CHAPTER 15

"Travis! Dinner!"

       "Coming!" Travis called back. He rinsed the soap from his hands and made to exit the bathroom when he felt the familiar urge in the back of his mind. He grimaced, hesitating for a second, before heading back to quickly wash his fingertips with soap once more. Once he was as sure as he could be, he exited the bathroom, ignoring the urge now as he entered the dining room.

       "Trav- oh, there you are," his mother stopped, smiling at him though it seemed a little forced. "Good, now we can eat."

       Travis tried not to wince at that. "Yeah, sorry. Just, you know, bathroom stuff."

       "Eww," his sister Sarah said, wrinkling her nose and not looking up from her phone. "TMI."

       "Relax. I just…" he paused, not wanting to go into detail. "My hands are very clean, alright."

       "Can we eat now, please?" his father asked.

       "Yes, Travis please sit."

       Travis gratefully sank into his seat next to Andrew and his father who sat at the head of the table, stifling the urge to wash his hands again. He smiled as his mother placed his favorite dish on the table: Spaghetti Bolognese. Made just the way he liked it, with tomato puree sauce and just meat. No added vegetables or other nonsense. He instantly began putting some on his plate.

       "Really? This again?" his father asked. "We've had this dozens of times already."

       "Well, if you want something different, maybe you can cook next time," his mother said.

       Travis continued getting more until Andrew said, "save some for the rest of us, Timmy."

       Travis instantly stopped, wincing a little at the words. Timmy. A cute name. It was what his parents thought at least. But Travis knew what it meant. Timmy the Talking Tummy. Because of his…tummy, big enough that one could form a mouth with it.

       He reluctantly backed away and let the others take their food, noticing that when everyone was done, there was still plenty of pasta and sauce leftover. But he just ate in silence.

       "So," his mother said in that motherly way, "what's everyone's plans for this weekend?"

       "Hang out with friends," Sarah said, still looking at her phone. "At the mall."

       "Oh that's fun. I remember when me and my friends used to go to the mall." His mother's eyes lit up as they always did when she talked about that time in her life, though Travis didn't understand why. She and her friends still went to the mall to shop and gab like they did in those days.

       "That's nice, mom," Sarah told her, rolling her eyes.

       "Thanks kiddo," her mother smiled in response. "So, what are everyone else's plans?"

       "I've got training," Andrew said simply. Big surprise. Whenever Travis saw him outside of meals and the bus to school, he was training in one way or another. It was one of the many reasons Andrew made fun of him so much. Travis did not treat his body like a temple the way Andrew did. While Andrew's stomachs had abs that literally felt like steel, Travis had no abs whatsoever and a stomach that felt more like it was composed of jelly.

       "You have a game coming up I should know about?" his father asked.

       "Not for a few more weeks," Andrew replied.

       "Alright then," his father nodded, which Travis interpreted to mean 'good, I don't have to pay attention to that for a few weeks then.'

       Travis shoveled some more food into his mouth, hoping that the question wouldn't be asked but of course his mother being his mother she soon looked over at him. "And what about you Travis? Any exciting plans for the weekend?"

       "Not really," he replied after a second of chewing and swallowing. "Not much going on."

       "Shocker," he heard Andrew say beside him.

He grimaced and looked down, feeling his fist open and close. He took a few deep breaths before looking back up. "Actually, I might hang out with a friend."

Andrew snorted. "What friend? You don't have any."

"Andrew!" his mother scolded.

"It's a new friend. He's the new student," Travis said. "He's, um, a fan of comic books as well."

"Oh, that's nice," his mother smiled at him. However, his father had suddenly taken interest in the conversation at those words.

"Comic books?" he asked, looking at Travis. "You're still reading those things?"

"Uh, yeah?" he said, already knowing where this was going. He sighed inwardly, cursing himself for mentioning it.

His father shook his head. "I don't know why you waste your time with that drivel. Bunch of nonsense for little kids. You're a teenager now, aren't you?"

Travis resisted the urge to quiz him on what he thought Travis's age was, knowing it would hurt so much more when his father got it wrong. "Dad, comic books are meant for everyone, not just for kids. They can tackle a lot of different themes and-"

"They're some silly arts and crafts about people who play dress up to fight bad guys," his father interrupted with an eye-roll. "They're not much more complex than that. I really would have hoped you'd have grown out of them by now."

"Robert, if Travis wants to read comic books that's his decision," his mother said gently.

"He's almost a grown man, he should be thinking about his future, not silly superhero stories."

Travis stopped himself from saying he was still several years from being close to a grown man.

