Father sits up straight with a shaky smile. "I'm sure it was nothing sweetie. Now, about your idea of where to go," he says, replacing the nervous smile with a serious face. I close my eyes for half a second, bracing to be shut down. "I don't think it's a good idea." he starts off, and I droop. "You're safer here, and we don't know what's over there. There could be a village. Even so, I doubt you've ever seen it." He relaxes as he talks, and though I've never seen him do it, instinct tells me he's about to tell a big fat lie. "Anyways, I heard that the air over there is too warmed up from the sun. You would be too hot and and uncomfortable, and burned, like my attempts at muffins." He finishes talking and looks at me, hopeful I'll accept his big pile of turd and move on.
"Father," I say, giving him a good long hard look, "according to you, there isn't anyone to hear from."
He deflates, and then looks up with an angry scowl on his face. "Rowan, I've never had to pull rank like this, but you are not going to that 'village', it's too dangerous! I am your father, you will listen and believe me, for even if I do say the occasional white lie, it's for your own good!" He's completely shouting now, something he's never done before.
I begin shrinking back, but then remember my history of great comebacks during Father and I's daily banter. In my greatest time of need, how can I not think of one? "Oh, yeah? Well, your face is for your own good!" I shout back. Hm. Perhaps that was not my best. Father is towering over me now; how come I never noticed how tall he is? He glowers at me, furious, even though it was a pretty lame comeback.
"GO TO YOUR ROOM!" He bellows. I stand there, shocked. Father has never sent me to my room, despite my constant annoying bickering. In fact, the only time I've even gotten a time out is when I purposely spilled his prized red wine. I glare at him, and then stalk off.
Is this normal? Fighting with your father? I have a feeling it is, but that doesn't make me any less angry at him. I moan, and flop over reaching for my iPhone16, which Father found on the ground five years back. Now that I think about it, it sounds pretty fishy. I sigh again. Clicking past the main menu screen, I open my music library and decide to play some of my favorite bands, even though my father tells me they are over 50 years old, and he can get me some more modern music. I don't like modern music though, too many electronic noises. I prefer Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Paramore, bands like that. Sometimes, I even listen to a little Taylor Swift. Pressing shuffle, I jam my earbuds in and wait. Soon music floods my ears, one of my favorite songs. Ain't it fun? Living in the real world? Ain't it good? Being all alone? No, I think to myself, it isn't. This song is just what I needed to sort things out. Ain't it good to be all alone, ain't it fun you can't count on no one? Ain't it fuuuuunnnn... I start to drift off as the final lines of the song play. Don't go cryin' to your mama, 'cause you're all alone in the real world. I don't have a mama, I think drowsily, I just have Father. And then I'm dreaming.