The Real Story of Clyde McKee « My Fiction
Written by Thomas John McNab.
“The ghastly truth of what it’s like to be a teenager!” Mum read out-loud, with a newsreader-like tone to her voice. Her head tilted back, and she suddenly broke-out into a raging fit of laughter as soon as she’d finished. Trent patted her on the shoulder as he pulled her in for a side-on hug.
“Awesome! Beyond excellent, May! I can smell the bike messenger on his way with your Pulitzer already!” Mum brought her hands up to her unsightly cleavage (unsightly, not just because it was so early in the morning, but because she was almost fifty-five); pointing at herself as if to say, ‘stop it, you’re too much!’ When really she was thinking, ‘more, more!” Sensing this, Trent joined her weird chorus of sighing-laughter as he took her hands and wrapped them around his also heaving chest.
He began to kiss her neck, and her laughs turned into coos of delight.
My eyes widened in disgust, and I dropped my spoon with a loud clang as it hit the inside of my cereal bowl. Quite frankly, this was all getting just a bit too much for me. I scrapped my chair back across the floor as I stood-up from the kitchen table and cast my eyes down at my so-called mother opposite from me. “What in the hell would you know about being a teenager, these days?” I groaned through gritted teeth and began to walk away.
“Show your mam some respect!” Trent yelled at the back of my head. “She’s clearly writing this book for your benefit. The least you could do is congratulate her on a future bestseller.”
Feeling my blood boil, I used all my willpower to tense the muscles in my body so I didn’t lash out once again. Slowly turning around, I parted my lips and began to speak, “Congratulations! I wish you all the luck in the world. If the way you’ve brought me up is indeed a reflection of this book’s content…” I turned around again, making sure to lose eye contact as I finished my sentence, “You’re going to need it.”
Following my lead, Trent scrapped his chair back, and due to his sheer size, sent it crashing into the wall. Before I had time to react my body was being spun around, as he backed me up against the wall and pinned me their with his arm across my neck. Shoving his face in mine, he bared his teeth like some kind of wild animal. I swear I even heard him growl, right before mum shouted out, “BOYS!” Dropping his arm, Trent turned towards her, as I let my head fall and the blood rush back into my brain. I love how even when I’m on the receiving end of one of Trent’s trademark chokeholds, mum still refuses to acknowledge I didn’t have it coming… It’s been like that during most of my teenage years. One of the reasons I can’t comprehend where mum would even begin to start writing a book about being a teenager.
“Whilst I am flattered for such an early display of sparring, there simply isn’t the time to argue over who loves me more. I must be on my way, as should you two.” As if taking the scene off pause, everyone started moving, and I instinctively made my way toward the kitchen table to clear everyone’s breakfast away. Don’t ask me why I would care about their mess after what just happened, it’s just I’ve just become so used to doing it it’s turned into a reflex… And I’ve also learnt not to analyse my compulsive cleanliness, as it could only lead to mum picking up on it and subjecting me to the same psychological therapy I’d endured during my adolescent years. The irreparable damage it had no doubt caused made me bring up suppressed memories of resting back on her suede-leather chez lounge, as she asked me what it was I thought about during masturbation. I was ten-years-old.