I gotta write something. I gotta write something badass.
“Davy, you wanna ring her up?”
“You know Dad, you can’t think too hard, it’s just gotta come natural, it’s gotta start with something you just thought of that was funny or good.”
“Yeah, I know.”
How does he know? He wasn’t bullshitting me. He doesn’t bullshit. But how does he know? “Yeah Dad, I’m just writing about fishing with some guys from work, can’t really question it too much.”
“Yeah, I know.”
And HE DOES KNOW. Like when I finally hit the ball. On second base after splitting the outfielders, hands on my hips, chest heaving, I looked over at the bleachers for an answer, and he just nodded his head once. Like it was no big deal.
“Are you going to do your hair like that?”
The next game, through the chain link, He told me he missed the hit. The Hit? It was just a single to center-
“DELINGTON! She’s asking you a question.”
“Are you going to bleach your hair like that?”
“Oh what? Oh, um, like Davy? I don’t know. I did in high school a couple of times. I died my hair blue, too.”
“I died my hair blue. Couple of times”
“Oh yeah Davy?”
He read every night before bed. He made sure we never used the word irregardless because it was redundant. Irregardless is not a word. I knew that early on. Ain’t also ain’t a word. But…literature? He watches NCIS.
“Hey Delington, don’t you have a blog?”
“C’mon Reed, you know I don’t tell girls about my blog anymore. It’s been months. Besides, I have a magazine now Reed.”
“Of course Delington.”
I know he watched Royal Tennenbaums. He bought it. Bottle Rocket, Rushmore- he watched them all. In the garage where he exercised. He’s omniscient. I need to write something with meat. I need limitations. Like 1000 words. Just like the college essays. I finished the college essays.
D I S C I P L I N E Aaron.