What’s on?

The day sucked – it always sucked. It’s not like this was some kind of revelation. By the time I pulled my crap backpack into my POS 2001 Toyota Corolla I was done. I put my head back against the seat and sat there. It had gone as expected – everyone had asked the same fucking questions as if it somehow it meant they cared. They didn’t know what it was like. They didn’t know jack fucking shit. I should have been in college – but death tried its best to claim me. Beat his ass back with six months of shit. Eighteen and back in Highschool. Fuck me.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Mr. Morison. Fucking hell, the History teacher. He was at my window, his suit clinging to his sweat covered body. It sure was hot here in the great state of Texas, his armpits were drenched, and his hair glistened with oil. As I looked at him, I realized he looked awful. Bags hung under his eyes that could store a small animal, and his glasses were cracked. A bruise had swelled up in his left eye, but it hadn’t blackened – not yet. I rolled down the window.

“Get in a fight with Bigfoot?” I asked.

“What?” His hand touched the side of his face and winced, “Oh that. Yeah – bigfoot and three kangaroos.”

“Shit man, they say crap about your mother?”

“Language Akeelah.”

“Sorry, Mr. Morrison.”

Don’t you dare think I’d say sorry to anybody – not a damn soul except Morrison. He had given a shit when nobody else did. When I was shooting shit into my veins with razor blades this man turned my life around – only to have my left tit try and kill me. Fuck tits.

“I just want to say how proud I am of you for beating cancer and coming back. Thanks for not giving up.”

‘Can’t give up when I have you to please,” I shot him a smile, “How’s the fam?”

“Could be better,” He gave me a smile, “If you can beat the scariest thing known to the human race I can handle my problems too.”

“I’ll take your word for it, you have a ride, right?”

He shook his head, “I’ll be okay. The bus runs every hour.”

‘It 4:05, you have an hour wait.”

He shrugged as the wind picked up tugging on some papers clenched in his right hand, “I have papers to grade. You have a good day now. And I’m so proud.”

He beamed for a moment sending a petrifying sensation into my gut. There was nothing to be proud of. I had survived. There wasn’t anything more to it. With that, the bruised man turned from the car and headed for the green box that housed bus passengers. His wife and kids were obviously not on the same page as him and where the hell did the bruise come from. I through the car into reverse and powered it out into the parking lot, gunning it into drive. I rolled up next to Morrison, who was now wrestling with his suitcase as he desperately attempted to push papers into its compartment.

I rolled down the passenger window, “Get in, I’ll take you home.”

“School regs, kiddo,” He said.

“Morrison get in my car – tell them I kidnapped you.”

The history teacher waited a moment before giving in. The endurance on his face wasted away as he opened my car door and slipped in, clunking the old metal thing closed behind him. After battling his papers, a bit longer, he managed to make them disappear into his suitcase and then pulled his seatbelt closed. The clutter of cups, napkins and other material hanging about my car suddenly leaped out at me. Fuck. I looked like the world’s largest slob.

“Thanks.” He said at length.

“Any time.”

I peddled the gas and pulled out of the school parking lot easing onto the highway, more carefully than usual. Morrison was a nice man, but I could see his knuckles turning white on his kneecaps as I gunned my engine. I chuckled. He was so cute when he was scared – I hadn’t noticed that before.

“So, I’ll need you to navigate,” I said.

“Of course, go down twenty-eight eighteen, and turn left on college street.”

I followed his direction until we were skimming down Polo Road. The trees bared down around us, threatening to overtake the road and the leaves coated the grown, in a dead brown color. It was a beautiful area. I turned to look at Morrison who sat, his head in his hands stroking his temples. Whatever shit that went down with him and his family was serious. Did he cheat? I hope not – but maybe he just slipped up.

He pointed out a driveway, which I pulled into, and stopped the car. My gas gage hadn’t dipped too much, so I wasn’t too concerned. I’d be fine gifting him this ride. I threw the car into the park but left the engine running. He didn’t seem enticed to leave.

“You okay Mr. Morrison.”

“Not really,” a tear rolled from his eyes, “It’s not your burden to bear.”

With that, he opened the passenger car door and stepped out. He smiled at me and waved a thank you before closing the door. I waited – something felt off about leaving him here, as he sauntered to the door, and rang the doorbell. The door swung open in seconds, and there she stood – his wife I presumed.