SIDE A | CHAPTER 3

Larry George

January 4th, 1980

A heavy frost embraced the George household after the conclusion of winter vacation. Larry and Steven were both in their freshman year while Heather was now a senior. She danced danced spryly in the kitchen—a burst of joy coursed through her legs like fire. In her hands was an acceptance letter to Yale with a scholarship. Heather was always the smart one. That was the day she believed it and the largest smile consumed her face.

Their parents were ecstatic, but they were also troubled by the thoughts of their first child going away to college so soon. Both Gilbert and Theresa were sucked into the work force just after high school just to make ends meet—they no personal experience of what higher education could offer their daughter (and they would be lying if they said that they weren't immensely grateful for the scholarship she'd earned).

Steven branched out in his own way too—roots of his future already beginning to bud. He tried out for the school baseball team and sufficiently "knocked their socks off". He also tried out for the lacrosse team—becoming a staple to both teams early in the year. He spent more time with friends out and less time at home—an unspoken double edged blade in the George household.

Larry liked music. He collected vinyls of anybody he could—saving money from his allowance to head on down to the local record shop—Little Spinners—to satiate his hunger. He had a penchant for picking up vinyls of people he'd never heard before and keeping them in his stack. He didn't have a record player (those cost a bit more than he was able to afford on his small earnings). He did love listening to any cassettes he came across, though. Songs usually would be joined by Kappy.

His guide was still with him after all of this time, nudging his direction and being his one person to talk to when it all came down. Larry was thankful for Kappy, not knowing what he would have done without him. Larry's grown up since he was a small boy. He didn't carry around his headphones everywhere anymore, he has his own sort of courage within him—even if it wasn't quite at his brother and sister's level yet. He did choose to speak with his friend at least once every night.

Things weren't all good, however. His grades slipped the first half of the year. C's and D's replacing the B's of old, and his father most of all didn't know how to process the fact. Both Heather and Steven were getting fantastic grades—sure, Steven would slip once in a while and get a C on a test, but he usually brought it back up by the end of the quarter. Gilbert didn't know how to deal with the sudden slip of one of his kids, when up to this point things have been doing just fine. There was a mistake somewhere along the way, and he wouldn't—couldn't—bear to think that he had anything to do with it, his other two children were doing great so it had to be with Larry specifically.

This thinking led him to subconsciously separate Larry from his other two siblings. It became a case of his two children and Larry. Larry who did poorly at school. Larry who didn't bring home any friends. Larry who didn't seem to be romantically interested in anyone. This led to an inexplicable rage that bellowed inside of Gilbert George's heart, a rage that tried to be sadness but came off too sharp. It first manifested at the start of Christmas break—Gilbert erupted in the living room at the sight of his report card. Storming through the house as his thoughts got tangled in his head, all bursting to come out at once, it ended in him snapping one of Larry's records and stomping to his room.

Theresa was never mad at Larry, she saw how her husband had acted toward him, and knew that it was unfair, she loved all of her children. She couldn't help but feeling a sort of guilt under her heart for a long time to come. Christmas break wasn't a good time for Theresa and Gilbert, even when they had so much to look forward to.

Larry wasn't feeling too hot over the break, either, and now it was the first day back to school. Kappy helped temper Larry's hurt feelings, talking him through the feelings of sadness and anger that he felt toward his father. This was a day where he sat in his bed and prepared his I'm gonna be sick mantra in his head for tomorrow. Heather peeked her head in through the door, sliding it open and stepping in quietly. Larry was looking away from her, feeling shame, "I don't feel good. I don't know if I'm gonna make it to school tomorrow."

She walked in closer, her dark hair bouncing just above her shoulders. Larry thought girls with longer hair were more pretty, but that's just how talented Heather was—she made short hair work. She sat down at his bed and assumed a stance not unlike their mother—Larry thinks it was by accident, and a fleeting thought of seeing her as a mom someday makes the tiniest of smiles in his heart. "Don't let your grades get you down, there's always a chance to raise them."

