Southbound Surrender Read Free Page B

with a mist in his eyes. But that time, the accordion didn’t come back apart . I’ve always thought the accordion analogy was a bit off, but as I’m sure you can probably guess, I hate everything about accordions. I was in the backseat of the Corolla, secured and strapped in my car seat. I came out of the wreck without a scratch on my body but with a hole in my heart where my mom used to be. That’s what Big Dave says anyway.
    I love Luella and everything, but I’ve always wondered how I could miss someone I can’t remember. I have tried over the years to learn all I can about her, but there’s nothing. Big Dave threw out most everything after she died, out of grief I guess. I tried looking up the police report or some news article about her accident, but I never was able to find anything.
    Big Dave misses Luella more than I can imagine and because of this, I give him five more seconds before I move his hand. I can only be so patient, and I know if I don’t move his hand, I will miss dinner and my plans with Hudson later tonight. Big Dave finally opens his eyes and looks at me with sheer exhaustion I’ve never seen before. I notice a few shards of gray in his hair, and I suddenly wonder when Big Dave got so old.
    “You’re still thinking about going to college, aren’t you?” he finally asks.
    “That’s what most high school seniors with a 3.9 grade average and 2280 SAT score are thinking about doing,” I reply with an unintentional bite in my voice. “Only two percent of test-takers get that score, Dad. I feel like I have a responsibility to society to do something with my life. I should use my brain for the greater good. Maybe I’ll go to med school.”
    “Society,” he repeats in a contemplative voice. Most parents would love for their kids to go to med school, but not Big Dave. I know what’s coming next. His philosophy on life and the world is about to come vomiting out, but all I can think about is that I have about fifteen minutes before the lasagna is ready to come out of the oven, and how I still want to get this tire back on its rim. That’s what happens when you don’t have a mom and your dad only makes frozen pizza. You get desperate one summer when you’re twelve and watch the cooking channel at your best friend’s house until the early morning hours when he’s asleep. Insert major badass accolades here.
    “I’m just thinking about it, Dad. I haven’t applied anywhere yet, even though I should have already. I’m getting harked on by both the counselors,” I say, trying to ease him out of this. College is a sore subject for Big Dave, even though he has his MBA from Cornell University. When he applied for the custodial position at Xavier, they offered him a teaching position instead, which he quickly declined. He’s probably the most overqualified custodian in the state. Make that the nation. He only applied at the school so I could go there on a full scholarship. He’s wanted me to go to Xavier since I can remember not because of the education, which would make the most logical sense. Big Dave sent me to Xavier because that’s where he met my mom.
    The tuition costs a cool twelve grand a year, and even though I could have applied for scholarships based on income level like Hudson, or what I would have preferred, intelligence, Big Dave wanted to earn the right for me to attend. Employees’ kids get free tuition, so he became an employee. His whole job history goes back to his spiritual enlightenment, which goes back to Big Dave meeting a wonky therapist-slash-spiritual healer when he was depressed after my mom died. Depressed, I’m guessing, is an understatement. And wonky is probably another understatement. Shaman Amy has since moved to the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains where she lives in a cabin with no running water or electricity. Shaman Amy lives on the fruit of the land and channels the spirits of the gods.
    I wish I could stop in to have a word with Shaman Amy. I