Chris

I've never really had a childhood if I think about it. I was always surrounded by my step-fathers friends who also happened to be drug addicts. It was never, “Hey dad I am hungry. Can you make me something to eat?” I was always supposed to stay out of his hair and away from his room. I knew, from around that age, what they were always doing in his bedroom was a bad thing.

There were many people that came, and went during each day. They usually showed up looking nervous and shaky and when they left it was like they healed a little. I always thought of my step-father as a healer and each buddy of his as client just getting their weekly treatment. He was a medical physician of a different craft, the black arts. One of his patients always caught my attention when his white van pulled into our tilted drive-way. It was littered with various bumper stickers of 90's bands that were apparently hip. His name was Chris, and he was about in his late teens, early twenties. He was kind of on the lanky side with short cropped hair, and he always wore this brown Slipknot hat.

He would wave, and smile, never shaky or sick looking. I figured that he wasn't old enough to shake yet. He was too young to let all the medicine work its shaky magic. Chris was my favorite because he always had this way of making me and my brothers laugh or telling us cool quips about useless information. In a way, I thought of him as a friend of mine.

Chris came every Thursday for his medicine, and he would hang out after with us kids. We would ask if he had gotten a new tattoo or another bumper sticker to add to his collection. He would tilt his hat just a little and answer with a Not yet young-ins or Yeah dude check this narly stuff out! I thought Chris was cool until the medicine started working its dark magic in his thin veins.

As I got older most of my step-fathers clients slowly narrowed into just a few, Chris being one of them. I honestly see Chris and wonder what I ever thought was cool about him. I laugh at all the times I would sit and digest every word that dribbled out of his sometimes slack mouth. He was never what I thought he was. As a kid he was the cool older brother, my teacher of useless facts, and my favorite spectacle.

When I look at him now I see a guy who sorta lost his way. I laugh cause he still tries to tell me stupid facts I do not care to hear. I think he strives for attention, he craves it! I just nod and switch between vague answers that will satisfy and quench the constant blabber. Even when he hits on me now I think of a coyote trying to lure out their prey. I mess with him sometimes for my own amusement but most of the time I just try to avoid him. I now look forward to the receding white van every Thursday.

(He's still hott as hell though...lol.)