It was almost poetic the way Mom yelled and scolded me for several uninterrupted minutes. It seemed that, besides my siblings who were obviously listening, if the silence in their rooms indicated anything, the entire street had decided to keep quiet, allowing the pregnant woman's shouts to be heard everywhere.
"I can't believe it, losing your hard-earned money on a stupid bet," after several minutes of yelling, the pregnant woman with a red and sweaty face took a seat wearily.
"Oh, he didn't lose her money, darling," opportunistically embarrassed, probably for not mentioning that little detail earlier, Bob said.
"What?" the furious woman asked again, standing up, "and you waited until now to say it?" she asked again, pushing Bob on his shoulder, the height difference making the action extremely comical.
With the new revelation, fortunately for me, I wasn't the only one under the wrath of the pregnant woman. Unfortunately for Bob, he was placed next to me, receiving the same amount of hormonal woman's shouts.
The shouts continued for several minutes until the seemingly breathless woman had to stop to rest. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Bob quickly sat next to his wife, soothingly caressing her arms, trying to be forgiven.
"If he didn't lose the money, what did you do with the winnings?" after a few seconds to catch her breath, the woman asked.
Again seizing the opportunity, Bob began to explain everything we had discussed and done at the bank with Mr. Lynch. Occasionally, I had to add details that Bob overlooked.
"Oh, PJ," with teary eyes, the woman stood up affectionately, placing her hands on the sides of my face, "I'm so glad you're thinking about your future," she tenderly affirmed, "but don't think for a moment that I accept what you did," she said seriously, losing her smile, "my eldest son, making bets," getting angry again, she began to shake my head, "I didn't raise you that way," and the scolding continued.
Several shouts from the hormonal woman later, Bob managed to shift her focus. That day, for the first time in my two lives, I discovered what it was like to be truly punished.
The next day, Bob sent my car with Mr. Sparks, who had to remind me he was the father of the chicken boy, as the man had a mechanic workshop where they would inspect and fix everything the car needed, and, of course, I would have to pay.
As the days passed, my already routine life became even more routine. Discovering that I really did nothing but go to school, the hospital, and home, Bob and Amy found other ways to punish me.
They couldn't do much to reprimand me at school, so ironically, it was the only place where I was free from problems. In the hospital, my hours with House and his team, along with the time I spent writing for Dr. Donnall's research, were cut short as Mom dragged me into volunteering, cleaning, organizing, cutting nails—basically, the worst part of working as a nurse in a hospital, at least the part the nurses didn't want to do and avoided whenever they could.
"Do you know what the best part of the hospital TV is?" House asked while eating from a bag of chips, sitting in one of the lounge chairs in the obstetrics staff room, "that it's basically free cable TV." Seeing that I was ignoring him while doing my volunteer work, House responded.
Apart from being punished to do volunteer work at the hospital, I was punished every day with House being House. From the first day after Mom explained why he couldn't be in charge of me for too long, House enjoyed pointing out and mocking what I had to do.
At home, the punishment was different. After doing my homework and having some time to study, Bob and Mom made sure I didn't have any free time—cleaning cars, dishes, taking care of the garden—basically anything that could be done by me.
Even, as Bob had promised, my weekends were completely occupied. After Mom spread the rumor that her eldest son, a responsible almost 16-year-old with perfect grades and enough medical knowledge to work in a hospital, was completely free on weekends to be a babysitter or tutor, it seemed like the first choice of parents in the entire neighborhood for a babysitter.
At least I had a reward and earned a few dozen dollars every weekend.
Weeks passed, and with them, my days in my routine life. Every day, go to school, hospital, home, and repeat until the third week of my punishment arrived—Thursday, game day.
Again, we were the home team. Unlike the first game, there were many more people in the stands, both from our team and the opponent. Apparently, winning the first game of the season had caught the attention of the majority of the city.
Unfortunately, during the game, there were many defensive and offensive errors, and in the end, our second game of the season resulted in a defeat.
"I don't want to see you down," Coach Cooper ordered in the locker room after the game, "you played well, there were many mistakes, but nothing that can't be resolved in the next practices. No excuses. Go back home and think about the game just for today, but starting tomorrow, forget about this feeling of defeat to focus on the next game," the man continued before walking to his office.
"You heard the coach," deciding that the bad game wouldn't stop me, I ordered, and surprisingly, my teammates listened.
The bitterness of losing the second game of the season lasted the next day, Friday, and by Monday, the school had already forgotten it, or at least it was no longer so present.
With that, the days passed, and without realizing it, the month had ended.
"Don't forget that we'll go for the driving test tomorrow," during Friday's dinner of my fourth punished week, Bob reminded me.
