The Forgotten Generation: Chapter Seven

The Forgotten Generation

Chapter Six: A Thug and a Bird 

“I get the uncomfortable feeling he hates me.  I guess it isn’t something unusual that I should be dwelling on.  Who doesn’t hate me?”

--taken from the diary of Shelley Underwood, age 18.

Shelley gave a hesitant, tight-lipped smile to the boy across from her.  He looked like he could easily snap her in two and not give it a second thought.  If she had to describe him in one word, it would be “intimidating,” and she could tell that he knew that.  His arms were crossed over his chest as he slouched in the desk.  She wasn’t sure if he was trying to look intense or apathetic, but whatever it was, he was definitely succeeding. 

“Well.”  Shelley jumped when she heard Mr. Vaughn’s voice, ordering that they, “Talk.”  What was there for Rainer and her to talk about?

“Um—hi, I’m Shelley,” she stammered. 

The guy rolled his shoulders and replied simply, “Rainer.”

"Um... it's nice to meet you," Shelley said politely, or at least as politely as she could manage; Rainer freaked her out, a lot.  She'd never been more nervous to be around someone-- well, except for Mr. Vaughn, that was.  That was a whole different sort of nervousness, however: she was shy around Mr. Vaughn because of her knee-weakening, heart-pounding crush on him, but she was terrified of Rainer because she felt that one wrong step might be the last move she would get to make in this lifetime. 

Rainer swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing.  Shelley was almost surprised that it wasn't as audible as it was visible, with as dramatic as the movement was.  She wondered if everything about this huge guy was this intense.  Thinking back on her earlier first impression, she corrected it: "intimidating" wasn't the perfect word so much as "intense" was.  He was like a typhoon or a forest fire, unstoppable and natural and wild.  She wondered, then, how someone as calm and complacent as Quincy had befriended him.  They were as opposite as night and day, from her perspective; if Rainer was a natural disaster waiting to happen, then Quincy was the earth waiting to be consumed or destroyed.  Their friendship, or relationship if it was more, as she distantly heard Madeline Nelson suggest, didn't seem the sort of unlikely that would be all the stronger for its absurdity; it seemed unlikely because there was no good that could come of it.

Then again, Shelley supposed she had to accept that Quincy knew Rainer better than she did.  If he had faith that the scary thug wouldn't bring him any harm, then she would simply have to have faith in Quincy's judgement.  Besides, if he weren't the type to give everyone a chance-- even the more intimidating and intense ones, such as Rainer, then Shelley didn't think she would have been granted the same courtesy.  It was something she tried not to dwell on, but most of her peers didn't give her a chance to explain or prove herself.  She couldn't bring herself to blame Quincy for being able to see past image (both hers and his) and attempt to be her friend even despite her countless faults.

"So, what's your deal?" Rainer asked eventually.  

"Umm... I don't think I follow.  What do you mean?"

"I mean, why are you here?" Rainer asked, gesturing around them at the classroom.  "Vaughn said something about being out of place or whatever.  I know Park's-- Quincy's," he corrected, realising that he was the only one to call the blond by his middle name, "Reason, and I know why I'm here, so I'm just wondering what's up with you.  How did you piss off everyone?" 

Shelley dropped her eyes.  "I don't think I 'pissed off' everyone," she protested weakly.  "I'm just not very well-liked, I guess...  I don't know if you've noticed, but the others aren't exactly fond of anyone who isn't Madeline-perfect."

Rainer raised an eyebrow.  "You got a problem with the Queen?"

Shelley, for her part, only shrugged.  She didn't have too much of a problem, to be honest.  A part of her was simply jealous.  It never seemed that Madeline worked to look good, with her hair, her makeup, or her body, and yet everyone worshipped the ground that she walked on.  Shouldn't they praise the hard effort someone put into being beautiful, instead of just extolling the virtues of chance and good genes? 

Rainer chuckled.  "You know, I think just about everyone has a problem with her, so don't feel too out of place." 

Shelley's eyes snapped to him.  "You think so?"

"Well, I damn well know I don't like her, and I've got a pretty good feeling Parker ain't all that into her, and it's pretty hard to make an enemy out of him without doing anything.  I mean, just look at us-- he spends all his time with me.  If he can handle my temper, he can handle just about anyone else.  Except that Madeline chick."

