“I’ve managed so far without it.”
“And had what kind of life?”
I didn’t say anything.
'Look, Seth. You wouldn’t be the first person to accidentally kill someone with that thing. It happened to me when I was your age and it’s happened with others. It’ll probably happen to you-and then we’re just going to have to deal with it. We’ll clean up the mess and move on. You’ll learn from it.”
“You’re saying I’ll learn from killing someone?”
“I’m saying you’ll learn what not to do so it won’t happen again. That’s why I want you to train. Today, you’ve had a taste. He’ll, you’ve had a damn meal. Now, you need to find time to train. If you don’t, then you’re screwed.”
“Alright,' I said.
“And one other thing. I know how you’re tapping into it, but there are other ways. You don’t have to get all pissed off for it to work. You can actually be in a good mood and it will work. You need to create a relationship with it so it responds quickly to your needs. Remember, I told you to use it with your heart and with your head. I never said that you need to be ready to chop off someone’s head for it to work. When you master it, it will work as an extension of your thoughts.”
“How?”
Jim reached down to pick up another cat. “Figure it out.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
But I didn’t want to figure it out that day. I went home, had a quick bite to eat, which in this case meant finishing off the bag of chips I found in my parents’ booze-ridden pantry, and then I went to my room and stayed there. As day stretched into night, I could hear my parents pass by my door as if I didn’t exist.
Sometime after nightfall, they turned on the television and cranked the volume to the point that it was blaring.
They were watching “Dancing with the Stars,” likely at the demand of my mother, who once thought she’d have a career as a dancer even though she couldn’t dance to save her ass.
Sometimes, when I was bored and watched the show with them, I’d see on her face a sense of excitement clouded by a kind of sad longing for what never was. My mother once worked at as a bank manager and she was good-fastidious, polite, accurate. But then the recession hit, she lost her job and somehow found a way to claim disability in an effort to keep the money coming in.
I will give her this-there isn’t a week that goes by when she doesn’t call her old boss at the bank to see if they are hiring again. At least there is a part of her that knows she can’t live like this forever. My father? Ever since he lost his job and gave himself over to the lower calling of the bottle, I’ve never held out much hope for him. Maybe he’d prove me wrong one day, but I doubted it.
I went to my door, locked it and then stood in front of the cheap full-length mirror that hung on the wall next to my closet.
I took off my shirt, my pants, everything but my underwear, and just stood there, looking at my joke of a body.
I was like a piece of thread, only thinner. There was nothing to me. I turned in front of the mirror and hated what I saw. I wondered what I’d look like if I had even a trace of muscle on me. If I had abs, stronger legs, bigger arms. I wore loose-fitting hoodies at school, so no one really knew what I looked like beneath the folds of fabric, though there was no question that I was skinny.
Still, if I was subtle enough over the next several days, I might be able to create a positive change.
In my mind’s eye, I pictured what that body might look like. I never wore T-shirts because they really showed how slight I was, but the idea of filling out one like so many of the other guys at school was tempting.
I looked at my chest and remembered what creepy Jim told me. I didn’t need to be angry for the amulet to work. I just needed to feel what I wanted, see it and then channel it.
I went to my computer and went to the one website where I knew I’d find somebody who I’d like to resemble-Abercrombie amp; Fitch. I clicked through the links and found a guy who was tall like me, had the same angular, chiseled face as me, but who was built a hell of a lot better than me. He probably lived his life at the gym, working out for hours each day to get a build I’d never be able to achieve without a little help.
I looked at him and wondered if he was Jennifer’s type. Looking at the guy, I had to face it-he was flawless. Strong chest, toned arms, an eight-pack. I couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t be her type. He was paid to be perfect. And guess what? He had achieved something close to it.
I stood in front of the mirror and thought hard of what I wanted. When I could picture it in my head and in my heart, I went to work.
Next morning, I did something I’d never done. I pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. No hoodie. No clothes that would conceal my body.
Now, there was no need to.
I showered and looked at my face in the bathroom mirror. It still was something of a shock. I had no acne and no scars-they were gone.
I ran the palm of my hand over my face and was surprised by how sharp my jaw line was in the absence of the boulders that once consumed my skin. And my complexion was different-my face didn’t look raw. It was no longer red but instead reminded me of my father’s olive complexion.
When I shaved, I did something different and left a line of stubble from my lower lip to my chin. I stared at it for a moment and decided to make it a bit fuller, like one of the guys did on the Abercrombie site I saw. It worked. It gave me an edge.
I shook my wet hair and watched it fall naturally into place. I dried it with a towel and ran my fingers through it.
When I was finished, I dressed and stood in front of the mirror again. I looked the same but not the same, if that makes sense. The change was just enough. I filled out my clothes but not ridiculously so. I hadn’t gone too far. People would notice and they might mention it, but I had a plan for that, and over the next several weeks the changes would continue to be subtle.
I left my bedroom and was met by my father in the kitchen. He was brewing a cup of coffee. His lower back was pressed against the countertop and his eyes were bloodshot. One look at me and they widened. “What the hell happened to you?”
I wasn’t staying long. I grabbed my backpack and swung it over my shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“You working out or something?”
“Trying to.”
“Huh.”
No criticism? No caustic judgment? That was new. I wonder if he knew it was my eighteenth birthday today. I doubted it. “See you tonight,” I said.
“I’ll probably be out.”
Of course, you’ll be out. You’ll be at Judy’s with creepy Jim.
“Time to find work.”
And that stopped me.
“What kind of work?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just time to find work.”
“That’s great, Dad.”
“Nobody’s going to want a washed-up drunk, kid. Don’t fool yourself. But I’ll give it a shot. I have to. They’re cutting off our disability.”
“I can get a job.”
