weak wi-fi

3. theodore

        I like to think of my parent’s relationship as a firework. To explain this, I’d have to give the details of how they came to be and when they decided (or well, not really) to have me as their first born. My dad was the firework guy at a local camp site with poor plumbing and expired ice cream. When she was fifteen, my mom went to the camp site over the summer of 1992, barely two years had passed since her transition from Mexico to the USA. She had a heavy accent, but her English was understandable and complimented by many (although my mom says in those days it was mostly sympathy).

        My dad was a “clumsy oaf” who was in charge of the three rentable golf carts they had on the site. He usually took the one for employees only for joy rides, considering business wasn’t all that great. One dog on the road, one distracted glance, and my mom and dad’s path’s literally collided—seriously, right into her tent.

        After apologizing for half an hour and finally relaxing from his heart attack, my dad noticed my mom and it’s been one hell of a roller coaster since then. My mom says he showed her around, apologized some more, then managed to get them in to the cabin where they keep the fireworks. He showed her the different types and told her which ones made cool symbols and stuff.

        “To say she was fascinated would be an understatement,” my dad always says.

        “I was just pretending for his sake,” my mom always clears up.

        And for three years, every single summer my mom returned to the site, they’d do the same thing. They visited that cabin so frequently, I’m surprised I wasn’t created there. But that last summer, my dad managed to pull some strings, and when the fireworks display began, he got sparklers that spelled out the words “I ♥U”. Of course, being a clumsy oaf, my dad managed to burn himself as he lifted the sign and dropped it on the ground where it began a fire hazard, but my mom loved it anyways. It’s safe to say I was born the next year. And the year after I was born, my mother in her fresh twenties and completely unprepared for motherhood, my father surprised her once again on the Fourth of July when they—we—visited the old camp site.

        “WILL YOU MARRY ME?” in bright, sparkling letters. My mother cried because it was beautiful. I cried because I crapped my pants. And my dad cried because he didn’t learn from last time and burned himself once more.

        Why am I telling you this? Because, like I said, my parent’s relationship—or any relationship, really—is like a firework. The beginning is small but promising, the middle is passionate and explosive… but in the end, they all fizzle out the same way. And that’s where we are now; the fizzle.

        I think of this now as I hear their argument from my bedroom. My dad is accusing my mother of cheating, my mom is accusing my father of trapping her like a rat, and they’re both bringing back old memories that shouldn’t be said more than twice. I’m jealous of my sister for a while, because she’s always out with her friends, or at a sleepover, despite the fact she’s only twelve and a sixth grader. She’s rarely at home, and because of it, she rarely knows what’s going on.

        In spite of it all, I really, really don’t like relationships. Which is a good thing, because I’m not attractive anyways. The noise downstairs dies down a little, and even though I’m relieved they’ve stopped, the eeriness and heaviness in the silence makes it hard to concentrate on my task at hand. I hear footsteps come up the stairs and then a door closes. I try to hear what’s below me, but all I hear are slow footsteps and then nothing. I sigh, deciding it’s better to ignore it.

        Instead, I open up LetsGoCommando’s profile and send them a message.

        Me: hey, it looks like we’re partners for the Watty contest. i’m T. H. Enderson, and i look forward to working with you. it doesn’t seem we write the same genres, so this will be interesting, but a challenge i look forward to nonetheless. please respond to me as soon as possible so we can start discussing what our collaboration novel should be about.