Matt would make sure this lady got her large fries. No doubt, she would be choking them down with a diet Coke. Naturally, she’ll want a Super Chef burger, deluxe! He was thinking she could stand to miss a meal. Imagining himself slapping her hard across the face, he would deliver retribution for the way she was talking to her kids. Watching those children run laps around her, he thought they must really put on some miles!
This was Matt’s life, watching over the fryers, wondering how he had gotten into this situation. He thought he should become a mechanic, like his dad and his brother. So, he attended trade-school classes during the day and ran a deep fat fryer at night. That’s what a fresh out of high-school kid should do, right? He always thought his life should amount to something more. Home was no comfort. And that’s where things were about to turn.
At shift’s end, it was his duty to clean up the place. Sliding tables around and swabbing the decks, he imagined himself sailing away on a fishing boat, escaping the doldrums and eluding authorities. With only his vivid dreams to keep him awake and alive, he toiled through this nightmare. His supervisor and manager, who had only high praise for this diligent worker, could never have predicted the tragic report they would soon find and read with horror in the local newspaper.
Matt dropped his tired ass into the bench seat of his ’68 Chevy Impala and he took a deep breath of fresh air, before slamming shut the door. It was only minutes back to the house from here. Out on the main road, he always drove like he owned it. This was a life-sized video game to him. Go as fast as you can, change lanes often, watch for cops and get home and game over! Matt wins, again. Every opportunity to live a fantasy offered escape for this boy. His hurry had nothing to do with wanting to be home, however. There he knew he had to make a change. His so-called step-father, who had never actually married his mom, had to go. He had no plans on how to achieve this result.
He parked his car along the street, as always. Noting the asshole’s car in the driveway, he braced for conflict, as he unlocked the door. It was too quiet. He listened for anything to indicate his little sister’s position. Then he heard it. The sound of her voice from an upstairs bedroom. He heard the asshole’s voice in muffled tones, coming from behind that same closed door. He remembered his sister had described the exact location of a handgun, in the top dresser drawer, at the back left side, behind the socks. This would be his exit strategy. He would kick down that damn door and in the chaos, find that gun, point it squarely in the asshole’s face and calmly pull the trigger. All he needed now was the courage to execute.