"I just don't think it's fair. You and Stevie are treated so much differently than me. Just because of some stupid tests," Larry crossed his arms, looking to her.

"His heart is in the right place, Larry. He knows that your grades are important, they decide your future," she said, looking down.

"I don't see how numbers on a piece of paper can tell me how smart I am, or how successful I'm going to be."

"I didn't either, Larry, but look where I am. I just did my work and now I'm going to college in a few months." She tried for a reassuring smile, but it quickly changed course. "I know you can pick up to at least a B. You're a smart kid. I'll replace the record and add one more onto that fact tomorrow when we get out of school, but you've got to apply yourself, sound fair?"

Larry groaned, but complied. He already knew that numbers don't define him, Kappy told him that as much two years ago.

Heather left to join Steven downstairs. Larry pulled the blankets over his face and sat until sleep overcame him. The next morning, for the first time in almost four years he grabbed the cassette player off of his drawer and slid it into his backpack—headphones and all. The day faded into normalcy; normal kids attended normal school as normal teachers taught them normal things. It all snapped back to reality when Larry was sent to the guidance counselor's office.

I do not know why he was sent. There will be gaps in the story like this, and for that I do apologize. It has been quite a long time ago and it was quite hard to keep the story straight at all times, but I am trying my best.

Anyway.

I assume it had something to do with the cassette tape, as I bet you'll know was that cassette tape has been a common occurrence whenever Larry got into trouble with authority. He walked through the halls of the school in a haze. His footsteps were as light as the cassette player in his pocket. A whirring sound softly played over the intercom—a problem the school had been eager to fix, but not too eager as it never seemed to. The speakers would sometimes hiss with this dead sound of static. He pressed on until he walked through the guidance counselor's door.

Mr. Callahan sat upright in his chair with his sleeves rolled up and thin glasses cast aside on his desk. Larry walked over to sit in front of him as the sun outside crossed the sky at super speed. Everything around them changed figures—Larry's posture turned to a more reluctant slab.

The room around them shifted and molded to a small office space and Mr. Callahan morphed into an older man with white hair and different colored beady eyes—no need for glasses. The rest of the school year had past—June had come and gone and Larry's guidance counselor visits became more frequent—so much so to the point that Mr. Callahan had suggested that Larry speak with a therapist. He'd taken notice to Larry's habit of listening to the same tape over and over, and when Larry refused to answer why, he chalked it up to some inner mental trauma taking the form of a cassette tape.

This was an easy enough solution for Gilbert George. It was as if God's wondrous mercy had at last given him the answer. There wasn't anything wrong at home; it was something to do with Larry. A wondrous weight was subconsciously lifted and he agreed posthaste to have his son signed up. And so, it was done.

Heather was preparing herself for college, saving up any money from her babysitting that she could so that she could start her nest egg, something she was proud of. Gilbert and Theresa were proud as well. In less than three months their first born would be leaving the nest and be flying off toward success.

Steven was applying himself in school—he saw how well Heather did in her final half of her year and showed an early start to getting similar grades. His sports kept him active and around friends.

Gilbert and Theresa were so proud.

Larry was barely passing his classes. He was supposed to attend a therapy session every Thursday afternoon with his therapist, Dr. Abbot, but all too often his more truant side erupted and led to a call home to the parents. He mentioned to them that he believed Larry had an obsession concerning the cassette player, and his fixation on it created the delusions in his mind—the friend that he had opened up about in the sessions.

Gilbert got frustrated with this, "My son has told me this for years that some friend lives inside his damn cassette player. I should never have gotten it for him!" He threw his arms in the air, looked aside and shook his head. "What do we do to fix him?"

