It's the kind of song that you don't get sick of after you hear it a couple times, it's the kind of song that makes you dance, in the end, and sing at the top of your lungs.
That's exactly what I'm doing: singing at the top of my lungs with my mom as we drive home. I'm feeling happy, kind of. I have a gorgeous dress, the perfect pair of heels to go with it and a few ideas about what I'm doing with my hair. There's an uneasy feeling deep down at the bottom of my stomach, so subtle I'm not sure if it's the car or what, but I'm mostly happy.
Then we get in front of our house.
There on the lawn is the definition of chaos: Mr Pinkette, with our lawn mower purposely making ugly lines on the lawn, and my dad reaching for his shirt to stop him. And then it's both of them falling down, and hitting each other, the lawn mower still running on its own, straight towards the hedge that separates our two houses. They look like boys, fighting over a toy. But in reality, they're men and this is ridiculous.
My mom doesn't even bother to park the car, just opens the door and runs towards them. Mrs. Pinkette is shaking her head and running too, muttering something like "This needs to stop." And I'm just sitting there and staring, Dancing Queen still blaring from the speakers, wondering how two grown men let things get so out of hand over something as dumb as mowing the lawn.
Years and years of arguments and enmity and hate, over something so insignificant. I'm dazed, looking as Mrs Pinkette and my mom try to separate them as each of them, very childishly tries to give the last kick.
I get out of the car finally. The neighbors are watching in disbelief, some kid has his phone out and I can't hep but feel embarrassed. For the both of them.
I tentatively cross the lawn to my porch, careful not to get too close. I don't make eye contact with my dad. I'm disappointed in him. Over at the Pinkette house, I spot Dean, hair ruffled and messy, shaking his head in disbelief. It's like that day back in January, the two of us looking at our parents arguing. But this time Dean doesn't scowl and he doesn't smile either, just raises his hand in acknowledgment, shakes his head again and goes back into his house.
Tired? Frustrated?
That's what I want to believe.But the look makes me more unsure than I ever was and the uneasy feeling grows bigger and bigger until I feel like I can puke, right there on the precious lawn.
I can hear sirens in the distance.
SHIT I think. Not just for the fact that our dads were about to be arrested, but because I bothered to buy a fancy dress and Dean clearly didn't even like me.
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