"Yes, I remember," I assured the man, "by the way, how much longer will I be punished?" I asked, focused on my plate, trying not to show my interest.
After silently reprimanding Gabe, who was teasing about the question, "there's still one more week of punishment, PJ," Mom responded seriously without leaving room for negotiation, again reprimanding Gabe for mocking.
"Talk to Herschel; your car will be ready for your birthday next week," changing the subject suddenly, Bob said.
"Oh, that's great," surprised, I replied. Like many things from my past life, I didn't remember when my birthday was, so I had completely adopted my birthday in this life.
The next day, Bob took me to the Department of Motor Vehicles. After showing the relevant documents and taking the written exam, a small bald man with large glasses came to where our car was parked.
I had already passed the test in my past life, so it wasn't a difficult thing to achieve. Following the examiner's instructions, I drove on the road for a few minutes until we returned to the starting point.
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"Perfect, finally, park between those two cones, please," with his nasal voice, the examiner ordered, pointing with his pen at two cones in the middle of the street.
After performing the maneuver without any problems, Bob, who was sitting in the back of the car, and I waited for the man to finish writing on the papers in his hand.
"So, how did he
do?" impatiently, Bob asked.
"Oh, very well, definitely passed," the examiner, adjusting his thick glasses, replied.
After the man handed us the documents with the approval stamp, we went back into the office to process the remaining paperwork. In one more week, I would have driving independence, finally.
The last week of my punishment was by far the toughest of all. Apparently, the day I took my driving test, a big party happened, and I had missed it. My friends, being the teenagers they were, only talked during their free time about that party. For some reason, there was a sudden increase in elderly people needing volunteer services at the hospital, a job I understood because the nurses didn't entirely want to do it. Fortunately, during the week, I finished sending everything I remembered about the research to Dr. Donnall.
At home, fortunately, there was less that needed my free labor.
Finally, my birthday had arrived. On the Friday of my last punished week, when I arrived home, parked neatly cleaned, with new tires and a new paint job, my car was waiting on the curb.
"You have to be responsible, respect the speed limit, signs, and other people," in front of Bob and Mom, I anxiously waited with disguised indifference for them to hand over the key to my car. Nodding seriously a few seconds later, I received the keys from Bob. "Go take it for a spin," the man said with a smile.
Without waiting for him to say it a second time, I quickly got into the car. If changes had been made on the outside to be noticeable, the interior was unrecognizable. Mr. Sparks had done an incredible job; the seats had new material, the steering wheel had been changed, the dashboard and radio seemed new too. Overall, Debbie looked like new.
Upon starting the engine, I understood, at least a little, the excitement some people had with their cars. This car belonged to me, and I was about to drive it. Lowering the window, I accelerated quickly, within the speed limit, leaving the street of my house.
There was a liberating feeling while driving the car, feeling the breeze coming through the window. It was such a comforting sensation that I lost track of time; without realizing it, more than an hour had passed, and I returned home after a quick detour.
An hour later, I arrived once again in front of our house, and surprisingly, Teddy and Gabe were sitting on the front porch steps, apparently waiting.
After another, much shorter, drive with my siblings in the car, we returned home.
Bob was surprisingly interested in how the car handled, and at least during dinner that day, the conversation was entirely centered around Debbie.
The next day, apparently convinced that I had learned my lesson, Bob and Amy decided that my punishment was over. I finally had my weekends back, at least until the evening, as I had another babysitting job. The money could come in handy for gas.
The routine of these last five weeks had ruined my free time so much that, with nothing else to do, I endured only a few hours after breakfast. With my need to do something and the opportunity to use my car, I accepted any request from the other people in the house. Fortunately for Gabe, he was the first one I approached.
"Can you take me to the comic book store?" my brother asked excitedly. "Mom only takes me for a few minutes when I accompany her to do the shopping, but now you can take me!" still excited, he affirmed.
"Why not," with nothing else to do, I replied to my brother.
After informing our parents that I would be leaving with Gabe, we hopped into Debbie. To increase Gabe's excitement, I allowed him to sit in the front.
While driving, Gabe found it amusing to stick his head out of the open car window. "Don't do that," I quickly pulled him back to his seat, "I'd prefer not to lose your head while I'm driving. It wouldn't be a good big brother move on my part. Put on your seatbelt," I ordered seriously.
After parking in front of the comic book store, I followed my little excited brother inside.
Inside the comic book store, surprisingly, I ran into Tam, the Vietnamese boy who was a common friend with Sheldon.
"Oh, PJ Duncan, my friend, what are you doing here?" Tam asked from the floor, where he was sitting and reading.
