one million holes

or, five times percy felt abandon by his father and one time he didn't.

one.

The summer after first grade, Percy went to a camp. Well, it wasn't exactly a camp. It was more like a daycare inside of an old church, out in the suburbs, and it was the only place his mom could afford to send him, since it was highly subsided by some religious organization.

So everyday, as the sun glared over Manhattan, he was shuffled onto a bus. The bus ride always seemed like an eternity, but Percy spent most of his time fidgeting his fingers, kicking the seat in front of him, and looking out of the window. The urban landscape of his town, the seemingly endless metropolis, never failed to amuse him.

Once they arrived at the church—Percy and all of the kids he didn't really know—they would start activities. There was movement ("So… it's just a fancy word for dance?" Percy had asked his counselor), singing, naptime, and crafts.

The day wasn't particularly special— everyday seemed like the same, repetitive schedule over and over. But the staff promised all of the kids that there was a special art project at the end of the day.

Several hours later, Percy found himself with all of the kids and staff, gathered in the main room. From the ceiling, a great chandelier hung down, but the floors were covered in paint and crayon. They hadn't started the activity yet, but Percy, eager and impatient, had already begun. He was using the blue paint dauber to polka dot a sheet of red construction paper. Just as he was about to finish, the old woman in charge of the whole camp/daycare cleared her throat very loudly and called for everyone's attention.

The room went silent, which says a lot when you have a bunch of small children in a contained space. The woman looked around, observing the adolescent crowd, before announcing, "We're making father's day cards."

A majority of the children erupted into laughter, a frenzy of excited kids. Beside him, Percy heard a group of girls debating who would make the prettiest card.

The woman in charge cleared her throat again, and talked about the instructions and the meaning of cards and how they're so nice and lovely. All of the kids seemed amused and happy.

Except for Percy. He could make a card for his mother, sure, but it just wasn't the same. Maybe he could make a card and throw it into the ocean, and by some chance, his dad would find it. But then it would be all soggy and gross, the words smeared and the picture void of any meaning.

So Percy decided on a different course of action: leaving. He went to the bathroom and closed himself on a stall, and attempted to count to 1,000. By the time Percy counted to 453, he was bored. He peaked into the main room, where the kids were still making cards. Percy shrugged and wandered outside of the building, looking at the tranquil street. Nice, big houses lined up perfectly, with shingles and yards and driveways. Perfect houses for perfect nuclear families.

Percy knew it was bad, he knew it was toxic, but somewhere in his mind, a voice rung. Maybe if my dad wasn't lost at sea, we'd be living in one of these houses.

He stood there for a bit longer, thinking about what could've been—what should've been. All of the hypothetical universes where he was a normal kid who had a father and could read books without crying.

Eventually, a counselor came out and found Percy, who was still just standing outside of the church, a longing gaze in his green eyes.

The old woman—the one who gave instructions before—was not happy with Percy. She scolded him for going outside of the building without permission.

two.

When Percy was in the second grade, his class had a career day. All of the parents came in and shared their fancy jobs to the class.

Matt's dad was a journalist specializing in Middle Eastern affairs and he got to go to crazy places like Dubai and Saudi Arabia. He had cool pictures of the beige desert landscape that seemed to expand into nothingness, and he showed the class an exotic fruit from Lebanon. Cassidy's mom helped to manage the stage at Madison Square Garden and got to do sound checks with all of the celebrities. She passed around a poster some boy band had signed, and showed the class a behind-the-scenes video.

Percy told his mom not to come, because he knew that if she took the time off, Gabe would yell at her for being a lazy ass. (Gabe would always yell that. The boys on the playground told Percy exactly what the phrase meant, and Percy thought it was awfully ironic coming from Gabe of all people).

But towards the end of class, after nearly everyone's parents had presented, the girl next to Percy—her name was Sam, and she always wore purple Mary Jane shoes—turned to him and innocently asked him, "Where's your parent?"

And Percy sighed, telling Sam that his mom was busy at work.

For a moment, Sam's face lit up in realization, but then her eyebrows scrunched up in confusion again and she asked another question. "So why didn't your dad come?"

Percy didn't know what to say. "Gabe isn't very fun."

"You call your dad Gabe?"

Percy was trying really, really hard to stay calm, but he was mentally screaming and crying. "He's my stepdad. I don't know my real dad." He replied as coolly as he could, carefully choosing his words.

And before Sam could ask another question, the bell rang, and school was over.

Percy thanked God for that good timing. But then he reminded himself that if he had a dad like the rest of the kids, he wouldn't have been in that situation in the first place. He cursed God and took his thanks back.

three.

Percy started the fifth grade at a different school. He'd gotten expelled from his last school after he accidentally knocked the wrong lever during a field trip to the aquarium, which resulted in his class taking a not-so-pleasant swim with the sharks.

In his fairness, who would even let kids within the general proximity of such a vital lever? It really wasn't his fault, but regardless, it got him landed at a new school.

In music class, they got assigned partners, and they were supposed to work on creating a beat on the bongo drums together.

His partner was named Debby, and she had bright blonde hair that was straighter than a pole, really white teeth with bright blue braces, and a neon pink shirt and yellow leggings.

They work together okay—Percy's never been horrible at music, and Debby doesn't seem to mind that he's easily distracted. She likes him because he listens to her drone on about her old town in Texas.

