Tiny Tim

When Mother’s Day came around in May, I got flowers, wrote a card, and left both on the kitchen table for Claire to find when she woke up in the morning. I found the card crumbled up together with the gift wrapping from her presents in the trash, so I wasn’t surprised when Claire never said anything about it. Since Logan could suck a dick for all I cared, my next attempt was Aaron’s birthday, which fell on Father’s Day that year. Knowing his obsession with football, I got him a wallet made from actual NFL uniforms worn by famous players. It cost me 280 dollars, but while I saw him use the damn thing, he never thanked me for it. And in August, when Claire’s birthday came around, I got her a Nest Egg Necklace made of sterling silver from an artist in California, with three “eggs” in the pendant representing her three children. I never learned if it had the desired effect.

While Claire never addressed my gift and I never saw her wear it, over the next few weeks she did behave like she was gathering the courage to talk about something. At dinner on the very next day after her birthday, she kept fixing me with a look before taking a deep breath as if preparing for a long talk. Whenever she did, everyone was looking at her expectantly because it was so obvious she had something to say. It never came out, though. She just stopped, breathed out again, and took another bite of her food.

She kept throwing me concerned glances every few minutes, though. She also stopped by my bedroom on a few evenings, but the result was just the same as when she tried at the dinner table. When I finally lost my patience one Saturday morning and asked what she wanted in an irritated voice, she, again, simply excused herself and walked away. She never tried again after that.

I dove into work, mentally kicking myself for getting my hopes up in the first place. Even if the Nest Egg Necklace had worked, what would it have gotten me? I would have learned that I needed to buy their consideration. So, maybe it was even better that it didn’t lead to anything. When the guys at work asked me about my license though, since I’d turn sixteen only a few months later, I told them about Coach Jenkins. They once again helped me out. I had just come out of the shower after one of our training sessions, when Bill walked into the dressing room and handed me a set of car keys, saying “I’ll wait for you in the parking lot.”, before leaving without waiting for an answer.

He took me for an hour-long drive around the parking lot, patiently explaining all the buttons and levers in the car, giving me pointers on how to do what. Then, each day after the training, he would walk into the dressing room and hand a set of keys to whomever was still in there with me. That person would eagerly give me another hour-long lesson in driving. Once I had the required hours accumulated, Bill called me into the office as soon as I arrived.

“The two of us are doing something else today.” he proclaimed, and tossed me a different set of car keys, before leading me to one of the lightly armored SUVs the company used to chauffeur clients around.

When we sat in the car, he gave me directions to a specially prepared lot where he gave me a six-hour specialized driving safety course. We started at daylight and ended late at night. I needed one of those, since my driving lessons should either be parent-taught or an approved driver’s ed course. Apparently he’s certified to give those. Holding the completion certificate in hand, I now had everything I needed to take my final test at the DMV. Everything apart from a parent’s signature on the application. Realizing this, I felt a burst of sadness rush through me.

I know, it’s not the manliest thing to say, but, at that moment, I had a hard time keeping those feelings inside. Bill had given me a chance when I desperately needed a job. All the people in the company simply accepted me as one of their own, no questions asked. They helped me get in shape and taught me how to defend myself in school. And now they taught me how to drive, like it was the most normal thing to do for someone they barely knew. These people had shown me more favor and more compassion than my own family. Even more than that, actually. Whenever my family actively buried me under another mountain of shit, these people helped me get out of it.