Post by ELI ACKERMAN on Aug 22, 2010 9:39:40 GMT -5
WAVING FROM SUCH GREAT HEIGHTS.
"Come down now," they'll say.
Eli's stomach had managed to hold off until the afternoon. Normally, his will-power and his hunger respected one another and formed a wonderful team, letting him pass through his kitchen, his food-filled cupboards, and his refrigerator without roaring in a needy, attention-seeking fashion. And today was no exception. The boy had foolishly woken up late. A whole two hours late, meaning the list of chores had been laid too-neatly on the counter. A neon green post-it note (ensuring Eli couldn't have missed it) had been placed upon the growing list. It held an anything-but-friendly suggestion: Get up earlier, stop being so lazy, don't stay out so late... Eli had crumped it up and thrown it away immediatly. His wicked step-father had filed enough complaints about his wife's son's behavior to know that the boy didn't give them so much as half a glance.
But today it wasn't the condescending lifestyle criticisms that annoyed him the most, the list of demands was getting to him. Eli put up with grocery shopping, he put up with getting gas (his favorite chore, as it meant he got to drive the Camaro), he put up with cleaning the house, he even put up with Dan's fastidious opinions about the time and energy consuming landscaping work as of late. For the first time (and hopefully the last time) Eli wished he had listened to Dan and gotten a job (even though this 'summer job' had started during the spring would surely carry into weekends of autumn). That way he might have gotten paid more than the penurious few bills that came his way at the end of the week. For the size of the house they lived in (and the paycheck to match) Eli considered the small sum to be extremely stingy. Was he surprised? Not at all, but regardless...
That was all beside the point. The point being, the amount of work that filled today's sheet of paper would take a large amount of time. And so he had, very reluctantly, skipped breakfast. He had lost enough time sleeping, showering, and giving the eager dog a pathetic little walk (Eli would take Duncan on his preferred late-night walks to make it up to him). And, incredibly, the boy had done everything. He had tackled the cantankerous lawn mower, mastered the stubborn sprinkler, heaved the accumulating pile of stones into place to create a perfectly manicured lawn, picked up a list of the deemed necessary items (duct tape, toothpaste, batteries, Dan's expensive and disgusting organic peanut butter) from both, yes, both the grocery store and the drug store, filled all three cars with gas, pumped every bike tire full of air, removed and replaced any sticking-out nails from the porch, painted the shutters, and was driving home (suddenly not quite comfortable in the Camaro rather than his own car) when his patient stomach erupted in a destitute roar.
Coicidentially enough, the Camaro was drifting by the string of restaurants. There were a limited number of edible/affordable restaurants in Seaside Heights, but the boy wasn't picky as of right now. Eli checked the time, taking his eyes off the road for a matter of seconds to glance at the watch hugging his wrist. Being in military time (unfortunately a setting that he had been trying to fix for two years), it took a second moment of hesitation to figure out what time it really was. He had five minutes to get home, have everything completed, and the car in the garage by the time Dan got home, the way his step-father liked it. But the drifting scent of restaurants he was inhaling distracted him. Eli's decision was made quickly: Fuck that, I need food. Flicking the turn signal, he pulled into the parking lot. Cash in his pocket was still a new concept, but he was quickly getting used to it. Now the quadri-yearly tradition of eating out was becoming a bi-monthly occurance.
Eli cut the engine, placed neatly within the boundaries of a parking lot. The slightly tinted windows and sun visor had provided protection from the sun thus far, but Eli balanced a pair of his friend's sunglasses on the bridge of his nose as he stepped out of the car. He was locking the car when he realized these borrowed shades would probably never get back to Jason in Detroit, and suffered a pang of guilt to go along with his hunger. But the hunger was overpowering, now. He needed food, and that's what he would get. Making a beeline for the front door, the boy didn't turn his head to see if any of his classmates were hanging out outside. Normally he would've halted to greet such people, friends of his, or at least acquaintances. But not today. There was no time to stop and chat, he was a hungry man! At least he had his priorities straight.
EVERYTHING LOOKS PERFECT FROM FAR AWAY.
"Come down now," but we'll stay.
STATUS; complete.[/size]
WORDCOUNT; 819.[/size]
TAGGED; open.[/size]
JAMS; geraldine -- glasvegas.[/size]
NOTES; hooray for threadage!.[/size][/center]
