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I already had applied to many of my dream schools, but before they hit the mailbox father had to look at them. I had applied to a few academies for music, but each application that was sent to a school for music it was shredded. Father didn’t believe there was a good outlook for musicians.
It surprises me. He’s the one who forced me to play the violin when I was little. Had a teacher come to our home twice a week for years to teach me. Now it’s pointless to him? I can play any bloody song by Bach or Beethoven or hell I can Shostakovich pieces. Now he just wants to discard that fact I can play and focus on a true job.
Football was out of the question as well. Sure I was offered a full ride to a university because of my talents, but once again it wasn’t approved by father. Maybe I should just drop out and live on the streets. Be more of a disgrace to the Pitch’s name.
I won’t. I wouldn’t do that to my mother.
My internet history throughout junior year of high school was college degrees. What would be the easier to earn as well be approved to my father. Teaching was something. I could do that. My mother was a principle at the high school I went to. My father was a lawyer. Not what I can see myself doing. I gave up.
Dinner those nights were the same. Silence from my siblings as our parents conversing about their day. About halfway through our meals, father would turn his attention to me. To his eldest son like if he truly cared about me.
He would start off with, “Basilton, have you figured out what you want to do?”
I usually would stir at my supper and give a shrug. Silence wasn’t the best idea to give to my father, but I did. It ticked him off.
Sometimes my mother would invite herself into the conversation. “You know, my brother works for the police. You could do that.” Or she would reply with, “Ashley’s father, you know Mordelia’s friend, deals with computers. Tech support, I believe.”
I would just gave the usual shrug and excuse myself from dinner. Barely anything picked on my plate, but I would just give the excuse of the large amount of homework.
The typical dinner at the Grimm Manor. A grim sight. If only there was a way to escape this hell and just be a musician or a professional football player? The true way to be banished from the family.
It was October when my father decided to drop in my room uninvited. A dark glare came from me when I saw him enter. I was on my bed with my homework laid out in front of me. Chemistry. His glare was stronger and put mine to shame. (I was still working on it.)
It took all the strength that night not to tell him to leave my room. All the strength to not tell him to fuck off.
He stared towards me until I gave him my dying attention. It took a moment, but I did. I capped the pen and put it on the notebook.
He was the first to speak. “You need to decide now, Basilton.” His words came out like gunfire. Each hitting harder than the first.
I gave a slight nod, slightly scared. “Yes, father.”
“There is no, ‘yes, father’. What are you going to school for?” He demanded.
I looked down for a moment. I had to think of something quick. I had not thought of anything in weeks. Midterms were the only thing on my mind. My eyes rolled from my chemistry homework to the closed laptop to my left.
“Computers.” I spit out. I knew nothing about computers. Never have I even taken one computer class in my entire life.
He gave a odd expression, but gave a slight nod before leaving my room. That is the closest thing I ever got to an approval to my father. I was now destined for a job in the world of technology. I was going in blind. This was madness. I rather just write sheet music than code unspeakable languages.
Once he left, I ignored my chemistry homework and looked at my computer. I pulled up the search engine and did everything I could that night to learn about computers. That night and the rest of high school, I taught myself different languages. Java, python, HTML. I figured out how to hack into a small business’s website. It wasn't that difficult.
All the college applications that were sent out were to colleges for computers and technology. A few to some that were too far to drive everyday, some close to the city, some out of the country. I wanted be out of this house. I didn’t really care what college I was going to, but I knew I was going to be some computer person.
Not tech support. I don’t have the patience.
A few schools replied, but they weren’t the top of my list. The one that stood out was Watford University. Dev, one of my friends, was talking about going there. It was probably best to go there with him. Too far to drive, so I knew I would be staying on campus or somewhere near the campus.
One dinner I told my parents. I looked straight at my father’s eyes and stated, “I am going to Watford University, father.” I didn’t need his approval on this. I don’t need it anymore.
I told my friends, Dev and Niall, where I was going. Apparently they were going the same university. I was proud that the school would have two students I knew. I wasn’t going in completely blind then. Neither of them knew what I was going for. I didn’t want them to know.
I was eighteen. I could leave the manor and live on my own, but I thought it was best to stay to finish high school. Freshmen had to stay on campus, so that went the idea of getting my own apartment with my mates. But when the summer came to move into the dorms at Watford, I did it the first day I could. My aunt Fiona had decided to help me move in.
The room was half the size of my room at home, but it was suppose to dorm two blokes. Felt like a joke, but I can’t argue. Once I was done unpacking, Fiona left and I was left alone in the dorm. My roommate didn’t show up until the last day of moving in. Two days after I moved in.
It was fine to judge a bloke by how he walks in the door. If only I knew that you could’ve picked a roommate before hand, I would’ve crashed with Crowley himself over my new dorm mate. It was too late for that.
So here I am. A freshman at Watford University in the computer science track.