Sleeping Handsome Read Free Page A

tired.
    I’m
not sure the first and the last constitute emotion, but it’s how I feel after
school, football practice, dinner with my parents, and over an hour on the
phone with Melanie talking about nothing. After a year, it’s starting to feel
like I’m paying dues with her. Deal with her crap and get laid. And I’m
starting to wonder if the crap is worth the lay.  
    The
middle one? My dad tries to control my life and plans on me getting a sports scholarship. Expects me to make it to the pros. The
more games we win, the more he talks. The more he dreams. The more I get
pissed. Pissed at him for planning my life. Pissed at myself for not standing
up to him. For lying to him. For not telling him I plan to be a writer, an
author.
    But
my dad has dreams for me. Dreams of professional football.
    Ten
more months though, and I’m out of here.
    Free.
    Finally,
fucking free from my old man and his stupid dreams.

 
    My eyes rise to my
silent audience of one. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t what I
just read. In his current state, I could never imagine such resentment coming
from him. Lying there, he seems so calm. So blank. So emotionless.
    But the proof, his
words, lies in my lap.
    The writing thing, just
from the wide array of volumes on his shelves, I get. But the anger seems so
foreign.
    My gaze finds the
ever-present rise of his chest. Okay to be honest, I haven’t imagined much
about him at all. This entire reading thing has kind of freaked me out. But
now, even after only reading just one entry, I want to know more about this guy
lying silently before me every afternoon.
    Finally he can speak.
    I turn the page

 
    November
4,

 
    Who
knows why we like certain things or are attracted to certain people. Most
people would think I’m nuts to turn down a full ride football scholarship. But
I love writing. I only like football.
    Football
is fun while writing is a challenge. When I work hard at a piece, editing it, re-working
it, finding the right words, communicating what I’m exactly trying to say, and
it all comes together, I feel such a sense of accomplishment. A win in football
doesn’t inspire much beyond a quick rush of euphoria. With writing, the
euphoria comes back each time I re-read the piece. And each time I’m amazed at
what I’ve created.
    My
dad would never understand and that’s why I don’t know how to tell him I’m
turning down the full ride.
    But
I am.

 
    My eyes find the boy in
the bed. “Your dad sounds kind of like a bully. I mean my parents want me to go
to college, but I haven’t made my mind up. I want to be an actor. I’m not sure
college is necessary. They’re willing to let me skip it as long as I keep going
to acting classes, keep auditioning, and keep working hard. If it doesn’t pan
out in a few years, they’re expecting me to go the college route. And I’m okay
with that because they’re giving me choices. Your dad wouldn’t do that would
he?”
    Of course, he doesn’t
answer.
    In the next several
entries there are a few more complaints about Melanie, lots more dad bashing,
tons more self-loathing about not being able to confront the man, more inner
turmoil—I’m thinking this guy really likes to whine—until…

 
    November
22,

 
    Okay,
I’m going to try to write about something other than my dad or my girlfriend or
my somewhat secret ambition of being a writer because it seems like I just keep
rehashing the same topics, which has me getting pissed at myself.
    So
today in fourth hour, JM stared at me again for almost the entire class. Now
girls checking me out or flirting with me isn’t new. (Okay that sounded a bit
egotistical.) But the whole hour? I’m not sure if she’s staring to get my
attention or if she’s crushing on me so hard she doesn’t know she’s doing it.
With how shy she seems, I’m going to guess the latter.
    So
other than getting tired of being stared at all the time, how do I feel about
it?
    My
reaction is