"We must stop this before it gets too deep. His mind was wrapped around this idea of music...this unhealthy association. Now, it was impossible to remove music from his life, obviously, but he cannot have any memorabilia. Any of it reinforces that grip it has on his life," Dr. Abbot mentioned, his bushy eyebrows bent down as his beady eyes stared at both Gilbert and Theresa.

"Oh, we can't take it away from him," Theresa said, her eyes wandering around Dr. Abbot's office.

Larry sat back in the office with a hastily marked 1 on the door, he never liked this place...called the doctor a quack and a half. He was one hundred percent sure that Dr. Abbot wasn't a licensed doctor in any way, shape, or form, but he knew that he was the only person who his parents would be able to afford. He sat in the room, set away in an effort to keep his discussion with his parents private, although the good doctor was quite a loud speaker naturally, so the flow of the conversation from his end was at least audible. He didn't know what to feel inside.

"You baby him," Gilbert said, making a sort of sound at the end that sounds like he spat. It was suffice to say that Gilbert was up to his shoulders in stress over the whole situation and desired to see the end of it immediately.

"I care about him, Gil."

"If you do, then you must let him grow without it. He will keep lashing out because of all of this crazy rebellious music these kids listen to. It isn't good for them," Dr. Abbot spat himself, craning his neck, cracking it loudly. "They have no respect and that gobbledygook ain't helping them one bit. And there are kids like Lawrence that take it to the next level. If this continues, I'm afraid to say that he might go out and kill someone."

Theresa gasped, Gilbert shook his head and crossed his arms, letting out a deep breath. "You got it, doc. We'll take care of it, right, dear?" He looked off to her.

"Y...Yes."

"Same time next week?" Gilbert asked Dr. Abbot.

A crooked smile crossed his face, teeth missing and a darkness fills the gaps, "Sure thing, Mr. George. I do wish to hear how the treatment handles good Lawrence."

July 12th, 1980

Larry didn't adjust to the treatment well.

It was an obvious fact that to anybody involved would have been an inevitability. As soon as they got home, Gilbert hobbled up toward Larry and Steven's room. Larry, knowing what was going on from his eavesdropping ran up the stairs after his father. "Dad, you can't do this! It's my stuff!"

To Gilbert George, all of Larry's things were his things. He provided the roof that he lived under, and so until he was eighteen and out that damn door he was going to have to deal with it.

Gilbert didn't say anything as he continued up the stairs, pushed open the door and turned in immediately—he reached inside towards Larry's collection of records lined up on his drawer and scooped them up in his large arms. Larry was behind him now and was wailing his arms on his father's back. "No stop! I paid for those with my own money!"

Gilbert looked down toward his son and gave off a nasty sort of look and he blew out at him, back-pacing out of the room with his records in hand. My cassette player's still in my backpack, Larry thought. He's not going to stop, but he doesn't have to get everything. A curious idea formed in his head as he followed his father down the stairs. "Those are all my records! What are you doing?!"

"This is for your own good!" He finally barked back. "You have an unhealthy obsession with this garbage and it is ruining your life." The words of Dr. Abbot rang with a terrible echo through his father's voice.

"Gil, maybe you shouldn't be so harsh about it," Theresa reeled back, crossing her arms.

"No, you are not going easy on him today. We need to do this, and he'll be better for it." He regarded her as he passed off of the stairs and continued to the front door.

"Dad!" Larry called out, running down past his mother.

Crash! A record slammed against the ground and the case was shed aside. Larry was out on the front lawn as a black car sped across the shards in the street as Gilbert unsheathed another record and sent it flying across the street. He threw it a little too well and it flew down past the bluff and the crash was a bit more faint. Again and again he threw and discarded, each record shattering and each case discarded until they were all gone. He pivoted to see his whole family staring at him from the porch, a light rain has coated his black hair. He took a deep breath and coughed out a foul sound, "It's done. Get in and get ready for lunch." He hobbled past all of them. As soon as he reached Larry he turned and looked at him, in that moment he could swear he saw hatred running through his father's eyes. Look what you made me do. Look what you turned me into, they said.

