Amson, 18, "Sanguine Road"

"Why the hell did you tell me that, Amson..." Ty grimaced as we rolled through the pouring rain. "I mean... fuck!"

As the torpefying sensation of raindrops danced placidly from my hair down my face, I held tightly to Ty's waist, feeling as that very rain was carried away by the chilling wind. I could hardly hear him through the howling gust, but the bass of his voice, felt through that one point of contact, helped me to feel his words, instead.

I could sense an anguish within the quivering hum, as if he felt somewhat responsible for what'd happened, but I felt determined to wipe the idea from his mind, whether he truly felt that way or not.

"You couldn't have known, man." I assured him, hoping he might hear me. "... I just, in that moment, thought if I were tell anyone, it would be you."

"You mean to say you ain't told no one else?" He grunted. 

After that, was a long silence, and after a while, we'd left the limits of Dutchman, navigating a lone road surrounded by forest. We hugged the right end of the road, cars' flashing lights whizzing past us.

We were sprayed by the sitting puddles of pothole hell, but after some time, it seemed that neither of us had much room for care. 

It felt like an eternity of riding, and in our awkward position, I could only imagine that it'd last even longer. After a while, I'd let go completely, placing my hands in my pockets and bracing at each bump or shift in our path, and eventually, my house was in sight, sitting within an distinct silence. 

The only light protruding from the house were from the kitchen, dim as they usually were. I felt a relief come over me as Ty skidded to a stop and I hopped off the back of his board. I glanced at him as he kicked the board up, watching as I inched toward the door. 

I was careful with the lock, trying to make as little noise as I possibly could, yet as it opened, I looked upon the couch, my heart sinking. As I entered, Dad sat on that couch, staring into the black of the powered-down television. I took another look outside to see Ty staring back at me before I began inching the door closed. 

"Amson." Dad uttered, stopping me in my tracks. "I'd like to talk once we're through with this."

I said nothing, and Dad stood, meeting me at the door yet looking past me. 

"You come in, son!" He called to Ty. "I can't have you out in the rain by yourself!"

///

Ty and I sat beside one another, elbows against the granite kitchen counter, and Dad, wrapping his hands in a bandage, grabbed a knife from the counter and turned his back to us. The sizzling of the stove, heating oil, filled our house. 

"Did mo--" I started. 

"Your mother is asleep." He interrupted me. "She's taken a break from cooking, per my request."

I saw Ty's eyes wander before he spoke, directing his voice toward Dad's back. 

"Say, Mr. Grinner..." He said very proper. "How much might it cost to live out here? Your place is nice. Small, but somehow very roomy."

"Please. Call me Zeb..." Dad insisted. "...My father built this home himself. I presume he hadn't paid a dime, but I've never asked him, myself."

Zebedee... it was a name Mom often addressed him as, but in truth, his name was strikingly different.

In stark contrast, my father's name is actually Isryah Attaullah Grinner, a strange jumble of a name. His first name, a name with no meaning, was given to him by his father, my granddad, while his middle name was an Arab name given to him by his mother, my grandma.

After my grandma's passing, It wasn't too often I spoke with my grandpa, as if, suddenly, Dad began to make an effort of tapering his influence on Lore and I, but for the most part, I don't know. All I know is what my Dad's had the will to share. 

I haven't spoken with my granddad since I was young, so of the two of us, Lore is likely more familiar with his personality. 

"So, Mr. Zeb... He built this himself?" Ty held a gasp, surprisingly impressed. "Is he..."

"Yes, my father is still alive." Dad answered with a smile along his face. "The first and last thing he'd ever left me was this house before he found another home of his own, seeming eager to escape from the memories this home held. He's holed up in Jenkins, as we speak, doing not much less than the imaginable, I'd assume."

Ty hung attentively on my Dad's words, an intrigue I could never fathom, myself. It's possible he was only being respectful, as if it weren't for my father's kindness, he'd be riding back to Dutchman in the torrent outside.

Still, seeing my Dad talk as much as he did was something I liked bearing witness to. It made him seem much more human, as opposed to the spacy man I knew him to usually be. Maybe he'd taken a liking to Ty's seeming interest in his past: It wasn't something you might find Baun or Tora digging too deep for.

Yet Ty didn't have to try much for an answer, leading me to believe that Dad'd taken a similar liking to Ty as Baun did. Maybe it was just an air he gave off. As Dad and Ty spoke amongst themselves, I got to thinking, landing me next to the reality of my situation. 

If it weren't for the context of my predicament, I might not have been shaking as I was. 

Knowing my Dad, if he wanted to talk one-on-one, there was only so much I could imagine him saying. I'd hardly seen my Dad more than peeved. Maybe he'd finally found some leftovers from the party... then being chewed out would be the least of my worries. 

It'd be futile to entertain any thought that I might make my way out of the punishment that is to come, and given that I have more icing to throw on that shit-cake, there's no telling the extent of how fucked I might be. 

He'd likely not spare my mother the amusement of tearing me a new ass while I still breathed clean air. 

"Say, son." Dad called, bringing both of our heads at attention. "How long have you known my boy?"

Ty thought for a moment before answering, much more calm than I could every be. 

"I'd say we've known each other for around four years now, since around fall of freshman year."

"Is that so?" Dad paused. "I'd never seen you around. Your parents raised you well-- The way you hold your cutlery."

"You think so?" Ty rubbed his neck, trying to take the compliment. "My parents... I'd say they would be lacking in your sense of... duty."

Dad didn't respond before cutting the fire off from the stove. He wiped his knife clean of grime before grabbing two plates from the kitchen cabinets. The food was freshly served, and the smell was nothing short of Mom's cooking.

"Well, son..." Dad started. "...I'm sorry to hear that... Eat. No matter what might happen at home, it'd be wrong of me not to feed you while in mine."

"Yes, sir." Ty obliged.

I'd never been so eager and uncertain as I looked at any food served in this house, but in the spirit of 'eat or don't' I wasn't within any room not to dig in.