Win Some, Lose Some

All the recipes in my mother’s old recipe box were designed to feed four people. All of them, I swear.

I put my glass in the spotless kitchen sink.

I took the glass out again, filled the sink with sudsy water, washed the cup, and then washed out the sink and dried it off until there were no water marks. By that point, I had completely lost my appetite, so I went into the den to do my homework.

Everything in the den was pretty much how my dad left it—papers, notes, and books all over the place. I couldn’t stand messes, never could, but I couldn’t bring myself to clean it up, either. Mom was more like me; she wouldn’t even walk in here.

She had been.

Had been.

Past tense.

Passed on.

Passed away.

Deceased.

The words filled my mind, unbidden. I closed my eyes and hoped it would just stop, but of course, it didn’t. My mind rarely went in the direction I commanded. I had to get up and leave the den. I stopped in the family room, but even the name of the room still set me off into panic attacks sometimes. All I could think about was how I had argued with Mom over the cooking show she liked to watch all the time. I had wanted to watch Top Gear, and the shows were always on at the same time.

I went back to the kitchen, thinking maybe I would cook something after all. I poked around in the cupboard filled with mostly packaged foods and ended up coming across a box of Thin Mints Mom had bought from a Girl Scout who lived down the street.

I lost it.

My dad had always said life was full of ups and downs.

“Son, you win some days; you lose others. That’s just how it works.”

Today was a lose day.

~oOo~

The next day, I walked through the large double doors of Talawanda High School in Oxford, Ohio.

Oxford was a small university town, divided into areas mostly devoted to the locals, the Miami University campus grounds, and Uptown Oxford, where everyone shopped and went out to eat. The shops mostly catered to the students, and most of the buildings even had student apartments on the second story, on top of the storefronts. First-year students lived in campus housing, but upperclassmen lived in apartments and rented houses within a few blocks of Uptown.

Most of the kids in my class had at least one parent who worked for Miami University. My mother had taught math in the school of education. Growing up here was all right. I enjoyed summers the most when all of the students would leave Oxford to the townies, and I could find a parking space Uptown when I needed one.

I headed to my first class—AP Ecology. I’d managed to drive to school by repeating to myself over and over again: I have an appointment with the body shop right after school lets out, and Travis is going to arrange for a loaner car until my bumper is fixed.

A loaner.

Who knew what had been done in it?

I opened my locker and carefully placed the folders from my book bag into their proper places on the little metal shelf. The corresponding textbook was placed next to the folders in order of my class schedule, my meager lunch placed on the top shelf, and the empty backpack on the hook. Then I pulled out the ecology textbook and green folder to take to class.

I checked my watch and quickly headed to the classroom. I should get there with about ten seconds to spare. I couldn’t stand being late, but I also didn’t want to be there early. I walked inside Mr. Jones’ lab and turned down the aisle toward my desk.

There was already someone in my seat.

He was a really big, wide-shouldered guy with a dark complexion. I hadn’t seen him before, but he could have been one of the kids who transferred from Riley schools. I wasn’t concerned about where he came from though. The problem was he was in my seat.

Maybe I should have been a few second earlier.

I stopped between desks—right between Aimee Schultz and Scott O’Malley—and just stared at the floor for a minute. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. That was the seat where I was supposed to be sitting. I had been in that seat all year, and it was spring. This was a two-semester course, so I had been in that same seat each and every school day for over a hundred days.

One hundred and twelve.