The Knight School Journal by Gretchen L. Winkler © 2014 - Sample section
“Why do we need to take him in for an interview? He’s just a kid and this is a school not some job interview,” she complained as the car zoomed along the rainy streets.
“I don’t know. It is bad enough we both have to be there. Let’s not make this any worse,” he replied to her as he remained somewhat focused on the driving of his SUV.
The wipers flipped back and forth removing the rain from the windshield. Kyle remained silent to make sure that nothing he did made the situation any worse. Neither of them wanted to be there, and at times it seemed like neither of them wanted him around. Their solution to their problem was to have him go to a private school so that they would not argue about custody as much. The only say he had in the matter was that he got to choose what school he went to, which was only after his parents had spent months arguing about which school he should attend. His mother, who was half Mexican and half white Texan, and grew up on a modest cattle ranch was a born again Christian and wanted him to go to Christian religious school while his father the son of Swedish immigrant and a Canadian socialite was a doctor of theoretical and applied physics wanted him to go to a non-religious school since his father was a proclaimed atheist. It seemed as if they had nothing in common.
“I don’t think this was such a good idea to allow him to pick a military school. They’ll only teach him to kill and that’s against God’s Will,” she remarked. “And there is nothing in their brochure about religious training. It says they respect and accept a variety of religious backgrounds. What’s that supposed to mean? Is Kyle gonna have to celebrate some weird blue armed heathen ritual where he has to light a bunch of candles and burn incense?”
“No, that sounds more like the crap that your wiccan sister is doing,” he replied.
“I don’t want to talk about her. We pray for her everyday and sooner or later she’ll hear the call of Jesus,” she retorted angrily.
“Yeah, perhaps if she were really stoned out of her mind on those anti-depressants that she’s been taking for years with no results,” commented Kyle’s father.
“And just what’s that supposed to mean?”
Kyle was watching the numbers on the buildings keeping an eye out for the correct number, and then the SUV went racing past the entrance to the parking lot.
“Uh, Dad, the….,” said Kyle.
“Hush Honey, Mommy and Daddy are talking,” said his Mom.
“But we just passed the entrance to the place where the interview is located.”
“Damn!” said his father as he looked about and at the GPS device that showed that they had just driven past their destination. “Damn it, Marie, you’re so hot tempered about everything and you made me miss the building.”
“Is this another slight against my heritage? My father was not hot tempered.”
“Yeah, then why did he always get mad when I wanted him to speak English to me? I don’t think that’s much for me to ask for considering my father learned English.”
“Oh, it’s always back to how high and mighty your family is and how backward we are. I am so sick of it,” replied Kyle’s mother folding her arms and facing out her passenger car window. “I wish we had taken my car. I would drop you off to take a bus home.”
“If we had taken your car, we’d be over an hour late since you are so busy talking on the cell phone while driving,” snapped Kyle’s father.
“I don’t think you ever loved me,” she sobbed.
“Oh great, now cry in front of Kyle and make me look like the bad guy. I am so sick of that.”
Finally Kyle’s father pulled the SVU into the parking lot of the office complex where the interview for the school was scheduled to occur. Kyle was looking forward to being in a place where his parents would not feel so free to argue and snap at each other.
As Kyle walked up to the glossy dark glass doors seeing his reflection, he realized how much he looked like his father. He had golden blonde hair, bright blue eyes, average height and build for his age and skin that was just in between his Mom and Dad’s coloring. Other than his slightly darker skin color and ability to get a nice tan during the summer months, he was an exact younger version of his Dad. Kyle stepped into the building leaving the rain and dreary attitudes of his parents behind him. The lady at the reception desk eyed him as he looked around the very clean and nicely designed office building entrance reception hall. His Canadian grandmother owned a building much like this and probably more in Toronto.
“Can I help you?” asked the lady at the reception desk. Kyle smiled at the thin young woman with pale skin, light colored hair, and deep set eyes. She had an unusual accent that reminded him of Chekov in the Star Trek movies. He was about to reply when his Mother and Father entered the building.
“Kyle, don’t disturb that lady, she’s busy,” said his Mom in an authoritative tone.
“Oh, no worry. He is not bothering me,” said the receptionist with the strange accent. “Can I help you find where you are going?”
“We have an appointment with an S.K.C. Pembroke. We want to enroll our son into a private school, and they require an interview,” said Kyle’s father before his mother could speak up.
“Oh I see, let me look up the schedule,” replied the receptionist who started typing and eyeballing the flat screen computer monitor. “I see you have a 10:00 appointment….. Your are Mr. and Mrs. Bergendahl….”
“No. We are no longer married. I am Mz. Marie Gomez.”
“Yes, but I am Dr. Bergendahl, and this is my son Kyle. And the three of us have an appointment with Mr. Pembroke.”
“I see,” said the receptionist. “I will make note of the name correction into our database so that the mistake will not happen again. Please take the elevator up to the 10th floor and go to office 1015.”
Kyle eagerly went over to where the elevators stood waiting and pushed the button for up. The elevator light went on for the request.
“Kyle, don’t touch,” scolded his mother.
‘Why are you bitching at him? He just pushed the elevator button. I want him to think for himself and be self reliant,” said his Dad.
“Oh, I am bitching? He has no self control. I don’t want him going off just pushing buttons whenever he pleases. At least I care about what he does,” replied his mother.
Kyle sighed and wondered when the arguing would stop. He felt embarrassed and ashamed that his parents could not be civil to each other just for a few minutes, not even for him. The ride up in the elevator was not much better, but at least there was no one else to hear what was being said. At least that is what Kyle thought at the time.