Shelley turned in her seat to look at Quincy, only to see Madeline getting up.  Apparently, she was leaving already.  Didn't she understand how lucky she was to have Mr. Vaughn spending his valuable time on her?  Surely he had a family to return to-- she hadn't missed the wedding band that adorned his finger, practically mocking the futility of her crush on a daily basis-- but instead, he was staying after school to help his students, the ones whom no one else would help.  Shelley found that even more endearing than anything else he had done so far...

"Yes, I suppose I may have made that mistake with all of you…  It’s clear you all want to go home, so if you’re ready to leave for the day, I won’t stop you.  But we’re going to have another meeting next Wednesday." 

Shelley offered as bright a smile as she could muster, as the others filtered out of the room.  "Of course, Mr. Vaughn," she replied; it seemed that no one else was willing to give him that courtesy, and she figured that she could be nice.  How else was she going to get on his good side?  Not that she thought she could win him over enough.  She knew that Mr. Vaughn wasn't the type to cheat on his wife, with whom he was probably hopelessly in love.  Still, that didn't stop her from wishing or planning, in her delirious, teenage girl brain.  Some days, hope was the only thing that kept her going.  If she would relinquish that so willingly, then what would she have?  Nothing.

"Are you ready to go home?" 

Shelley jumped a bit, her muddy green eyes looking to the other senior she hadn't even noticed in the room.  She wasn't sure how she had forgotten, seeing as Fayola had gotten the seat that Shelley had been wishing and hoping for.  She tried to fool herself into thinking that choosing her would have been favouritism, although she didn't particularly believe that in the least. Still, it helped to ease the slight disappointment just a little bit.

"Um, yeah, sure," Shelley agreed, with one last wistful glance to her English teacher.  "Goodbye, Mr. Vaughn," she said, trying not to let the adoration seep into her words.  "We'll see you tomorrow!" 

As they began walking, Shelley lingered slightly behind Fayola, her green eyes trained on her figure, even though it was hidden beneath the fabric of a traditional, ethnic dress, the name of which Shelley never quite remembered.  Fayola had told her numerous times what it was, but Shelley had a habit of only remembering things that were close to her heart.  While Fayola was her best friend, and a companion Shelley treasured greatly, the name of whatever garment draped across her was not quite important enough to her.  

Fayola's figure wasn't particularly well-defined, but it wasn't indistinguishable, either.  She was round without being plump, curvy without necessarily being "fat."  She still was on the heavier side compared to girls such as Madeline-- or Shelley, especially-- but it didn't detract from her beauty.  In her old village, as she had again told Shelley time and time again, heavier women were considered to be the most beautiful of all of them.  After all, for a woman to gain weight, she had to eat; being "overweight" was actually a sign of wealth and health, as well as fertility.  Since being in America, food had been easier to come by, and Fayola had gained some weight.  It wasn't enough yet to be unhealthy, but it was enough that some of the students had begun to tease her about her weight.

Shelley actually thought she was quite beautiful, even despite her weight, however.  She would have made a great poster child for the beautiful, ethnic villages that dotted the landscape of Africa.  Not to mention the fact that, although she obviously tried to rein in her pride during school hours to prevent further teasing, Fayola loved her background and where she had come from.  While most kids Shelley had met were more interested in "getting out" of wherever they were, Fayola would have much preferred to stay in the land that she had known her whole life.  It was admirable, in a sense, the patriotism she could have for a place that was often considered "uncivilised" or "savage."

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Fayola asked after a while.

"Hmm?  With Rainer?"

"Yes; he seemed to... be kinder with you."

Shelley pressed her lips together as she thought back.  "Yeah... I guess he was a little bit nicer," she agreed.  "I wouldn't say it was fun, though.  It was pretty awkward...  I don't know how Quincy does it all the time."  She shook her head; Fayola didn't approve of talking bad about anyone, even when they deserved it.  "I guess he wasn't as bad as I thought he was, though."

Fayola's dark brown eyes were soon trained on Shelley.  Was this what Mr. Vaughn had meant?  He had gathered a motley crew of misunderstood individuals who were poorly treated-- regardless of their status in the school, apparently, since even Madeline was there-- and allowed them to interact.  She knew that they had misconceptions of each other already, even while they knew how painful it was to be judged.  Perhaps, as they realised each other had merit beyond what the eye could see, they would be able to understand that they were just as guilty of judging as they were of being judged.

