Page 21 of Elusion

Wow. Not snarky or sarcastic or ego-shattering.

The feel of their eyes on me causes my gaze to slowly lift from my phone. All three of my roommates are staring down at me. That’s when I notice my smile. I stand up, wiping the expression from my face.

When none of them move, I ask, “What?”

In unison, they simulate cracking a whip. “Whaahh-pssh!”

I push through them as they pantomime riding horses, and they gallop out the door behind me.

Obnoxious.

Our night wound down around three, but my eyes open at eight. I thought it took weeks for a body to adjust to a new sleep cycle. What the fuck do people do this early on a Saturday morning?

I roll out of bed and take a shower. A long one.

Once dressed, I head downstairs. A foot hangs over the end of the couch, toenails painted purple. Fantastic. Not wanting to wake Sleeping Beauty, I make toast and retreat to my room.

I eat at my desk while rifling through papers and come across an unopened letter from my father. I rip it open and find information to register for the LSAT along with a list of contacts and phone numbers. My elbow nudges the envelope over the edge of the desk, and contents and all fall into the trash can.

One major drawback of acting impulsively based on what I currently want is I fail to consider what it could mean in the long-term. Case-in-point: my agreement to go to law school.

At seventeen, it was a far-flung future. Who cared about what happened in four years if I could do whatever the hell I wanted until then? Well, let me tell my even cockier asshole younger self who cares.

Me.

I do.

The right-now Jordan who faces the decision of being miserable for the rest of my life or once again letting down my parents. Not that it’s difficult for me to disappoint them. Regardless of my numerous achievements growing up, I always fell short with them. Unlike my brother. If Dustin were to fetch a stick like a dog, they would deem it the most glorious fetching in history.

Years of constantly seeking approval turned me into a high-strung twelve-year-old with stress ulcers. I’ll never forget the day I snapped. I stood in the middle of the sixth-grade classroom and ripped up my math test. It was the most liberating moment of my short life. Right then, I vowed to live for me and not give a shit about other people’s expectations. A resolve further strengthened when I went home. My parents gave me the same lecture they had the one time I brought home an A-minus. Word for word. An A-minus was equivalent to an F in their eyes.

I melted into hysterics. Full-on rolling around on the sitting-room floor, tears in my eyes, couldn’t-breathe laughter. I accepted them as impossible to please after that, and my mindset changed. Life became fun, including my rivalry with Dustin. Instead of feeling like I needed to beat him in the hopes of earning praise from our parents, I wanted to beat him to prove to myself that I could. Every win, award, and accomplishment since has been all mine, and no one can take them away from me.

Over time, though, my parents and I have struck a balance. Our relationship’s like a game. I love playing the role of disappointing child because, in actuality, I don’t come close. But it will change if I don’t go to law school.

Everything up to now has groomed me for the path they chose for Dustin and me when we were children. One I agreed to go down. Not following through will be viewed as the ultimate act of defiance. Again, I’ll feel like a disappointment, and I’m not ready for that yet.

I pick the papers out of the trash can and leave them on my desk to deal with another day.

With the start of my morning heavier than a hungover Saturday should ever be, I return downstairs. I open the basement door and proceed down to Johnny’s room. I grant him the same courtesy everyone in the house does me and let myself in without knocking. He’s asleep on his floor, and I nudge him with my foot.

“Dude. The house guest yours?”

He grunts and sticks his arm in the air, giving me a thumbs-up.

“Do I need to take her home?”

He grunts again, and his thumb stays in place.

Perfect.

I rouse our couch surfer, make sure she’s wearing all her clothes, and provide her with a coat to wear on our drive. Based on her confusion and blushing, she doesn’t remember much of anything from last night, which explains why she slept on the couch. We might be a house full of horny college dudes, but none of us would ever cross the line of hooking up with a girl that out of it.

She looks awful, so I swing through a drive-through and buy her breakfast.

Our verbal exchange remains limited to directions and a, “Thanks,” when she returns Gavin’s jacket.

Once she disappears into the building, I declare her someone else’s problem. People who get wasted enough to forget what they did confound me. I always wonder if what they want to escape from is really that bad or if they just don’t know how else to cope with the everyday shit in their lives.

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