Engine Head Out: Word: Under Your Monetary Wings

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Under Your Monetary Wings

When I think of the greatest lesson that I have learned to this date I think of what it cost to become a man. Unlike many other men my story has a specific sum attached to it: an inheritance of approximately thirty-thousand dollars, a college fund of approximately ten, social security over the course of two years totaling around twenty, and various other funds that were relinquished to me at the age of sixteen, globally equaling about sixty to seventy-thousand dollars. Why must this money stand between myself and my inevitable manhood? Because, before Dad died he never taught me the value of a dollar or the joys of a hard day's work.
    The morning of October 5th, 1995, was an especially eye opening one for me. As my lids rolled back revealing the cottage cheese ceiling a fierce noise hammered inside my head
   "Why has that alarm been going off for so long?" I annoyingly proclaimed to self.
   "Shut that damn alarm off!" I selfishly screamed.
   "Why am I allowed to sleep in?" I gleefully cheered.
   I set flesh foot to nylon rug and stumbled forth. I followed scrambled ear to intrusive buzz. I felt iris widen and brain halt as I looked ahead. My Father had past, expired.
   Hours later a fireman would proclaim, "There is nothing that we can do. He has been gone too long." The smell lingered for days, but the image will stay forever.
   Things change. Time does not halt as brain does. "Wake up," screams alarm clock. "Feel pain and crisp cold," cries the open window.
   One thing that I will not grow past is that open window. At the time of my unearthly discovery it bit at my acute senses. The symbolism of self preservation rang clear in my core as I slammed it shut and mine offended ears enacted hands to crash against the snooze of the intrusive alarm.
   "Wake up", screams alarm clock.
   "Feel pain and crisp cold", cries the open window.
   "Bottom line, young one. Time to be a man," whispers my Lord.
    So, I packed my things and left. So many harsh and seemingly unfeeling events led me here. Los Angeles hates me as the clock and window do. My money is no good here. Not that they won't take it from me. My money is no good here. Not that they won't teach me to be robbed. The days pass slowly and the money goes quickly. A child of privilege has no right to fend for himself, but now that my blanket is gone I must. Days without food and nights without heat are not what I had expected. But, for once I feel whole and happy, solitarily rocking in this van I call home.
    The other night I got more comfortable than I had ever been and I finally told him, "I'll never be whole with your money, Sir. Teach me now in your passing as you never could in your life. Reach from the greater expanse through these monetary bounds to me, your child, your new man." I slunk this through my lips.
   "I do not resent you, Sir. You did the best that you could and provided well for me. But, in your absence it has become apparent that you did not truly plan for my future. For ours was never meant to be. And, now mine is become fully evident."
   I burrowed down deep in the bench seat as the above words fell from my lips and my eyelids closed on the cloth ceiling.

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