Coming of Age: The Journey of a Teenaged Drug Dealer

CHAPTER EIGHT - LOVE & DISAPPOINTMENT

Ryan laid on his bed while talking to Cindy on his cellphone. "I was looking forward to seeing you tonight."

"I was too," she replied, disappointedly.

Cindy had to cancel their date night to cover a shift for work. The manager brought on a new girl to work nights. This was the third time in two weeks that the new girl needed a cover. Cindy was surprised the new girl even got hired. Flaky, was the first word that popped into Cindy's head when the manager asked what she thought about her. "She seems nice," was her reply. Now she wished she had been honest.

Ryan ran his fingers through his long bangs, pulling out the broken strands. "My dad was in one of his moods."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Her response was genuine.

He shrugged, doing his best to feel indifferent about the subject. After a beat, he asked, "Why don't you just say you can't cover?"

Cindy sighed. "I already committed to covering, stupidly. My manager asked me on the spot and I sort of impulsively said I would."

He grinned, slyly. "Ah, you just don't want to go out with me. Is that it?"

"Are you doing that grin?"

"Maybe."

"It's cute. Wish I could see it."

"Should have FaceTimed you." He held his grin for a few more seconds. "I'll miss you tonight. We will see the movie the next chance we get."

"We will. I hope you find something fun to do."

"Thanks, babe. I - I'll see you soon."

They ended the call.

Ryan continued laying in his bed, staring at his desk. Somewhere in the cluttered mess on his desk were the stories and poems he wrote years ago. Thinking about the stories he wrote and his prior conversation with his dad brought on a new memory.

Ryan remembered being ten years old and writing at his desk. On this particular day, whatever muse for his creativity had blessed him a passionate intensity. Thinking about the memory harder, Ryan remembered that he was writing about a cop inspired by his father.

His dad knocked on his door and entered. "What're you doing, champ?"

Ryan's eyes lit up. "I'm writing."

"Uh-huh." He glanced over Ryan's shoulders, taking a peak.

"I'm almost done. Do you want to read it?"

"Um - yeah. Sure."

Ryan offered the sheets to his father. At first, Ryan wasn't sure if this part of the memory was a fabrication. He recalled that only Cindy, his mother, and some of his teachers had read his work in the past. But something about the story's inspiration encouraged Ryan to give the story to his father. In a rare moment, Ryan was proud of his work; proud enough to show his dad.

His father took the sheets. "Thanks."

Ryan smiled, hoping his dad would read the story on the spot.

Instead, his father folded the sheets. "I got to run to the station, but your mom should be here soon. You going to be alright for like five to ten minutes by yourself?"

Ryan nodded.

"Alright, bud." He rubbed the top of his son's head. "I'll see ya little later."

Ryan recalled being initially disappointed with his father for not reading the story straight away, but then his father said, "Love ya, bud."

Perhaps ignorantly, he believed him.