It was a far-fetched thing to hope for, but Fayola found herself siding with Mr. Vaughn.  It would be difficult for them to set aside their differences and to work anything at all out, especially where it came to each other, but maybe in the end it would be worth it.  There was only one way to find out, though, and that was to wait and see how it all played out in the end. 

"Oh," Shelley said suddenly, "This is my stop."  She didn't wait for a response from Fayola before she darted off down another road.  Sighing, Fayola shook her head.  One thing was for certain, though: no one had been wrong in calling Shelley Underwood absent-minded.

Shelley cast her gaze back over her shoulder as she approached a small, abandoned-looking house.  It was overgrown with weeds, and the wooden porch was beginning to rot.  Light grey paint was peeling form the wooden door that still stood guard even after all these years.  It wasn't much, and Shelley hated everything about it, but it was home-- and it was cheap.  Her family couldn't afford anything more.

She scoffed at the idea of that: family.  Ever since her parents had divorced, she had been on her own.  Sure, she lived with her father, but he no longer supported them.  Instead, Shelley had been forced to grow up much too quickly and support the very man who had raised her.

She wondered about that sometimes, though.  The broken shell of a man, the body that so often lay on the couch, unmoving, was not the same man that she remembered once upon a time.  The divorce had thoroughly ruined him.  It had never been explained to her why exactly it was carried out, but she knew that the feelings that it should end were not mutual; when her father was drunk or high (or both), and she was home, he would sob about how much he loved her mother.  Shelley reminded him of her, he would claim, although they couldn't look more different.  Shelley's mother had been tall and beautiful, bold, with pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes; Shelley had received her father's muted colouring, instead, with unremarkable brown hair and dull green eyes.  

Even though she had no real emotional attachments to the man who remained in her house, the first thing she did upon crossing the threshold was search for him.

"Dad!" she called, passing into the living room.  "I'm home!  Are you awake?"

As usual, no response came, and she sighed.  Of course he wasn't awake; he never was, so early in the day.  She toed off her shoes and dropped her bookbag next to them as she continued into the house.  However, when her father wasn't passed out in the bed as she had expected, she felt the slightest ounce of worry manifest.  She peered at the dusty floor, but it was absent of vague, dad-shaped lumps.  Heaving a slightly worried sigh, she looked into the bathroom; a breath of exasperation left her chest.  He couldn't even be trusted to be alone for the time she went to school...  Really, she was simply happy he was dressed.

Shelley walked over to the place where a thin, middle-aged man was curled up, his body leaning against the wall.  His breathing racked his whole body, but she was less worried than relieved at that-- at least he was still breathing.  She knelt down to inspect his sunken face.  Twin lines of blood marked his lips and chin, which was becoming more and more of a frequent occurrence.

"Let's get you cleaned up, then," she whispered to an audience that wouldn't hear her if she screamed.  She grabbed a cloth from the counter, wet it, and started dabbing at his face gently, so as not to disturb his sleep.  She didn't have to see the dark bags under his eyes to know how rare it was for him to get a decent night's sleep; he was probably only unconscious now because he'd finally crashed into the ill-fated low after the high. 

Once she'd wiped away the blood that stained his face, Shelley draped the cloth over the side of the tub and stood back to stare at him.  She was too weak to lift him, even with his rapid weight loss; he would stay in that position until he woke.  No doubt he would leave to get another fix the moment he was conscious...

Shelley left the bathroom shortly to grab a blanket, which she then draped over her father's shoulders.  Even if he was broken, he was still her father.  She was incapable of hating him, no matter how much his bad choices hurt both of them.  In fact, she figured she was more upset with him for hurting himself than she was for hurting her.  After all, she was used to handling the pain that came with everyday living in high school; her father was not, anymore.  He had been at the stage in his life where he thought he had reached his happy ending, only to have the proverbial welcome mat pulled straight out from beneath his feet.  He couldn't be blamed too much for toppling to the ground.

Shelley kissed his forehead, drawing the blanket closer to his ears, and moved to her room.  She had work in an hour, and walking would take at least half that time.  Supporting what little, crumbling remains of family she had left meant working full-time in addition to school.  She was more tired than she had ever been, but she had someone there with her. 

She'd considered leaving before, but she knew that it wouldn't change as much as she hoped.  She would still have to support herself, which meant she would still be working full-time, but she would be alone.  More than that, her father would be alone, and that was too much for Shelley to cope with. 

Instead, she soldiered on, enduring what came her way.  After all, things couldn't get any worse anymore.