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Show All the Variables & Other Love Stories 12 linseed oil. Joy made us comrades-in-arms in this one respect, whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not. I sat in the bleachers smearing charcoal on paper and watched the team practice until Brandon noticed me and came over. I tried to explain about Dad to Brandon, but he didn't take it that well. I told him what Dad told me, how Dad didn't want Brandon to end up like him, how Brandon could do what he wanted with a clear conscience because he could say it was what Dad wanted, but somehow I screwed up the delivery. "Just because you're screwing my girlfriend doesn't mean you can tell me how to live my life," Brandon said. "She's your ex-girlfriend," I whimpered. "How many times a day do I have to threaten your life?" "I didn't mean anything by it. I'm the last one to tell people how to live their lives." "Good," he said. "You should be. You're a loser, you're so pathetic it's shameful." I didn't know what to say to something like that or how I could have deserved to hear it, and told Brandon so. He asked what the hell I thought was going to become of me, did I really think I would be discovered by some bigwig faggot art dealer or something. He said I was so selfish it was really too disgusting for elaboration and my head was so far up my own ass I couldn't even appreciate it. He called my paintings shit. "I want to play ball," he said, "but I'm not counting on it. I'm going to school, and I'll get a real job so I can afford a real life so Mom and Dad won't have to worry about me all the time." |