"Hi, Tam, remember you can call me just PJ," I reminded the boy, "I brought my brother," pointing to Gabe, who was browsing through the comic book shelves, I explained.
"I see," Tam nodded seriously, "take a seat, please," pointing to the space next to him on the floor, the Vietnamese boy offered.
"For now, I'm good, thanks," I replied, declining his offer.
"PJ, how long can we stay here?" suddenly, Gabe asked next to me.
"Don't worry; we can stay until later. It seems you can read whatever you want here," pointing at Tam, I replied, "by the way, this is Tam, a friend of mine from high school. Tam, this is Gabe, my brother," I introduced the two boys.
"Gabe Duncan, it's a pleasure to meet you," with a strange smile, Tam said.
"Yeah," puzzled, Gabe responded, secretly looking at me with doubt on his face.
Ignoring my brother, I ruffled his hair, "bring me one of those comics about the peculiar doctor," I teased the boy.
"It's Doctor Strange," with mock annoyance, Gabe walked to one of the comic book shelves, searching for a few seconds until he took one of the comic books.
"There," handing me the comic, Gabe took a seat a bit away from Tam, apparently still uncomfortable with the strange introduction of the Vietnamese boy.
"Do you want one?" taking a bunch of candies from his side, Tam offered again.
"Yeah, sure," seemingly forgetting his discomfort with the boy, Gabe responded, moving closer to the Vietnamese boy.
"No, thanks," I replied to the boy.
Reading standing up, I spent a few more minutes with the interesting comic. From the store's entrance, I heard, "excuse me, do you have X-Men number one thirty-seven? I'd like to know what happens next, please," in a high-pitched tone that I recognized as Sheldon's.
"Back in the corner," the store clerk replied.
A moment later, my theory was confirmed as Sheldon appeared, dressed as elegantly as a nine-year-old could be.
"Hey, Sheldon," I greeted the boy.
"What are you doing here?" surprisingly, Gabe and Tam asked at the same time.
"Oh, hi, PJ, Tam," calmly, the boy greeted back, "Gabe," he added a moment later.
"I thought you said comics were for children," Tam said, again supported by Gabe.
"I'm a complicated young man," with indifference, Sheldon replied while browsing one of the shelves.
A moment later, it seemed like he found the comic he was looking for and took a seat next to Tam, on the other side of Gabe, calmly reading its contents.
We continued reading in silence for a few more minutes before Sheldon broke the atmosphere. "I'm enjoying this, but I'm having trouble with the onomatopoeia."
"The what?" intrigued, Tam asked.
"Words that imitate sounds," Sheldon explained and began giving some examples. "Writers shouldn't make up words," he asserted.
"Somebody made up 'onomatopoeia,'" wisely, Tam replied to the boy.
Narrowing his eyes, Sheldon nodded slightly, "you challenge me; I like that," he said, smiling at the other boy.
"You really are a robot," silently, Gabe affirmed, making Tam laugh slightly.
Trying to hide his laughter, Tam quickly chewed on his candy, "what?" he asked the Vietnamese boy, apparently, Sheldon was staring at him intently.
"Nothing," Sheldon quickly replied.
"Do you want one?" again kindly, Tam offered.
"No," Sheldon declined quickly; it seemed he still didn't want to eat solid foods, despite my recommendation more than five weeks ago. The boy continued drinking his meals instead of chewing them.
"Well, if you change your mind, help yourself," kindly, Tam said, returning to his reading.
Sheldon seemed to be in a predicament about whether to take one or not, and apparently, I was the only one watching him. I was concerned that the little boy would stop eating solid foods sincerely.
Glancing at his comic book, it seemed like the boy made a decision, quickly grabbing one of the candies and tearing off a piece with his teeth, chewing the candy deliberately.
I was glad for him.
When I finished the second comic book, not much later, they aren't really long, I discovered something strange. "By the way, Sheldon, where's your mom?" I asked the boy. It seemed odd that the woman wasn't hovering over her son, being as protective as she was.
"She must be with the therapist along with my dad; at his office, I read X-Men number one thirty-six, so I decided to come here to read the next one," the boy explained calmly.
"So, they know you're here?" I asked, making the boy lift his face immediately.
---
Author Thougts:
As always, I'm not American, and Not a Doctor.
This marks the first of several time skips that will occur throughout the story. What did you think? It covered a total of 5 weeks, and the MC's birthday is on October 10th, 10/10.
I'm not familiar with the process of obtaining a driver's license in the United States. In Mexico, you only need to be of legal age (for the license, not just a permit), and there is no exam or anything.
Having said that,
I think that's it. As always, if you find any errors, please let me know, and I'll correct them immediately.
Thanks for reading! :D
PS: PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW, please.