Win or Place

[ViolentMedic]

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Marshall looked at the source, but he didn’t really have to. Every second was punctured by a quiet tick that was currently the loudest noise imaginable. He glanced, as if that would make it go faster or be quieter, and then looked back at his Math book. He completed the last question for the current section, then closed it.

He had taken twenty-three minutes longer than intended. That left him either twenty-three minutes less sleep, or twenty-three minutes less to go over his History notes.

He looked at the clock again.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Twenty-three minutes less sleep. It was important for him to do well. The importance of his first year of high school could not be overstated. It could determine the entire trajectory of his life.

Marshall opened his History book.

The ticking continued to fill the room. There was no other sound, except for the scratching of his pen.

Marshall hated that clock. He hated that sound. But there was nowhere else to go this late at night, except to be in the apartment with that clock. Even if he moved to another room, he would still hear it. He would know it was there.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Power through. The clock didn’t beat him in middle school. It wasn’t going to get him now.

Marshall jotted down some notes, scratch scratch scratch--

Tick. Tick. Tick.

--when he heard the front door creak open. Marshall immediately sat up straighter, before putting his pen down and rocketing out of his chair towards the noise.

“Dad! You’re back!”

“Not so loud, Marshall, you’ll wake the neighbours at this--” His dad blinked tiredly at him a few times, then looked at his watch. It contrasted heavily with his plainer clothes, a fancy watch that he’d had for years. A leftover of a different life. “...Why are you still awake?”

“I’m studying!” Marshall whispered loudly, beaming as he pushed his dad further into the apartment. “I made food. I’ll heat yours up. It’s important to eat!”

His father didn’t protest to being pushed along, allowing himself to be jammed into a chair while Marshall beelined for the fridge. He rested his chin on his hand, nodding off at the table, as Marshall pushed leftovers into the microwave.

“You didn’t need to do that...”

“You don’t eat enough if I don’t make you.” Marshall frowned at his father, as he jammed his fingers against the microwave. “You need to eat, especially if they make you work so late so often. They were meant to let you leave hours ago!” Then he beamed. “Important work?”

His father kept his eyes shut for a moment, mouth twisting a little, before he pushed himself up. “Important work,” he said. “Got a windfall that someone’s owed me for a bit. We should be good for a while.”

“Glad to hear it!”

As Marshall placed food on the table, his father waved him over while rifling in his pocket.

“Here. ...I owe you a fair bit of pocket money, don’t I?” His father retrieved a few notes, holding them out to Marshall.

Marshall couldn’t tell how much at a glance, but they looked like hundreds.

“...That is a big windfall,” Marshall murmured under his breath, eyes wide. Then he reached out, and pushed his dad’s hand back. “You should save it. In case the next month doesn’t go so good.”

“It’s fine.”

“Yeah, exactly, it’s fine. You take it. You have to pay for things.”

Marshall’s father looked at him for a moment, then looked down.

“...I hate making you live like this,” he muttered.

“Like what? We have a roof. We have food. The electricity works. I don’t even have to work, and can dedicate myself to my studies! I am doing fine! You’re the one who has to carry the weight of the debts. You shouldn’t worry about me having less pocket money. You should focus yourself, or on the positives!”

Marshall beamed at his father as he tried to push the money back once more.

“I don’t mind how we live, Dad. I just want you to be happy.”

His father looked at him, then at the money, then clasped his hands together and rested his face on them.

“...I’m not proud of how I got that money. I want to do something good with it,” he murmured, voice tired.

“Not proud?” Marshall narrowed his eyes briefly. “Dad. Be honest with me. Is this gangster money?”

“Gangster money? No! Nonono, it’s… nothing I did to get that money would have hurt anyone, I--”

“Are you sure it’s not gangster money? No diamond mines in Africa or whatever?”

“No! No… just… if I have that money, it'll go. It'll be gone, and you'll be in the same place as before, and so will I, and... just take the money, Marshall. Please?”

His father held it out again, for the third time. The microwave went off, and Marshall turned away briefly to retrieve the plate of food within, placing it in front of his father along with a spoon. Marshall’s mouth twisted as he contemplated the money, then he extended his hand.

“Okay.” Marshall tried to smile, but it wouldn’t happen. He had never been good at faking it. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” His father smiled back at him. He looked tired. He needed sleep. But first, Marshall gave the food another nudge.

“Eat up! Then go to bed!”

“Who’s parenting who here?” Still, his father did pick up the spoon.

Marshall sat down as well, pulling his homework back towards him and getting started again on his History work. The two of them sat in silence, working or eating, until his father finished the food, thanked him, and headed to bed. Marshall got up to wash the dish that remained, then continued with his work.

The clock wasn’t so loud anymore.

-

Marshall didn’t touch the money, only putting it in a safe place in his room.

He could have used the money. He probably would have bought a nice camera with it, if he thought about what was high on his list. But he didn't. He knew better. He knew how this happened, every time.

He waited until money was tight again, because he knew that his father was bad at saving. Knew that he got heady with the idea of actually having money. Forgot about his debts. Forgot how quickly money could go.

Marshall knew it wouldn’t be long, because it never was.

Sure enough, two months later, his father was glaring at their bills again with a sour look on his face, and his hours started to stretch once more. The ticking of the clock got louder again.

When Marshall spent another night trying to ignore the clock, working while waiting, his father walked in late at night, and didn’t say much when Marshall shoved another plate of food in front of him. He went to bed shortly after. He left his wallet in the kitchen.

Marshall went to his room, found the money where he’d put it, returned to the kitchen and put the money back inside his father’s wallet.

If his father ever noticed, he never said anything about it.