Timeless;

The Beginning / / Brantley's POV

"Got damn it" I say outloud to the steering wheel as I punch it.

Got fucking damn it.

I hate this shit. Why does my sis always pull this shit? She just so sweetly asked over her kitchen counter island, "Brantley, can you go to a parent teacher conference with Jeremiah for me?"

Just when I was about to tell Annie to shove it where the sun doesn't shine, she looked over her glasses and calmly replied to my internal monologue with "you might just find that your influence and absence has had more of an effect than you'd like to admit."

Fuck. She's right.

I know she is.

Now I'm having to drive all the way out to Crawford Fucking County, home of the Boondocks off road park, and my ole stomping grounds. I used to love it, but like everything else in my life that I have ever loved, my touch ruined it.

And apparently I have done the same to my nephew Jey.

That boy has easily turned his mom's hair grey in his 16 years of life. Just like you did to your own mother. My conscience needs to mind its own damn business right now. No idea where it was hiding all those years it let me fuck up countless times, with the scars to prove it, but of course it rears its ugly head now.

When I'm trying to determine in my mind if I'm going to walk into that probable dick of a teacher's office as the hard ass I am, or maybe a softer approach?

Nah, we'll go with hard ass cause I'm really good at that one. I'm not good at vulnerability, just like Heather always told me.

I shuddered at the thought of her face, my high school sweetheart. The one that my attempts to love completely destroyed. Every time her name comes to mind, I feel a sting in my chest, one that up until recently was easily ignored by whiskey. Lots and lots of whiskey.

Fuck, let's focus on the dick.

Dude has a fucking doctorate and teaching high school history in Bum Fuck Egypt, Georgia? Guy probably has more problems with drinking than I ever did. Actually, I never had a problem with it. I was pretty good at it actually. That and fighting, but I'm not gonna fight him today.

Am I? To be determined.

As I park the truck and begin to walk up the steps I was all but used to running like a mad man down as I was skipping classes, my resolve to be a hard ass has started to fade.

Maybe I should let him speak first and THEN hear Jeremiah's side of the story. I don't actually know how the kid is gonna react to me showing up instead of his mom but he should be grateful. She would completely take the teacher's side and scold Jeremiah without thinking about his reasons, only consequences.

Me and the kid do have an undeniably strong bond and always have, even on the days when I didn't deserve his praise and idol worship of me, the rough around the edges uncle with a bad reputation and sordid past.

As I reach the office, I see Mrs. Sawley through the glass, the long time receptionist who hated my guts. By the look on her face, she still does. Before I even open the door, she points down the hallway.

I begin my trek with a simple nod in her direction, keeping my middle finger securely in my leather jacket pocket. I continue walking down the white brick halls that used to be my purgatory until I hear a sound both strange and common.

I hear Jeremiah laughing, and it's coming from my right.

As I approach the door, confusion prominently on my face, I notice the name plate identifying the room as belonging to a Dr. Diesel. This must be it. I still hear Jeremiah laughing and playfully saying "Doc, you ain't right!"