Life is hard. That is a universal truth, but not everyone faces it the same way. For some, the difficulty lies in sacrifices; for others, in disappointments. For me, it's about carrying a constant weight, as if everything is designed to remind me that there's no time for pauses or mistakes. Maybe that's why I've become apathetic. It's easier to expect nothing when you're never given something you really want.
My father always says that discipline is everything. "If you want something, work for it. And if you don't want it, still work for it, because life won't ask you." It's not that it's bad advice—it's just… him. Cold, demanding, uncompromising. Since Mom passed away three years ago, he's kept the house running like a Swiss watch. Each day has its schedule; each action, its purpose. He expects perfection, and I try to give it to him, even though it's never enough.
I work in this store, not because I need the money. My father has more than he could ever spend in a lifetime, but he insists that I must learn to earn my own before starting college. He says that this way, I'll understand the value of effort. That's why I'm here—because the owner of this shop is his childhood friend, and he got me this job. A "life lesson," Dad calls it. For me, it's just another way of showing that his way of doing things is the only valid one.
"Sack, stop looking like that and serve the customers!" Mr. Adler, the store owner, shouts at me from the back office.
"Yes, I'm coming," I answer without much enthusiasm, leaving my cell phone on the counter. Not that there's much to do. Most customers arrive, browse, shop, and leave without needing help. That gives me time to focus on my own thoughts, although I'd rather be anywhere else.
It's not that I hate the idea of working. What I hate is doing it here, surrounded by sneakers and sportswear that have never interested me. But Dad insists, and I don't feel like arguing. After all, in two months, I'll be in college, and I'll be able to put all this behind me. Medicine. A career I didn't choose out of passion, but because it's what's expected of me. Though I suppose there's some comfort in knowing that I'll at least be good at it.
Today was a day like any other—or at least that's what I thought at first. But then she came. The girl with the Hello Kitty t-shirt and an attitude that didn't match her sweet looks. From the moment I spoke to her too harshly, her gaze challenged me. I wasn't used to that. Most people either ignore my apathy or get angry; she did something different: she confronted me, but with a touch of intelligence that threw me off.
I'm not one to analyze people too much, but there was something about Lindsay—because I made sure to read her name on the receipt—that lingered in my mind. Maybe it was her direct words, or maybe the way her eyes lingered for a second too long on my cell phone when I left the email open. I didn't say anything, but I noticed.
When my shift ended, I walked home with the box of my own problems tightly closed. There's no room for distractions; there are goals to meet. However, something about that encounter with Lindsay refused to go away. Maybe because, for a brief moment, I felt something different.
That aside, I'm now finishing up sending the papers to the university. The computer screen lights up my room when I hear the door open. My father enters, impeccable as always, with a slightly furrowed brow.
"How was work today?" he asks, without much interest in his tone. He doesn't expect an extensive response, just a confirmation that everything is going according to plan.
"Good," I reply, without taking my eyes off the screen. I don't need more words; I know that for him, that's enough.
"Remember, this is temporary, Sack. The important thing is what comes next. The discipline you're cultivating here will serve you for life."
"I know," I reply, trying to keep my tone neutral. There's no point in arguing, much less showing tiredness.
He stays a few more seconds, watching me as if he wants to say something else, but finally nods and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. His firm footsteps echo through the corridor.
I let out a sigh and return to the screen. The conversation was simple, as always.
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The sun timidly filters through the curtains of my room, illuminating the mess of clothes and books I left lying around last night. I get dressed with the first thing I find and head downstairs to the kitchen, where my father is already reading the newspaper, as he does every morning. We don't talk much; it's our style. After breakfast, I grab my backpack and head to the park, where I arranged to meet Daniel, my best friend."You're late, as always," Daniel says, smiling as he tosses a ball in the air and catches it again.
"Five minutes isn't too late," I reply, shrugging my shoulders.
We sit on a bench under the shade of a tree. Daniel is excited; he's going to study law in another city, and although he doesn't say it directly, I know he's counting the days until he leaves here.
"Are you ready for college?" he asks, turning to me.
"Yes, I suppose. All that's missing is the final paperwork. And you?""All done. I can't wait to get out of this place. It's as if everything here is frozen in time. I need something else… dynamic, you know?" His eyes sparkle with a mixture of excitement and anxiety."Yes, I understand you," I lie. The truth is, I share his feeling, but admitting it would be like betraying that apathy that protects me.
Daniel looks at me for a moment, as if trying to read something in my expression.
"I don't know how you can stand it, Sack. Your old man and everything else… It's not that I'm an expert, but I think you should think about what you want to do, not just what he expects."
His comment takes me by surprise. It's not often that someone talks about this with me.
"It's complicated," I reply, avoiding his gaze.
"I know. But you don't have to carry everything just because someone else says so. Think about that."
"Let's grab a drink. I heard a Starbucks opened nearby."
"Well, I got a little hungry. I could eat something light before lunch."
By the time we get to Starbucks, we walk in, and I see that girl from yesterday. Even though she's dressed differently, she's sitting in a corner, having a drink—I imagine coffee—with a croissant.