Danny E. Turner | District 6 | Finished

Name: Turner, Daniel E.

Age: Eighteen years

District: Six

Faceclaim: Adrian Grenier

  I felt a shudder. The vibrations sent themselves up through my bed and into my mind, which moments before was in a deep slumber.
Track testing.
Every year, nearing the Capitols arrival they polish the tracks and replace the metal. It would be one thing if we were poor and lived on the side of the tracks in the wasteland of trailers we call The Garage. We don't, however.

  I sit myself up and the smell of my mom's cooking serenades my senses. I pull off the comforter and meet the window—a couple houses on the horizon are like mine. They have the pointed rooftops elevated from the once horrid snowing conditions, and a white picket fence with green grass and beige shutters. Beyond the houses, I can almost make out the shuttle being placed onto the track. If that woke me, I can only imagine how long the others closer have been up pressing a pillow to their ears or just simply trying to adjust to the little vibrations through the floorboard.

  When mom purchased this house three months ago, the agency that sold it to us declared it was the second nicest neighborhood to Victors Village, so I suppose that was still promising.

  "Danny," My mothers voice rang as I entered the kitchen five minutes later, pulling a pit stop at the counter as I pressed a folded pancake into my mouth in an attempt to hurry.
"Danny, don't—" But I reached for the syrup and drizzled it into my mouth and then placed it back on the counter.
"Sorry mom, I gotta run." I muffled grabbing my bag by the couch.
"Daniel Ezekiel Turner."
I paused in the door way, dare not making another move as I swallowed what was left.
"If you don't mind—" She pointed at the kitchen table with her spatula, "I would like to have some bonding time with my son before he gives himself diabetes with shots of syrup."

  I helplessly looked from her, to the pancakes, and to the opened front door. Darn this woman and her authority.
"You know dad's going to be pissed." I said, crossing the kitchen and sitting at the table.
"Language, Daniel." She warned and continued a moment later, "I couldn't care less what he'd be upset about." She placed the pancakes on the table. "Besides, he wouldn't fire his own son."

  She stood for a moment, looking from the food, to the drinks and slowly, she realized one thing was missing. Mom strode to the stairway and hollered, "Camilla, breakfast!" She gave it a second pause, "And that is not a request!"
Sure enough, three minutes later I witness a figure trudging down the staircase.

  "Just because Danny has to work, doesn't mean that I have to wake up at the crack of dawn." She croaked, sliding into the seat across from me.
"It's ten o'clock, you'll survive." My mom stated, walking to the table and finally stopping for a meal and fresh air. A moment later she mustered, "So who would like to say prayer?"

——————

"You're late."
"And you're a cheater. Are we just going to state facts or are you going to show me the engine?"

  My father hovered in the doorway of the shop, his eyes manifested with this look. He's had this look for three months. Ever since he cheated on mom and I lost respect for him, he invested in this glare. It wasn't as harsh as it was guilt.

  After the incident first occurred, my mom and us were gone. The only one who even considered talking to him was my sister, Camilla, and that was only for the sheer fact she was his pristine princess that was held above all standards. He tried writing to us, tried calling us, and after a month and multiple checks, my mom guilted me into letting him back into my life.

  So I let him. I let him stride back in with all his money, dignity and new fiancé. I let him look good. I'm merely an ornament to his reputation. We can play catch for the neighbors if that's the show he's putting on, but behind closed doors, he's not my father. My father loved her. My father loved us. He wouldn't have done that. So as far as I'm concerned, I don't even know who he is.

  "We were already having problems and it's been three months, Danny." He spoke up as I zipped the last of my uniform. It came on as easily as it did him. Maybe that's why it bothered me so bad—looking at him, that is. Because he's me. 26 years from now. And that's not what I want to be.

  I mimicked him most of my life and it's as if my genes did as well. I'm not bulky, but not thin. Out of shape? Maybe, but it's not one of them things you'd know until you'd tell us to run a lap. His five o'clock shadow is darker than mine—his probably from late nights at work and mine from late nights studying. We both have the wicked black hair. That's why he always cut it short. That's the one thing I never did. My hair has always been rich in curls, wild and never as short as his. Believe it or not, that rooted from an early childhood insecurity of being called dumbo.

  "Three months later and you still carry around your mistake like it's a trophy wife. Oh wait—" I sarcastically noted, nudging past him into the lab where I'd spend hours transitioning from an engine to a computer screen.

  My father stopped at the computer, "Trudy is an amazing woman." He remarked under his breath, "If you'd just give her a chance—"

  "Like you did?" I began fidgeting with the engine, looking from the camshafts to the pistons. "I have a mom position that's filled, but thanks for the offer."
This was it. Every other day. Why I'm not fired yet? The guilt burning in the pits of his stomach, that's how the hell why.

  "I'm not dealing with your crap today, Daniel."
I wanted to look up and argue, but the thing was I couldn't.
"This engines looking pretty clingy, so I should probably get to giving it some attention." I finally croaked up, swiveling in my chair over to the tool chest and back.

  And with my back towards the door and my eyes following my mind, thoroughly trying to find the problem, I hear him go, "I'm just following the track life has made me, kid. I hope you'll understand that some day."
And the door clicks shut.

——————

"I'M JUST A LOST BOY NOT READY TO BE FOUND."

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