"He needs to start thinking about his future. What's he going to do for a job? How's he going to make money? Depend on us until he's middle-aged?"

Travis had to stop himself from flinching.

"He's still just a teenager, I don't think we need to worry about that just yet."

Another near flinch.

"Look at Andrew. On track for a football scholarship to any school he wants. A bright future ahead of him." Andrew took that moment to shoot Travis a smirk that made him want to shove his fist into those abs, even if it would probably break his wrist. "Travis should be focusing on his studies."

"I do," Travis said. "I got an A on my last history test." He had studied hard and it had paid off.

"Good," his father nodded. "Keep that up and stop wasting time with that comic book drivel."

"It's not dri-" he stopped himself from going further, knowing it wouldn't lead to anywhere. His father never paid attention to anything he did. Never really paid attention to anything any of them did unless he felt it affected him in some way. And apparently, reading comics did that.

"When I was your age," his father said, leaning back in his chair in such a way that Travis had to physically resist the urge to roll his eyes, "I had my own paper route, you know? Then, I started working as an intern in my father's office. No special privilege whatsoever. I had to earn it just like everyone else. And I did. I got myself a small job at the law firm and used it in my studies for law school. And the rest…" he splayed his hands out, "is history."

"Fascinating as always, Dad," Sarah said, still not looking up from her phone.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he replied, apparently not detecting the heavy sarcasm in her voice. He turned to Travis. "That's what you need in your life. Stability. A firm hand. Not some nonsense hobby that wastes good time and money. I want you to go out this weekend and find a job." Travis spluttered in protest, but his father held up his hand. "No, I mean it. It's time you started to earn your way in life instead of just relying on your parents. Trust me, it'll help you in the long run."

Andrew shot Travis another smirk that made his insides boil up. He looked over at his mother, silently begging her and she looked back sympathetically. "Harold," she said, turning to his father, "I don't think this is necessary. He's still a bit young to have a job."

"Nonsense," his father waved that aside. "It'll do him some good.

"Robert," his mother interjected, now a little more forcefully, "I don't think we should be forcing Travis to do something he doesn't want to do. I mean, Andrew doesn't have a job."

"Andrew has his football training which will help get into college," his father replied. "That qualifies." He nodded at Andrew who smiled back before giving Travis a wink, clearly loving this.

"Sarah doesn't have a job either," his mother reminded.

"Hmmm, good point," his father said, looking at Sarah like he was just noticing her for the first time. "Sarah you need to get a job too. This weekend."

"What?" she cried, looking up for the first time. "Travis screws up and I have to pay for it?"

Travis scrunched in his seat, silently begging that this was all a dream. Or, you know, that a meteor strike on their house was imminent. Either worked for him.

"You spend too much time on that ridiculous phone of yours," his father said. "You need to start learning what real life looks like and that means earning your way in this world. You all have gone on too long living the easy life. That stops now." He then looked down at his plate, twirling a piece of spaghetti on his fork, evidently thinking the conversation was over.

"This is so unfair!" Sarah cried out.

"Robert, don't you think-" his mother began.

"Enough!" his father said sharply, slamming his hand down on the table with a loud clap that silenced the room. "This weekend, both of you are finding jobs. End of discussion."

"But Da-" Travis started.

"End of discussion!" his father practically yelled at him, glaring fiercely.

Travis shrank back, his heart pounding. His father sighed looking down at his plate. There was a pause and then he kept eating. Soon, everyone did the same. Travis could feel the sympathetic looks his mother gave him but he didn't look up.

Later that night, he lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, watching the fan go round and round. He looked over at his collection of comics, all neatly stacked on the shelves in order of character and release. He wished he could get some superpower, have something extraordinary happen to him that would take him away from this life.

After a few more minutes of just lying there, he got up and climbed out the window onto the low roof outside his bedroom, slowly edging down it till he could safely drop onto the ground below. He checked that no one had noticed before running into the woods next to his home. It was dark with thick shadows and hardly any light but he had come this way so many times that he knew it by heart, easily moving through the foliage. About ten minutes later he reached the cliff edge, where about thirty meters below the woods slowly became the forest. He looked down at the wide expanse of nature and then up again at the night sky, a few sprinklings of stars shining out. He tried to enjoy the peace and quiet as much as he could, but like always it didn't work.

He could feel the pressure of the pent-up feelings and emotions he pushed down every day welling up inside, waiting for release. So he opened his mouth and let it all out with a massive scream. The sound echoed down the cliffside and shattered the peaceful night until his throat was raw.