lab shorts - 3. Changing Direction

Changing Direction

Andrew Sawyer, Andy to his friends, sat in the corner of the lot, behind the rusty grey sedan, and watched the spider spin. Around and around it went, connecting one line of web to the next, in an endless circle going nowhere.

It could be an analogy of his life thus far—running in circles with no end in sight.

He picked up a stick intending to scramble the web, destroy what seemed to have more meaning to the world than his being in it. But at the last second, he remembered a voice from his past. If you don't like where your life is headed, change its direction. Only you have the power to lead your steps.

But did he really? He was only a fifteen year old boy. What could he possibly do to change the way his life was headed?

He gave a great sigh and lay back in the dirt. He pointed up at the clouds with the stick and drew the outlines of the shapes he saw. It was something he used to do with his dad when he was alive.

Remembering his dad brought tears to his eyes. They were so close and he missed him just as much this day as he had for the past three years. His mom had never been very loving, and when she married again, their relationship had gone from distant to almost non-existent. She cared for him as she would any other human being, but not as a mother. If not for his step-father, he was sure he'd not have any kind of parental leadership—even if it was more of a "I'm an adult and your a kid so listen and follow the rules" type of relationship. It was still more than he got from anyone else.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. He had an uncle that had tried to take up the slack. But back then, Andy didn't want anyone near him that he deemed trying to take the place of his dad. And in his eyes, that was exactly what his Uncle Preston was doing.

With another sigh, Andy dropped the stick and sat up, wiping the tears that had left trails down his cheeks. As he sat, he thought about his last conversation with his uncle. It had been over a month ago and his uncle had once again made the offer to take Andy into his home. Andy had thought about it for a minute. It wasn't that his home life was terrible, but it wasn't what he'd seen in his friend's houses. When he got home from school, there was no one home to greet him, though he knew he had other friends that went home to empty rooms just as he did. It wasn't that the house was empty, but rather that even if someone were there he still wouldn't be greeted. He was treated as though he was a tenant more than a son and it was beginning to get to him.

That was where the difference was—his family wasn't a family. Since his dad died, his family was nothing more than three people living in the same house. There was no encouragement when he did well in school—so why try to be anything other than mediocre? He did what he had to do to get by. He didn't help out around the house unless his step-father started ragging on him. And even that wasn't all that often. His mother barely noticed he was there. All she did was work, come home, eat, and go to bed.

Andy began his walk back to the house and thought back to the last time his mother had really showed any emotion toward him. It had been about a week after the funeral and he'd picked up a vase of flowers and taken it into the kitchen to add water. When he'd gone to set it on the counter, it had slipped and crashed to the floor. He remembered standing there with tears streaming down his face staring down at the shattered vase when his mom came into the room.

"Well, I guess you've finished burying him now. Clean up your mess."

Andy shook his head as he walked. He didn't understand her reaction now any more than he did that day. And when she brought Eddie home to stay, it was as if she was done with him. He had been pawned off on what she considered to be a substitute father. That was simply never going to happen.

So Andy had moved through his days on automatic. He rose, he ate, he went to school, he slept. He did spend time with friends when he felt alive enough, but those times were becoming few and far between.

Andy arrived at the house and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He looked around at his walls, his gaze coming to rest on a framed photo of himself with his dad. It was surrounded by a home-made mat that his father had helped him make. Below the picture were two hand prints. The larger one was blue—his dad's favorite color. And next to it was a smaller print in Andy's favorite color of the week. He smiled a little as he looked at the small red hand print. He'd been five when they'd made the mat, especially for this picture, and the size difference was astounding. He put his hand up against the two prints and closed his eyes.

"I miss you, dad," he whispered.

Only you have the power to lead your steps.

It was something he'd over-heard his dad saying to someone close to his age now when he was little, but it had stuck in his mind. His thoughts went around and around in his head. What could he do to change the path his life was on?

Out the window, he watched as Eddie drove up in a new car. He seemed to buy a new one every year. For the first time, Andy wondered how he came up with the money to do that. A minute later, he shook his head. He didn't care.

If you don't like where your life is headed, change its direction. Only you have the power.

Andy looked around his room, at the sparse furnishings and desolation. He wasn't happy here. He knew he never would be. What was he going to do with his life? He'd graduate high school in two years, but what after that?

He knew that if he remained in this house, his options would wither until he became someone useless to anyone, especially himself.

He listened as Eddie started the answer machine. He heard his uncle's voice.

"Hey, Andy. Just calling to wish you a happy birthday. Give me a call soon. Your uncle Matt and I have something special for you."

"Fucking fags," he heard his step-father say as he hit the button to erase the message.

Andy's eyes grew wide as the implications of that single movement and two words hit him. Today was his birthday. He was sixteen and it hadn't even crossed his mind. He'd been so deep in his depressed thoughts that the date had passed him by.

What was worse was that he'd not heard a thing from his mother, and Eddie had just erased the only birthday message he would receive.

Andy stiffened his back and walked down the steps with purpose. He picked up the phone and dialed.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Uncle Preston, is the offer you made to have me live with you still open?"

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