I drove for a while and ended up in the middle of fucking nowhere. A dirt road, some bushes, and a few abandoned houses were the only things around me. The last one was all burned out, with smashed windows, pitch black walls, and it was covered in graffiti. There were probably several homeless in there.
I lived there as a kid.
It was just me and my parents.
It always seemed strange to me that we were only three, 'cause all the families I knew had like twelve people at least. They were the parents, the children, the uncles, the grandparents, the boyfriend who got the daughter pregnant, and someone who no one invited but was there for some reason. They could barely pay their bills, but that never stopped them having more and more kids. Maybe those idiots didn't know about condoms, and maybe my dad did, but to be honest I think he just didn't want to fuck my mom anymore.
But it's a good thing we weren't that many; otherwise we would have had to share our goddamned poverty, and it was a very weird one 'cause my dad worked harder than anyone, and we still had fucking nothing. Imagine: he'd always go to work and didn't come back in like six months.
He was always a weird guy. One time, when I was about seven, he finally came back, and I showed him my grades. Only straight A's and B's. And you're probably saying, "He must have been glad of his son doing so well." No. He even got mad at me.
"What a showoff," he said. "Grades won't pay the bills. Hard work is what really matters. I always failed school, and if it weren't for me, you guys—meaning, my mom and I—would be living on the goddamn street."
And the scolding didn't end there:
"The day you pay all the bills, dumbass, you can brag all you want. Brag about your job, your money, not those stupid numbers," and he tore up my report card with all my grades.
And that wasn't the worst part of it. I followed his advice and stopped caring about school. I was only getting straight D's and F's. So, when he came back after almost a year, my mom, that fucking mole, told my dad about it. And yes, he got mad at me again.
"Studying is your only job, dumbass, and you can't even do that. If you're already a fucking failure, what else can I expect from you?"
That asshole was never happy.
It was like he was only looking for things to get pissed about.
As I told you, I was driving and soon got to where I wanted to go, the cemetery. I walked by the graves and suddenly remembered a time when I was about eight years old. I was in my room playing (or I think I was starting to learn some magic. I couldn't even cast a fucking spell, but that didn't stop me) and I heard my parents fighting, as always. Suddenly, my dad came into my room and grabbed my leg to look at my shoe. I had those since I was five, I think, and I could only wear them 'cause I stuck my toes out of all the holes it had. I didn't have any other shoes, so I had to wear them, even if my feet ended up hurting like hell, especially with that big hole in the sole. My feet always ended up bleeding if I walked too much, but I got used to walk on my heels so I wouldn't hurt myself so bad.
"Come," he told me. "I'm gonna buy you some shoes."
We got in his car. I don't know what model it was, but it had four seats. It looked new, and he always kept it very clean, that much I remember. He even had one of those pine-shaped fresheners hanging in the rearview mirror. Anyway, we got in his car and went to the market. There were fruit stands, butcher shops, and one that sold those little cars people collect. I remember they were only $0.50 at the time. We walked by, and I asked my dad if he'd buy me one. I knew he was going to say no, but I had nothing to lose by asking.
"And where you think I'm gonna get that money?" he always told me the same thing. "I wasn't expecting to buy you those goddamned shoes. Let's see how we'll manage this month, and your mom still wants me to buy you some shirts. Crazy old bitch."
I didn't insist. We continued to the shoe stores and got into the first one.
"Which shoes are the cheapest you have?" my dad asked, and the salesman showed him the crappiest ones he had and told him the price. I don't remember how much they were, but they were from some shitty store, they were cheap.
Still, my dad asked:
"That's your lowest price?"
"Yes, man," the salesman responded, but my dad didn't give a shit a offered him less than half the price.
The salesman kicked us out of there, and we got into the next shop.
The same thing happened. We went to all the stores, and the same thing happened again and again.
But my dad went back to the first one.
"How much were those shoes?"
The salesman gave him the same price—let's say $10.
"And those are the cheapest ones you have?"
"Yes. I already told you."
"Fine. I'll take them," my dad said, and then he told me: "Sit."
I sat on a little bench that was there, and he took off my shoes.
"Are these for the kid?" the salesman asked. "They ain't gonna fit." And he was absolutely right; those were adult shoes.
"Which ones are the cheapest for him, then," my dad asked.
"These ones," the salesman showed him some shoes my size—let's say those ones were $20.
"The $10 ones will fit just fine," said my fucking-stubborn dad. "Just give me some newspaper."
The salesman then gave us a bunch of that paper they use to stuff shoes to keep them from getting deformed, and my dad filled those shoes with it.
"Put them on," he said to me, and I did exactly that.
I mean, they didn't come off, but they felt wobbly, like swim fins, and the back edge was rubbing against my heels every time I walked.
I didn't say anything so I wouldn't make him mad.
My dad then took out his wallet, and then the strangest thing of all happened. You might think he had a torn and faded wallet, with old receipts and only one wrinkled bill, but no, his wallet was new and barely foldable 'cause of all the bills it had. He took one out without looking, and it was a $100 one, I remember that well. He gave it to the salesman, who glared at him as if to say, "You son of a bitch, you could've bought the $20 ones for your kid, but you gave him those pieces of shit that he can't even wear."
And I think my dad understood that 'cause he said right away:
"Kids grow up so fast, you see. Why would I buy shoes his size if he'll need bigger ones right away? I'd rather buy him the ones that will last for a while."
