2003-07-28; 9:51 a.m.

.. gut deep trouble ..

"I have some pull if you want to get ahead of the other people on the list; he owes me some favours..."

I stood on the carporch making marks on the lawnmower handle with a pair of scissors, staring straight down while he spoke. He seemed more eager than reluctant (my father), and something churned in my stomach.

I always hear about it - people getting ahead, using connections and influence to get the things that they need. I want what is offered. It is just a matter of time before I get it, with or without the help. What about that one person who may be affected by my decision? How long have they been waiting on the list to get into the program? Only thirty people can get in each time around.

"I don't know; we'll see," I turned and walked up the brick steps and leaned into the doorknob, closed cold scissors pressing along my bicep. He did not say anything else with his lips, but I could sense the paragraphs clewing up his eyes.

I hate his control.

I hate needing what he could give me so easily.

I would hate to compromise my sense of honour.

Or maybe I should get over myself and take, because this is a world in which the takers get ahead.

"I could," he started and finished deeply, "I could talk to them if you're nervous."

What am I? A fucking invalid? When was the last time that I asked anyone for anything? I screwed up my face and kept my thoughts, and I shook my head and went inside.

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