Because of Ellison (2 page)

Shaking myself of sluggishness, I quickly pulled on a
wrinkled t-shirt and a pair of sunglasses before exiting my dimly lit house out
into the garish light of day. Crossing the property swiftly, I noticed an
unusual detail out of the corner of my eye, but brushed it off without
considering it further. The guesthouse stood atop a hill behind my parents’
house and I was thankful for the downward slope that made the dreaded journey
much easier to manage. The steep incline would be a bitch to climb on my return
trip, but I put that thought out of my mind when I finally reached the main
house. Moving through the back yard, I located my mother staring into the pool.
Her hands were on her hips and the grimace on her face was a warning that
something was amiss. Slowly, I made my way over, noting how the bushes that
lined the pool had been knocked down and long trails of leaves and dirt were
strewn out from the shrubs in the direction of the water. My mother’s head
turned towards me before I reached the pool deck and her hand instantly pointed
down.

“Care to explain, Hunter?”

Looking towards the water, I noticed the leaves that were
floating along the reflective surface; swirls of dirt wound their way through
as the jets circulated the water. Shrugging my shoulders, I looked up at my
mom. “Explain what? I didn’t knock the fucking bushes over.”

Her face contorted into an agonized frown and her hands came
up to pinch at her temples as she responded. “Look IN the water.”

Taking a few more hesitant steps, I glanced down into the
deep end of the pool. My eyes bugged out and my body lurched in reaction to
what I saw.

“Fuck.”

One would have overlooked it if he or she had simply passed
by without taking a look into the depths of the water. The black paint of my
BMW blended perfectly with the lagoon-colored stone surface of the pool and
bits of chrome shimmered as sunlight reached through the water, barely brushing
against the silvery accents.

My heart leapt into my throat and I swallowed hard to keep
it down with my stomach.

“As I was saying: Do you mind telling me why your CAR is at
the bottom of our POOL, Hunter
?!
”

My mouth fell open so that I could respond, but no sound
came out and my jaw was left dangling open in utter and humiliating shock.
Spinning on my heel, I peered up the hill towards the guesthouse and determined
what oddity had caught my attention just moments before. My car was not where I
normally left it. Tire tracks shredded the grass where they had voyaged down
the steep incline, apparently gaining enough speed to power the vehicle through
the shrubs until finally landing at the bottom of the pool. My eyes blinked …
once … twice … before I turned back to the intimidating glare of my mother.

I spun my cognitive wheels as quickly as I could and spit
out a load of bullshit, hoping it would appease the quivering beast of a woman
that stood in front of me. “Well, holy shit! I can’t believe the engineers and
architects that designed this place didn’t consider the placement of the pool.
Clearly
, designing a driveway to sit at
the top of a slope that leads down towards a pool was poor site planning. You
should call them immediately and demand compensation.”

We both crossed our arms over our chests — me in
indignation and my mother in absolute and unadulterated fury. “Don’t give me
that shit, Hunter! How did this happen? Cars don’t just roll forward by
themselves. Did you even bother placing the car in Park when you came home last
night?”

I didn’t know. My memory of the night before was foggy at
best. I’d taken Tiffany to Ethan’s house for a party. There were red solo cups
and party favors consisting of any drug a person could want. I had a blast
— I thought. But in reality, I wasn’t even quite sure how I’d gotten
home. Had Tiffany driven? Or was it
me
? It must have
been Tiffany. I would have never done anything this moronic.

“Tiffany drove us home last night, she must have parked the
car too close to the ridge. Again, better site planning would have prevented
this event. I mean, what type of professional would place a … ”

“That’s it!!” Throwing her hands up, my mother growled
before turning and stormed towards the French doors at the back of the house.
Motioning towards me, she indicated that I was to follow her inside. Kicking at
some loose dirt with my foot, I shoved my hands in my pockets and paced behind
my mother before being led into the living room. My father was on the phone
glancing over some paperwork that was scattered haphazardly across the cherry
wood sofa table. His eyes shot up as my mother and I entered the room and he
excused himself curtly before throwing the phone to his side and standing up.