"Why?" Larry asked, his lip shook.

"Where is your cassette player?"

The question struck him hard. He tried to supplant the idea that the records were it, but his father was smarter than that. He was the one that got him the cassette player all those years ago. Of course he knew about it. "Dad...that was a birthday present."

"Where is the cassette player?"

"Gil," Theresa said quietly.

"Go inside. Make them some lunch." He looked up at his wife only for a moment before turning his eyes back down to Larry, "One more time."

"My...backpack," Larry said, defeated.

Gilbert nodded and he moved past them, pushing into the house and Larry stood out in the rain as he heard the faint thumps of his father walking up the stairs. His mother stepped out into the rain and cradled her son into her arms, patting his back.

The day faded into tears and anger, screaming and fighting. The George family knew no unrest until the day that Gilbert threw out Larry's records. Steven roomed with Heather when he could no longer stand trying to sleep in the same room as Larry. The night lasted forever as he could not find sleep.

It wasn't anything he'd ever wanted to see again...that look. It shook him to his core and he thought all of this was like it were some nightmare. That's how foolish it had all seemed, all over some poor grades. None of it made any sense to him and he knew that if he were to object, possibly to his mother he'd get the response "You'll understand when you're older." He hated that response. He knew that he wouldn't get it when he was older because he didn't get it now.

The whole situation left him with a bad taste in his mouth. He could swear that it tasted almost coppery, but it left immediately. Suddenly, in his bed he felt a strange protrusion from his pants. He'd learned about puberty in school, but didn't expect the changes they spoke about to be this noticeable.

Of course, what was protruding from his pants wasn't any part of his body...it was a small square shape in his rightmost pocket...the cassette player. He reached for it...all at once it was there as if it had been the whole time. But there was no way that could have been...he'd seen his father bring out the cassette player from his room, stamp on it like it were an old campfire and toss the remains out into the wild. Yet...here it sit in his pocket. He rolled over and wedged his hand into his pocket, yanking the thing off, finding his headphones sitting in front of him as if they had been there the whole time.

"What...is going on...?" He asked aloud. Before he could think anymore he unwrapped the headphones and plugs into the cassette player. "Kappy? Are you there?"

"hello larry."

"Oh! Kappy! Thank God...but I thought my dad broke you? I saw him throw you out."

"he did because of that doctor who told him to. i have a bond with you, larry, so that means i'll always find my way back to you. i'm supposed to be your guide."

"How do you do that? I mean, the cassette player should be broken, though."

"how it happens is another story for a future day. i'd love to tell you that one in person."

"In person? You...you're actually someone out there in the world?" Larry asked.

"why...yes. everybody is someone out there in the world."

"Huh, I guess I never really thought about it. I sort of thought you'd be like a ghost or something."

"i am no ghost, larry, but we both know that at the current moment the only thing dead here are those records of yours."

Larry sat back in his bed and groaned, letting out his entire chest-worth of breath. "God, it sucks so bad."

"you can't let him crush your dreams, larry. you love music."

"I know, Kappy, but he's my Dad. And without him I wouldn't have met you."

"yes...i understand that you love him, but you must also love yourself. here's what i think...you should go out and get a guitar."

"A guitar? I don't have that kind of money. Besides, my Dad would probably just smash it like all my records."

"i can help you out with that, larry. don't you worry."

"How are you going to do that?" Larry asked, but Kappy didn't reply. He was left to himself for the rest of the night, and so he took in a deep breath and rested his head against the pillow. So many things in his life were out of his control, but Kappy seemed to be the one thing that was very much the opposite. Someone who knew what to say to get him feeling more at ease. He dreamt of many things that night: his father, his records, but the prevailing image that came to him was the starry night sky. He dreamt of sailing across the stars and wondered what kind of music they liked. He wondered if he would get to someday go to space.