Anyway, the salesman gave him his change, and we left. We passed by the store that sold those little cars, and I asked him again if he'd buy me one.
"I just bought you shoes, and you want more stuff?" He got mad as always. "And besides, where do you think I'm going to get that money?"
"They're only worth $0.50, and you must have like a $1,000 or more in your wallet." I told him that 'cause I truly couldn't understand how someone with that much money could get upset over $0.50. "That's not even 1% of what you have."
As I told you, he was just looking for excuses to get pissed about. He could have just bought me one of those cars, he could have just told me "I'm not going to buy you anything," and that was it. But no. He decided to make a fucking scene.
"Wasn't that enough for you?!" he yelled at me. Obviously, everyone there came over to watch an adult yell at a child. "Wasn't all that I already gave not enough for you?! You fucking ungrateful bastard. You're just like your mother. Everything you guys have is 'cause of me, and it's never enough for you. Don't cry, kid, don't you fucking cry. You were the one who asked for more, you ungrateful piece of shit."
He left and got into his car. I followed him and tried to open the passenger's seat, but that fucking asshole locked it. He rolled down the window and told me:
"Now, to make you appreciate everything I give you, dumbass, I hope you like to walk home 'cause this car is mine, and I have no obligation to take you anywhere. And stop crying, for fuck's sake, 'cause if anyone's to blame here, it's that whore of your mother, who doesn't even have the money to buy you a pair of fucking shoes." He then hit the gas. Everyone gathered there went back to their shops and left me there alone.
What? You think it's cruel that no one helped me? In that shitty town, it was really common to see some abandoned child on the street—I used to spend almost all day there. And what were they going to do? Take me home? With the car they probably didn't have? Or do you think they should have called the police? As I told you in the last chapter, that town was so dangerous that not even the police dared to enter, and the few already there were worse than all the gangs that ruled at the time.
You think someone should have stood up for me when my dad was making that scene? What kind of world do you live in? If you get into a fight with a stranger, you don't know if he's got a gun or something, and in my town that happened all the time. Everyone knew, and that's why no one ever did anything.
At that point, all I could do was to walk back home. It didn't even take two blocks for my heels to start bleeding 'cause they were rubbing against my shoes. To avoid further pain, I tiptoed for a bit, then grabbed some of the paper tucked into my shoes and put a little on the back to protect my heels and stop the bleeding.
But that didn't help me that much. Halfway home, I took off my shoes and kept going. It was better to step on pebbles and bugs barefoot than to fuck up my heels.
When I got home, it was already dark. My dad's car wasn't there, and that didn't surprise me one bit; whenever my dad got mad at me or my mom, he'd go off to work, and we wouldn't see him for a while—I don't think I ever saw that car again 'cause he had a different one when he came back, almost a year later, and after that, he practically had a different car every single time.
I walked into my house, and my mom was, as always, sitting on our shitty couch. As soon as she saw me, she came up to me and hugged me tightly.
"Oh, son. Why do you make me worry so much?" that bitch asked me.
I was fine. Thanks for asking.
And if you were so worried, you could have looked for me, you piece of shit.
"You already know how he is," she said, still hugging me. "Why you pissed him off?"
So it was my fault, bitch? It was my fault that you were pestering him to buy me some crappier shoes than the ones I already had? I never asked you for them! I would have gone barefoot if it were up to me! You were the only one who wanted those fucking shoes! If he was just looking for excuses to get pissed off, you were just looking for excuses to pester someone!
My dad always was a fucking idiot, but he was right about one thing: you were a fucking ungrateful bitch 'cause I remember very well that the moment he solved any problem you were already telling him that his son needed new clothes or that he had to buy his son books and supplies for the new school year or that his son needed medicine 'cause he was getting really sick, and then he would get pissed at me, and I hadn't even done anything.
No wonder why he always disappeared for that long.
But anyway. While I was thinking and getting pissed about everything I went through as a kid, I was already sitting on my mom's grave. I would have also sat and even peed on my dad's, but I have no fucking idea where he ended up.
Suddenly, I saw some armored trucks coming, and several armed men painted with my gang's skulls got out. They pointed their guns at me and got a little closer. I hoped one those assholes dared to shoot me so I could have a little fun fighting back.
But they put down their weapons as soon as they recognized me.
"What a surprise to see you here, boss!" one of them said. "You should have let us know you were coming to organize you a proper welcome party."
I didn't recognize any of them. Maybe they were all newly recruited members, or maybe they were from other gangs and dressed up as members of mine to trick me and then ambush me—it wasn't the first time this had happened.
"I don't care about that shit," I told him, and yeah, I didn't tell anyone I was coming back to my town. "And besides, the falcons were gonna tell you I was here either I let you know or not," the falcons I mentioned were members of our gang who watched over strategic points in town and alerted everyone if they saw something or someone suspicious.
"Well, yeah, boss, but we didn't know it was you. We almost shoot you."
"You should have done it, just to see what happened next."
"No, boss, we'd never do something like that. But come with us, we'll give you a proper welcoming."
I gave my truck keys to one of them and let those strangers take me wherever they wanted. I knew they could take me to the other gangs, and together they could try to kill me. But even that sounded more fun than going to that shitty welcoming party.