“Hunter, this is the last fucking straw, son. When your
mother and I discovered that
car
in
our
pool
this morning, I almost
marched up to your house to beat your ass for such an irresponsible fucking
stunt! Do you have any idea how much this is going to cost me? That car was
brand new, not to mention what damage it did to the surface of our pool! What
the hell is your problem
?!
”

Straightening my shoulders, I backed away from my father to
place distance between his wrath and my body. I stared at his face, which had
turned a light shade of purple, and noticed that his hair appeared to be
standing on end.

“It was an accident … ”

“You know what, Hunter? We’re done with your
accidents
, which is really just your
excuse for your total lack of responsibility. You need to grow the hell up,
son. You are 19 years old,
could
have
graduated at 17, but instead, you didn’t want to put in the extra work to build
up your credits faster. You have a full ride to Harvard and you cannot expect
to pass as easily through that school with the same habits you had in high
school. You need to start taking your life seriously. Your mother and I have
supported you thus far, but that support will end if you don’t get your shit
straight. On top of that, your lifestyle is seriously in question. We both
suspect that you are not only drinking, but doing drugs as well. In fact, why
are you swaying back and forth now? Take off those fucking sunglasses so that
we can see your eyes. Are you drunk at this very moment or what?”

My entire body tensed as I attempted to continue standing in
an upright position. I hadn’t noticed that I’d been swaying, but given how hung
over I was, it was highly possible. I wanted to sit down, but knew that doing
so would only prove his point. Reaching up, I removed my sunglasses, only to be
met with the knowing stares of my parents and I instantly regretted not using
eye drops before coming to the main house.

My father crossed his arms over his chest and one eyebrow
arched on his face. “Just as I thought, your eyes are bloodshot as hell.”
Stepping closer, he sniffed at the air around me. “You smell like alcohol and
cigarette smoke.”

I had nothing to say. Although my brain on normal days
performed like a well-oiled machine, the alcohol and drugs I’d likely ingested
the night before acted like a gunk that was gluing up the gears. I couldn’t
come up with one intelligible sentence that would have any effect on reducing
my father’s anger. Thus, I did what any normal, 19-year-old would do: I stared
at him dumbfounded and kept my trap shut. I might have been thinking slowly at
that moment, but I was still rational enough to realize that sometimes it’s
better to remain quiet and take the heat than to open your mouth and stir the
pot.

“Sit down, Hunter, before you fall over.” My father’s voice
had taken on a defeated tone suddenly. But was my father defeated — or
was I?

Sitting on the couch, I leaned back into the overstuffed
cushions and stretched my long legs out in front of me and crossed one ankle
over the other. If I was being made to sit, I knew a lecture was coming —
and if I had to endure the lecture, I was going to make damn sure I was
comfortable while doing so.

My parents took a seat next to each other on the couch
facing me. Their mouths were moving and I knew they were talking, but all I
could hear was discordant sounds and disembodied voices as my conscious thought
floated off into thoughts not yet explored.

Bored with the repetitive pep talk that I’d heard my entire
life, I allowed my mind to wander aimlessly. I remembered there was another
party I was looking forward to attending that evening until I realized that
getting there would be complicated given the fact that my car was at the bottom
of the swimming pool. Nodding my head at my parents and putting on my ‘serious’
face, I was inwardly plotting how I would convince them to loan me another car
out of my father’s impressive collection — at least until they bought me
a replacement.

My parents’ mouths continued to move and I continued
nodding at what I knew were the important parts:

“We won’t be here forever … ”

“Learn responsibility so you can support yourself in the
future … ”

“Life is not about having fun only … ”

“Your future depends on the decisions you make now … ”

As long as I pretended to be paying attention, my parents
would be satisfied. In all honesty, I could have typed out a script of this
lecture, had them sign it and then promised to read it once every few months so
as to avoid any unnecessary lectures in the future. By the time my mind had
moved along to trying to remember what happened the night before, I heard the
strangest thing.

