Interim(24)

“Goddamnit!” he screamed, echoing his father’s favorite curse word when he was drunk and impudent. “Goddamnit!” he yelled again, flinging the table lamp that fractured into a million yellow pieces—stars that fell from heaven and lay lifeless, hopeless on an un-swept floor.

He grunted and grabbed the desk, flipping it over, thinking absurdly of Jesus in the temple, tossing tables and destroying the wares of greedy sinners. He thought of the person who was sinning against him now—the person violating him over and over with every turn of the page. Absorbing his words. Committing them to memory. Storing them away for retaliation.

That somebody would tell the administration at school. Maybe call the police. Jeremy would be escorted to the station, questioned up and down. He’d be arrested for conspiracy to commit a crime. Locked up. Maybe taken to a mental health facility. They’d force pills down his throat. They’d ask him to explain why. They’d try to make sense of his decision based on his home life. They’d blame his father. They’d justify it. They’d make excuses for him, say it’s not his fault. “If you promise to take your pills, we’ll let you go,” they’d say. He’d nod. They’d let him out in a few years. And he’d come back, strapped from top to bottom to shoot them, too.

“Oh God, oh God,” he cried, pacing his bedroom.

He thought about his plan. He thought about the guns in the safe. It wasn’t time. He knew it wasn’t time and yet he’d run out of it. If not now, then when would he get the chance? He heard the shuffling feet—knew his father stood in the doorway. He turned.

“What’s got you so upset?” his father asked.

Jeremy noted the bandage on the side of his face. It was identical to the shit job they did of his own bandage back in sixth grade.

“A lot of stuff,” Jeremy replied, still trembling with rage.

Mr. Stahl scratched his beard. “Well, that’s obvious.”

“Then why’d you ask?” Jeremy snapped.

Mr. Stahl whistled low. Jeremy said nothing.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Jeremy frowned. “With you? No.”

“You wanna talk about anything?”

“Why do you want me to talk to you?” Jeremy asked warily.

“I’m your father. I’m older. Wiser. Maybe I can help,” Mr. Stahl replied.

Jeremy’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Seriously?”

Mr. Stahl cleared his throat. “Well, come on then and let’s have a beer. Nothing like a beer to set things right.”

Jeremy stared.

“You hear me?” his father asked.

“I split your eye open this morning,” Jeremy reminded him.

“I know that,” his father said. “You think I forgot?”

“So you plan to get me drunk and then beat the shit out of me,” Jeremy said. “I’m not stupid.”

“You got that all wrong,” his father replied. “I’m sitting down with my son to share a beer, man-to-man.”

Jeremy snorted. “I’m a man now ’cause I struck you?”

“That’s right,” Mr. Stahl replied. “You stood up for yourself, and that’s what men do.”

Jeremy thought of the guns in the back room. If he shot all his enemies, would that make him a man, too? He’d be sticking up for himself, after all.

“Let’s go,” Mr. Stahl said. “I’ll grab ’em. You just go on in the living room.”

Jeremy watched his father disappear to the kitchen. He had a choice. He could stay or walk out for good. Seemed like an easy decision and yet, in that moment, he found his feet cemented to his spot. He couldn’t move. Or didn’t want to.

He realized he was just as lonely, broken, bitter, and angry as his father. Who better to commiserate with? And it only had to be for tonight. Perhaps the alcohol would drown him if he drank enough. And then his missing journal wouldn’t mean a thing anymore.

He headed for the couch.

***

I have a radical idea. Well, maybe it’s not so radical because it’s been done before—done to death, if I may make a really tasteless joke. But I plan to do it a little different. See, I’m not interested in blowing through the building and shooting people left and right. I don’t want to be responsible for a meaningless bloodbath. I want it executed right. I want it executed in a way that shows justice and mercy. I’m only interested in killing those people who’ve wronged me. That’s where the justice comes in. I’m leaving alone all the others. That’s mercy. And I’m not just doing it for me. I’m doing it for every single person those *s have abused. Every single person they’ve belittled, tormented, passed over.