. We both need each other, and we can't stand that we do.

Can't live with each other. Can't kill each other.

I think he tried to sneak in a hug when I helped him get up.

I know I did.

END OF PART 11