“ … Living with your uncle in Florida for the summer … ”

What the hell
?!
Those words were NOT part of the script.

Straightening in my seat, I held my hands up to silence my
father’s tirade. “Whoa, what
?!
Run that Florida part
past me again, please.”

“Well, it’s about time you pay attention to something I’m
saying.” My father’s voice dripped with condescension. “Your mother and I have
decided that you’ve had it too easy in life and as a result, you need to
straighten out your priorities. We are sending you to live with your Uncle Bill
for the summer. He’ll put you to work around the house and you’ll find out what
it is like to live in poverty rather than having everything handed to you.
It’ll be good for you. I came from nothing, son, and I worked my ass off to get
where I am today. There is no way in hell that I’m going to allow you to
continue behaving like a delinquent teen. You are going to grow up, or you are
going to be on your own. Do you understand me?”

My eyes shifted between my mother and father. They both had
their arms crossed over their chests and their faces indicated they meant
business. I had to get out of this. Taking away my last summer before college
would completely ruin my life. Okay — not my ‘life’, but still
;
it would ruin my summer before college.

Clearing my throat, I threw on my but-I’m-you’re-little-boy
type pouty face in an appeal to break down the weakest link — mom. If I
could get my mother to waiver in her decision, my father might crack as well.

“Listen, I’m sorry about the car and I’m sorry about your
pool. I’ll make sure it never happens again, but you two can’t be serious about
sending me to Florida. I haven’t seen Uncle Bill since I was five. And doesn’t
he live out in the middle of nowhere? How will hanging out in a swamp teach me
anything? If you two have to punish me, don’t you think it would be better to
have me here where you can keep an eye on what I’m doing?”

The looks on their faces told me that I was getting nowhere
with my argument — fast. My head was still pounding, and I continued to
grapple with the glue gunking up my grinding gears, so it became impossible to
argue. Reality suddenly became sadly apparent:

I had nothing.

And I was going to Florida.

The unfortunate thing about being a child in an overly
wealthy family is that parents could afford annoying conveniences such as
private planes. Rather than getting a few days … or hell … a few hours to think
of a way out of exile, I was rushed like a captive to the guesthouse, forced to
grab clothes and was abruptly packed onto my father’s jet faster than I could
process what was going on. By the time I hit 40,000 feet above ground, my fate
was sealed.

My parents made sure to strip me of everything: my phone, my
iPod, my laptop, my iPad — everything. If it could be plugged in, it was
taken away.
 
I didn’t even have a
chance to type up a quick plea on my social networking sites for one of my
friends to swoop in and rescue me; and if my car hadn’t been taking a cool dip,
I might have considered making a break for it. My credit cards were the next to
go. I never realized my dependence on plastic until I watched in dismay as my
mother ripped the rectangular lifelines out of my wallet before brusquely
handing the emptied leather shell back to me. The only thing left in it was my
ID and the fake one hidden behind it.

I took the opportunity of the flight to catch up on some
sleep. About two hours into my snooze, the pilot’s announcement that we’d
reached Florida woke me up. Looking out the window, I groaned to discover that
the miniature cities that I’d watched passing by on my way out of New York had
turned into a bunch of — well — green, as far as the eye could see.
Every once in a while I would spot a spattering of gray, which I assumed could
have been what Florida considered a
city
.
I struggled to determine if I would survive the infinite amount of wilderness
that apparently ran amuck in this godforsaken state. I was a city boy through
and through. Nature and I had never really shaken hands except for the
manicured lawns of my friends’ parents’ estates and the occasional family
vacation I’d taken when I was a child. Not to mention the bean sprout I grew in
Kindergarten. I’d named him Earl and we were pretty tight until I forgot to
water him for a month and he bailed on me. The experience proved a person
couldn’t trust nature. If you didn’t give nature what it wanted, it wanted
nothing to do with you. I haven’t trusted it since.