The Feelings That Were Never Mine

Chapter Four

Thursday, May 1, 2014

My allergies have never been this bad. My brain feels like it's pushed up to my skull, ready to pop out of my head. Its so strange for me to have allergies at all. I've never really had them before. Blowing my nose, for the hundredth time, I change the channel to a car chase on the news. Things like that don't happen here in Kettering. Everyone has their routine, the separate lives of every person take up their time, so they don't have time to think about doing something crazy like running from the police. It's the way its been since forever really.

Of course the only reason I'm thinking so much into this irevalent topic is because I'm so bored out of my mind, anything is more entertaining than mindlessly watching an unrelated reality. The shift comes most unwelcome. Nonchalant. Oblivious. Whatever you want to call it. Why can't I ever be on my own? Do I always need a visitor?

Knock knock. No. Go away. "What do you want?" I manage to yell with a foreign voice.

"Are you hungry?" It's Dad. Strange that he's home today. He opens the door as if I told him to come on in.

"No." I croak

"You sick, bud?" Hate nicknames.

"Allergies." I reply. My itchy eyes make out dad in a gray t-shirt and flannel pajama pants. Probably called in sick today. He can do that since he's a doctor of sorts. Fake his own sick note. "What about you?" I eye the sandwich he's brought, suddenly starving. He hands me the plate knowingly.

"Daytona 500 today. No way I'm missing it." Of course not. It's usually our tradition to watch together, even though I've never been much into racing.

"Uh dad..." i trail off, forgetting what I was saying. These allergies were messing me up.

"I know. I can see you need to rest. You look pretty bad." What a nice guy. "I'll get you some Benadryl."  I smile gratefully and bite into the sandwich, sad that I can't really taste anything.

He heads to the medicine cabinet I have in my bathroom and pops me two Benadryl. "Thanks dad." Although I felt I could sleep for a few centuries, I didn't want to break the nerdy little tradition we started when I was Corey's age. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable, dad. I might fall asleep, but I think we should watch together." I feel an enormous amount of joy lift my heart, and know I've said the right thing.

"That sounds great, Connor." He flips the station and scoots so his back is on the headboard of my bed, his legs stretched out in front of him. "Go ahead and sleep if you have to, son." The joy  never leaves me, even after I have drifted into a dreamless doze.

When I wake up again, I feel totally restored and allergy free. Amazing what medication and sleep can do for a person. My phone reads 4:17 PM, which means I've slept for around three hours. Standing up after all this times feels... bad. My legs creak as I stretch them out from being curled into me for the duration of my nap and my neck is as stiff as a board. The downsides of an afternoon rest.

Still, being allergy free and well rested gets rid of any discomfort I have, and I make my way to the house, avoiding any further injury and walking on the steps instead of the grass, which harbor so many tripping hazards, its criminal.

The house smells like really burnt spaghetti and is so smoky, it's a miracle I can see my hand in front of my face. "What is going on in here?" I yell, looking desperately through the kitchen for any sign of life. I find myself being humored by the whole situation, which lets me know I'm not alone in the kitchen. "Connor, you're awake!" it's my mom.

"Mom, you're alive! What happened in here?" i exclaim.

"Oh, we had a little mishap with our Italian dinner."