Chapter 3

Darryl Nelson

“This is some bullshit!” I explode, slamming the door to my dad’s new car, trying not to show the glee I felt at the wince of pain it drew from my dad’s expression.

“Hey! Shithead… I’m not gonna let you sit around all summer feeling sorry for yourself because your evil parents made you move.”

My dad sweeps his shoulder-length hair back, securing it behind his head with the black band he usually wore on his wrist, showing an undercut which needed shaving up again. “Now, you can come earn your fucking keep at the shop with me.”

My dad had a successful small chain of record shops along the west coast, but the one here in San Francisco was the flagship, the original. It held a lot of memories for my folks as it was where they first got together.

Remembering the stories of them sneaking off to the fire escape to get high has me reaching back into dad’s car for his tin of joints.

He rolls his eyes at me when he sees but doesn’t say anything. That was one cool thing about my folks; they were both relaxed as fuck about this shit. I’d gotten stoned plenty of times with my old man, even with AJ and George on a couple occasions.

As long as I knew where my limits were, they trusted me. I had spent most weekends since I was fifteen working in his store alongside him. I think he liked it—felt it gave us a way to bond.

Vinnie was only twelve, so had a few more years before he would be dragged along too, and I think mom liked having one kid at home with her still.

I knew it was more than likely that I would be expected to work here too, but I thought he would have waited more than twenty-four fucking hours.

“Hi Mr. Nelson!” A kid with a shaved head waves at us from where he was leaning against the shutter.

“Morning, Smit. Remember what I said?”

“Sorry! Jake,” the kid laughs nervously, glancing my way.

“This is my kid, Darryl. Darryl, this is Jonny Smith, he’s my other part-timer.” The kid offers me an easy-going grin and a hand sporting black-painted fingernails, but I just scowl in answer.

“Ignore the little asshole, he’s tired and grumpy from yesterday. He obviously didn’t get his beauty sleep last night.”

I roll my eyes, feeling my scowl deepen as my dad and the bald kid start chatting while they open up the store.

I quickly make my way through to the office, dumping my bag before I push open the fire door to smoke one of my dad’s perfectly rolled joints, hoping a little weed will help me get through the rest of the morning.

“Hey…can I get in on that?” The bald kid—Jonny? Smit?—steps out and nods towards the smoking roll-up.

I shrug, passing it over and he takes a deep inhale, holding it in long enough that I had sat up a little straighter in worry. He smirks as he breathes out and gives it me back.

“So, what’s with the nickname?” I ask.

“John Smith! The absolute most boring and most common name in the fucking world,” he grins.

“So, I decided to make the most of it and shorten it to something that sounded cooler.”

This time I shake his hand when he offers it to me. “So, what’s the scene like round here?”

“It’s okay, not too bad.” Smit tips his head to the side. “Your da said something about you playing?”

“Yeah…I’m the drummer in…” I pause, swallowing the disappointment of my next statement already. “I was the drummer in a pretty successful band back home in San Diego.”

“Yeah?” Smit’s eyes light up. “Me and my buddy, Evan, have been looking for a decent metal drummer for fucking ever! You should come jam with us. You are into metal, right?”

“Yeah,” I feel a smile start to work its way onto my face and try my best to bury it when my dad sticks his head out the door.

“Come on, you fucking slackers. I’m not paying you to smoke all my fucking weed.” Smit immediately springs to his feet, looking worried, and I roll my eyes as I push myself up.

“He’s fucking with you. He doesn’t give a shit.”

***

We’d been here for a few days, and I was falling into a routine. Up early with dad to go open the store, work all day interspersed with getting stoned with Smit, home for dinner, wait in my dark bedroom until Stevie got home and gave me my own personal peep show.

And before you say anything—yes, I am well aware it was super fucking creepy to be spying on her, but she was so fucking hot it was impossible not to.

Plus, I figured she fucking owed me for shutting me out of her life. My dad’s voice floats upstairs. “Boys? Everyone is here…come the fuck downstairs.”

I roll my eyes, pulling my arms through an old Deftones t-shirt and flicking off my stereo.

Vinnie was hovering at the top of the stairs, his dark blue eyes looking worried as usual. “S’up bud?”

“Who’s everyone?” He looks up at me, those Bambi eyes killing me as usual, and I loop my arm around his neck, pulling him into my side.

“It’s just gonna be Aunt George and her lot. No one else. Okay?”

He swallows before he gives me a small nod. He wasn’t good with new people or big groups. I was a little worried about how he was gonna be starting a new school. Bet my folks hadn’t considered that when they uprooted us.

Taking him away from the only few friends he’d had since he was a fucking kindergartener. We wander downstairs together, and sure enough it’s just our family and Stevie’s jostling around the kitchen counter which has been piled high with plates of food.

I grab us both plates, handing one over to my little brother, and we join the semi-organized queue.

Once the food has been eaten, my dad stands up and clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “I…uhm…fuck, this is a lot harder than I expected.”

His hand tightens on my mom’s shoulder, and she gives him a sad smile as she places her hand over his. He clears his throat again, taking a deep breath as he makes eye contact with George whose eyes are watery with unshed tears.

“What the fuck is going on, dad?” Vinnie shuffles closer down the bench towards me, and I’m aware of my grandad walking round to stand by us. “What?!” I repeat, frustrated when silence still reigns.

“I’ve not been feeling too well recently, and we thought it was time I saw some doctors to find out what was wrong with me.” My mom’s chin wobbles as she utters the words.

“They’re going to be running lots of different tests, but they will be seeing if my blood shows any of the markers for cancer.”

Cancer. The word hangs in the air. Bile rises up in my throat, burning the back of my tongue. The room feels like it’s drawing in around me.

My ears are ringing loudly, so loud they block out any other sound. My chest heaves as I try to get a breath into my lungs.