*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1565756-Chapter-One
Rated: E · Novel · Drama · #1565756
Chapter One to the novel on which I'm currently working. Please review, I'll review back.
Chapter One



“When was the last time someone angered you? I don’t mean annoyed or irritated, I mean truly made you angry,” asked the therapist.

         “Let me think,” Wes replied. Not many things exasperated him, but he was sure that somewhere in his cave of memories he could find an event that would satisfy his damned therapist. Lately, his days consisted of little more than making sure his counselor, mother, and grandmother were content in the hopes that they would leave him alone.

         Wes looked over to the therapist, who was pushing up his glasses and looking at whatever was on the other side of the clipboard. He was sure the guy didn’t give a shit about anything that was on the paper, and was only counting down the minutes until he moved on to his next patient – cashing another paycheck. Though, who could blame him? If Wes was in his position there is no way he’d care. In fact, he’d probably be loathing the teenager lying on the couch he was currently on. From the therapists perspective, Wes was just another teenager who though he was special. It was then he remembered.

         “It was a few months ago. We were eating at Apple Bee’s and the man at the table across from me was eating something, uhh meatloaf I think. Anyway, he was eating it loudly, chomping and slurping with his eyes clothes, like nothing else in the world mattered. He didn’t care that he could possibly be annoying patrons, or even the people at his table. It was like he was trying to convince himself that he mattered, that there was significance to his existence, and that at that moment he was better than anyone else in the world.”

         The therapist, whose name Wes had forgotten after their first meeting, looked up from his clipboard and then back down and continued to scribble down some nonsense.

         Wes, laying long-ways on the couch, stretched out his legs and gave out a sigh. After glancing at the clock on the wall, he was relieved to see they’d be done in five minutes. And he didn’t know why. There was nothing to look forward to after the session ended. He’d go home, do some meaningless chores, and retreat to his room until he fell asleep. The truth was this meeting was the biggest adventure he’d have today, and until school started in two weeks. Reminding himself school’s starting was around the corner caused him to cringe. Oh well, he thought.

         The view from the office was abysmal. Through the opened blinds that looked like jail bars, he could see the glorious parking lot. Wes would watch the people in their cars drive about playing the game of Life while the therapist took his notes.

         “You know, you’re a very interesting individual Wes,” said the therapist.

         “That so?”

         The man chuckled and looked at the clock.

         “Looks like our time is up,” he said while rising from his chair, “tell your mother to go to the front desk to set up the next appointment.”

         Wes rose from the sofa and tried to make it to the door in a futile attempt to avoid a handshake. He met the man’s outstretched hand, gave it a shake, and resumed to the door.

He opened it, but before exiting Wes asked, “What was your name again?”

         “Dr. Albert.”



         The drive home was pleasantly silent. His mother asked a few questions along the lines of, “How was it?” but it wasn’t too bad. For the most part he got to relax and listen to the radio. His mom made the turn to their street. Maced Ave. They had moved there in June, the three of them- Grandma, Mom, and himself. It was a big house and Wes really had no complaints, except the yard. The big yard meant more mowing and weed whacking. He didn’t mind the work, but he hated knowing every week he had to do it. He hated there was nothing to look forward to this week or the one after except for yardwork.

         She pulled into the driveway, the tires grinding the loose stones into the pavement making a crackling sound. He exited the car and heard the trunk pop. “Hun can you bring in the groceries?”

         He dragged himself to the back, looped both of his arms into the plastic bag handles, and shut the trunk. His mom held the door open for him and he walked into the house.

Fuck yea, he thought, air conditioning. The luxury of being enveloped in a wave of salvation as he entered the house cleansed him of all the irritation he had from bringing in the groceries. He put down the groceries, put the goods into the refrigerator, and threw the bags away. He put the goods in any which way because he’d get yelled at for putting them in wrong regardless if it was true or not. He passed his grandmother in the living room on the way to the stairs. She was in her cushioned rocking chair watching a news channel. On it was a guy in a suit spewing some bullshit. As he passed her she said, “grass is getting high.”

         “First thing tomorrow morning,” Wes said as he went up the stairs. The carpeting on the stairs was white, the walls were white, the whole house was white. His mom said it would be painted eventually, meaning he would be forced to paint it when she felt like it being painted.

         Wes passed the bathroom, the spare bedroom, and the hall closet before reaching the door to his room. He opened it and was greeted by where he spent most of his time. In the far left corner was a smell television that was never on. There were two dressers and a bed. He closed the door behind him and fell onto the bed like a leaning tower. After crunching up the pillow to just the way he liked it he nestled the back of his head into it. Since moving into the house he found this to be the only thing to relax him. Lying on his bed staring at his ceiling fan spin ‘round and ‘round. Wes liked to focus on one of the blades, and try to keep his vision on it as it dizzily went its course. The Endeavour wasn’t always a success, especially with the fan on its max setting, but it could keep him busy for hours. As he stared at the fan, time inexorably passed in the real world. The sun began to go down and the room got darker and darker. Eventually, it was hard for Wes to keep his eyes open and before he knew it he was off to sleep.

© Copyright 2009 Ser Gregor (asoiaf at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1565756-Chapter-One