In the beginning of October, Debby turned to Percy and asked him, "Do you like football?"

"Uh… it's okay?" Quite frankly, Percy knew next to nothing about football, except that it involved a lot of head-butting. There wasn't much room to play football in Manhattan, Gabe always hogged the TV, and Percy never really had any interest in going out of his way to learn about it.

"Oh, okay. Well, where I'm from, it's a really big deal. And my dad wants to invite some people over for the Super Bowl. Like, a Super Bowl party. And there'll be nachos and salsa and really good snacks. Can you come?"

Percy almost immediately objected. "But I won't know anyone there."

"Well that's okay! Your dad can come! Our dads could be friends! Wouldn't that be funny?"

Percy turned away. "Yeah, real funny." Then he paused for a minute, trying to think of another excuse. "I just remembered my dad's away for the Super Bowl. Maybe next year."

Of course, by the next year, Percy will have switched schools again, and he knows that. But Debby didn't know that.

Debby grinned. "Next year, then!"

four.

Somehow, things got worse. For the sixth grade, Percy got shipped off to boarding school. Boarding school! And like almost all boarding schools, it had gross uniforms and classes on Saturdays.

Regardless, some parts of Yancy were great— like Mr. Brunner's class. They'd only been in school for a quarter, but Mr. Brunner would let them play with fake swords and he never gave homework. He was easygoing, and though remembering all of the mumbo-jumbo mythological names was hard, it was the first academic class Percy ever, really, genuinely enjoyed.

Percy's other classes, however, were not as great. Like all American schools, Yancy required English. English was already hard enough, thanks to Percy's dyslexia, but the curriculum was absolutely dreadful.

Percy's class was doing a unit on ancestry and its role in literature. To make the project more "personal", everybody had to make a family tree. It was really simple, all you had to do was just include the names, dates of birth, and dates of death for your parents, grandparents, and great grandparents.

That being said, talking about your ancestry is much harder with an absentee dad. After the teacher finished presenting the project, Percy raised his hand. The teacher saw him and nodded. "Sir, what if I don't know where my dad's from?"

The teacher looked confused. "Then call him, and ask him."

Percy just accepted the answer, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of the class.

He didn't do the project.

It's not like he'd be invited to come back next year, anyway.

five.

"I've always been told that he's lost at sea."

"Lost at sea." Grover repeated.

The two were laying on their twin beds in the dark. It was early November, and they'd just finished a huge history paper. The first quarter was filled with a lot of homework, busywork, and adjusting to the school; so neither of the roommates really had a chance to become friends yet. But that particular night, neither of them could fall asleep, and it was past lights out.

So, naturally, they talked to each other.

"What's it like, not having a dad? I'm sorry, that was a rude questi—"

Percy didn't want Grover to feel guilty, so he reassured Grover. "No, it's fine. And uh…" Percy hesitated, not able to find the right words. "Well I guess… I guess it feels… it feels like a million holes."

"Oh." Grover said, clearly not understanding.

Percy elaborated. "You're just missing something from your life. And no matter how much my mom tries to do, something feels missing, and it's horrible, because I know she's trying really hard and I'm really grateful but it just still never feels like enough. It's like a million holes, and every time you fill up one, another one pops up. So you're just stuck with all of this emptiness and small, tiny needs that you'll never be able to completely fill. Like it's just so empty and hollow but no one wants to talk about it, really. There's just so much." There was silence. "Does that sound dumb?"

There was a long lapse of silence.

"Percy, you shouldn't be—"

Be Percy didn't want to hear Grover's advice. He was tired and didn't need commentary on his so-called "daddy issues" he'd had his whole life. "Goodnight, Grover." Percy said forcefully.

"There's something I need to tell y—"

"I'm falling asleep already." Percy dug his face into his pillow.

one.

It was years later. Percy sat on a bench in Olympus overlooking New York, a few yards away from the council room, where everybody was partying, celebrating the defeat of Kronos's army. He was so lost in looking at all of New York's twinkling lights that he didn't notice—

"One."

Grover had slid onto the bench next to him.

"What?" Percy's eyebrows scrunched up. What was one?

"When we had our first, legitimate conversation a couple years ago, you told me you had a million holes and you could never fill a single one up because you didn't know your dad." Grover took a deep breath, looking over at Percy.

Percy had a ghost of a smile on his face. "I did say that, didn't I?"

Grover continued, "Over the past four years, a lot has changed. Your dad is a few yards away, celebrating something you did. You might have nine hundred and ninety nine thousand holes left, but I think that over the last few years, you've definitely filled up at least one hole. That might not seem like a lot, it might seem like your whole life is still an utter mess. But I think you've made at least a bit of improvement."

Percy murmured, still looking out at the New York skyline "You have to start somewhere."

"So you might have several thousand holes left, but it's a lot better than it used to be."

"Yeah," Percy thought about all of the times his dad had been absent in his life. "One day, I hope I'll have nine hundred ninety nine thousand holes filled, and only left. That'd be pretty funny, right?"

Grover wasn't sure he completely understood what Percy was trying to say, but he grinned anyway.

Cover picture from ri-dump on tumblr.

Yesterday was March 21, which is National Single Parent Day. This was supposed to be Sally-centric, but it diverged into something else. Not sure I like how it turned out.