Saturday, March 14, 2009

Part 2: Roger the Righteous



My name’s Roger. I live here with my Father and younger Brother. My Father’s a good man really but he’s far too trusting for his own good. He’s well respected around here but my brother – well, my Father can’t see it like I can. Sun shines out of his backside, walks on water. Oh, he’s charming enough when he wants to be but it’s all “me, me, me”. He’s always been the favourite. Now don’t misunderstand me: I’m not jealous or anything – it just gets on my nerves that he’s always been the favourite and he’s done nothing to deserve it. He’s a manipulative little shit, actually. Dillon the Devious.

I don’t approve of his life style or attitude at all: he’s heading for a big fall and I, for one, would like to be around to see it. Charmed life so far but his luck’ll run out.

If I was in charge – and I will be one day - I wouldn’t let him get away with anything. He needs discipline and values. He needs to understand the importance of hard work and he needs to learn respect for his elders! He needs to be more like me actually. I’m reliable and hardworking and I’m always there for my Father. I don’t cause him any hassle or worry and I certainly don’t cause embarrassment to the family. I mean, Dillon thinks he’s God’s gift to women – and it’s me that usually has to smooth over the problems. No moral standards you see. He thinks I’m a geek because I’m religious but that’s exactly what he needs to put some shape and purpose in his life to say nothing of morality. But no, with the great arrogance of youth, he knows best.

He’s back now you know, after all he did. Nearly broke my Father’s heart and he’ll do it again given the chance. I wasn’t there when he came back. Bold as brass I’m sure with some outrageous sob story. I can imagine how it went: “I’m really sorry, honestly. I’ve changed. I’ve grown up. I won’t make the same mistake again. Please forgive me.” Puleeze! Change? As if! He’s not capable of change. It makes me want to puke. I’d have sent him packing with his tail between his legs.

My father was devastated when he left. I was outraged: he just threw money at him. I don’t know how he had the nerve to ask for it in the first place. I work here all this time, rarely a word of thanks no obvious appreciation; in fact I’m pretty much taken for granted, but do you hear me complain? No. I don’t do resentment – it’s not a nice quality. But I’d be within my rights. You know, I don’t ask for much. I don’t need constant attention and affirmation: I’m not a spoilt child but that little waster comes along and sweet talks the old man and bang! He’s got a wad in his back pocket and you don’t see him for dust. But I’m not bitter. Good riddance I say. I’ll miss him but not a lot!

So, I’m starting to get used to it being just my Father and me, getting some attention and long overdue appreciation. You know I really wasn’t putting the knife in for Dillon but I did think it was only right and proper to set the old man straight on one or two things about Golden Boy . . . and he breezes back - broke of course.

They’re having a party now. A party for goodness sake! My Father will be all teary-eyed and Dillon’ll be chasing some little slut round the storerooms.

Me? Go in there? Hell’ll freeze over first.