Read Online Surface Tension by Brent Runyon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brent Runyon
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to get a job.
I just don't have the feeling that anything good is going to happen.
It might be possible if I were playing with my friends, but my parents are so competitive that doesn't seem very likely.
Mom has hotels on both Boardwalk and Park Place, and Dad has taken all the green properties right next to them, and he's trying desperately to build up some houses on them before Mom totally cleans his clock. I have thirty-six dollars, most of it in ones, which I got when Mom landed on my stupid Electric Company space and had to pay me four times the amount on the dice. Dad's got a monopoly on the orange properties. I've been sitting in Jail for the last two turns, partially because I don't have the money to get out, but mostly because it's too depressing to do anything other than sit in Jail.
It's not even the losing that bothers me that much. It's just how everybody turns into such an asshole when they're playing Monopoly. Especially Mom. She's so competitive. It'snot even what she says—she's just acting so cocky and full of herself. She's been humming the same tune for twenty-five minutes. I don't know what it is, but it's so annoying.
“Can you stop humming?”
“Why, you don't like my singing?”
“No.”
“Sorry.”
My turn. I know I'm going to roll either a six, an eight, or a nine. And then I'm going to be out of this game.
Eight. Finally, some mercy. I hand all my money and properties to Dad and stand up and go out the screen door and walk out across the grass toward the lake. It's stupid, but now I feel really bad about myself, like really bad.
I just about want to go and drown myself in the lake. I walk barefoot through the wet grass, and all the little clippings get caught between my toes.
The rain here smells like metal. It smells like iron or something. I wonder if it's pollution or acid rain or what, but it smells like metal.
It's like it's raining copper pennies. I should get some of those pH strips we use on our hot tub and test the water around here. I bet it's filled with lead and acid and oil and poison. I bet this whole place is just filled with terrible stuff.
I'm either going to skip stones or go for a swim, but I don't really want to do either. I don't want to do anything, so I sit down on the beach and look over at the Richardsons weeding. They're amazing. They get like one day off a week, and they spend it on their hands and knees, digging weeds out of the rocks. If I got only one day off a week, that's not what I'd be doing with my time.
Mrs. Richardson looks up at me from her weeding and smiles. Wow, that's cool. I smile and wave back, and she motions for me to come over.
“Hello, Luke.”
“Hi, Mrs. Richardson.”
Mr. Richardson looks up from his weeding and says, “Cool Hand Luke.” Older people like to call me that sometimes. It's from some old movie I haven't seen.
“Hi, Mr. Richardson. What are you guys working on?”
Mrs. Richardson says, “Oh, we're just working on our yard here. Trying to make it look nice for our big family picnic next weekend.”
“Oh cool.” That sounds awesome, actually. I wish I were in their family so I could come to their picnic. I wonder if I can get myself invited. “Can I help?”
Mrs. Richardson looks up at me with her eyebrows raised. I guess she wasn't expecting me to say that. “Well, sure, if you'd like to. You see that pile of sticks over there?” She points to a pile of sticks on the other side of the beach.
“Yeah.”
“What we need to do is take all those sticks and branches and stuff and carry them all the way over here to this big pile.” There's a huge mountain of sticks and stuff piled right in front of me that for some reason I never noticed before. That's got to be the tidiest mountain of sticks ever. “Would you mind doing that for us?”
“No. I'd like to do that.” I actually wouldn't mind that at all. It's weird. At home I wouldn't ever volunteer to do something, but working for the Richardsons
I just don't have the feeling that anything good is going to happen.
It might be possible if I were playing with my friends, but my parents are so competitive that doesn't seem very likely.
Mom has hotels on both Boardwalk and Park Place, and Dad has taken all the green properties right next to them, and he's trying desperately to build up some houses on them before Mom totally cleans his clock. I have thirty-six dollars, most of it in ones, which I got when Mom landed on my stupid Electric Company space and had to pay me four times the amount on the dice. Dad's got a monopoly on the orange properties. I've been sitting in Jail for the last two turns, partially because I don't have the money to get out, but mostly because it's too depressing to do anything other than sit in Jail.
It's not even the losing that bothers me that much. It's just how everybody turns into such an asshole when they're playing Monopoly. Especially Mom. She's so competitive. It'snot even what she says—she's just acting so cocky and full of herself. She's been humming the same tune for twenty-five minutes. I don't know what it is, but it's so annoying.
“Can you stop humming?”
“Why, you don't like my singing?”
“No.”
“Sorry.”
My turn. I know I'm going to roll either a six, an eight, or a nine. And then I'm going to be out of this game.
Eight. Finally, some mercy. I hand all my money and properties to Dad and stand up and go out the screen door and walk out across the grass toward the lake. It's stupid, but now I feel really bad about myself, like really bad.
I just about want to go and drown myself in the lake. I walk barefoot through the wet grass, and all the little clippings get caught between my toes.
The rain here smells like metal. It smells like iron or something. I wonder if it's pollution or acid rain or what, but it smells like metal.
It's like it's raining copper pennies. I should get some of those pH strips we use on our hot tub and test the water around here. I bet it's filled with lead and acid and oil and poison. I bet this whole place is just filled with terrible stuff.
I'm either going to skip stones or go for a swim, but I don't really want to do either. I don't want to do anything, so I sit down on the beach and look over at the Richardsons weeding. They're amazing. They get like one day off a week, and they spend it on their hands and knees, digging weeds out of the rocks. If I got only one day off a week, that's not what I'd be doing with my time.
Mrs. Richardson looks up at me from her weeding and smiles. Wow, that's cool. I smile and wave back, and she motions for me to come over.
“Hello, Luke.”
“Hi, Mrs. Richardson.”
Mr. Richardson looks up from his weeding and says, “Cool Hand Luke.” Older people like to call me that sometimes. It's from some old movie I haven't seen.
“Hi, Mr. Richardson. What are you guys working on?”
Mrs. Richardson says, “Oh, we're just working on our yard here. Trying to make it look nice for our big family picnic next weekend.”
“Oh cool.” That sounds awesome, actually. I wish I were in their family so I could come to their picnic. I wonder if I can get myself invited. “Can I help?”
Mrs. Richardson looks up at me with her eyebrows raised. I guess she wasn't expecting me to say that. “Well, sure, if you'd like to. You see that pile of sticks over there?” She points to a pile of sticks on the other side of the beach.
“Yeah.”
“What we need to do is take all those sticks and branches and stuff and carry them all the way over here to this big pile.” There's a huge mountain of sticks and stuff piled right in front of me that for some reason I never noticed before. That's got to be the tidiest mountain of sticks ever. “Would you mind doing that for us?”
“No. I'd like to do that.” I actually wouldn't mind that at all. It's weird. At home I wouldn't ever volunteer to do something, but working for the Richardsons
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