Audiobook Narration
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Chapter one. The first time it happened, I was five. At least that's the first time I remember it happening. They say it can happen even earlier than that. My dad and I were at the park playing baseball. Rather, my dad was on the phone and I was throwing the ball up and catching it by myself. Must have looked kind of pathetic from the outside. But I didn't mind. I was just happy he was spending time with me anyway. The park by our house had this huge fountain. It was a gaudy monstrosity with steps of tiered cement stretching 50 feet into the sky. It had been a community project, one of those let's throw money into an already affluent neighborhood as an excuse to get together for bourbon and cigars and pat ourselves on the back for a job well done. The fountain was an eyesore, but it was fun in the summer when the weather was hot. It was one of those marble designs with men in military uniforms lifting Iraq and a few ridiculous cherubs added to make a childlike, I wondered off a little ways from my dad throwing the ball higher and higher, trying to tune out that he was screaming at someone in Japanese. Eventually I ended up right in front of that fountain. I gave the ball another hard throw, frustrated that I had no one to throw it to. Frickin thing landed right on top of the fountain on top of the bloomin rock the marble men were lifting. At this 0.5 year old me was in a tough spot. It was a rare occasion that my dad would take me anywhere just for fun, and I did not want to screw it all up by losing the ball my uncle had given me. I tried to climb the first few steps, but slipped and fell. I looked for something I could use as a ladder, but there was nothing but grass and perfectly prune trees. As far as the eye could see. I turned and glared at the ball. Stupid thing. That's when it happened. Born from that ironic need not to disappoint my father. One second I was staring up at the fountain. The next I was sitting at the very top of the rock, those military marble men holding the boulder and me while water cascaded down around them. The baseball held tightly in my hands. A huge grin stretched across my face. I remember my dad running over, dropping the phone and shouting. He kept looking over a shoulder like he was terrified. Someone might see. I didn't realize until much later he was crying and the shouting. I'd never heard anything like it. He kept sane. You climbed up there. You climbed up there. Oh, by yourself. You climbed up there, Remember? You climbed up there. Of course, I had no idea what was happening. I was just happy I'd recovered the bowl. A week later, a construction crew tore down that fountain. My dad said it was unrelated. I watched from my bedroom window. I'd for gotten most of the incident for like, a decade, but it's one of my first memories, my dad shouting like that. It was just a small preview of things to come. James. My eyes opened slowly than my heartbeat quickened, and I shot up into a sitting position. One hand flew out to silence my alarm before I realized it was my dad, yelling from downstairs and not the annoying blaring for my alarm. James, get your *** out of bed. You're gonna be late for school. Oppressed a pillow over my face with a silent grown cursing the sun and all its Southern California consistency cursing the addictive video game that had kept me awake until just a few hours before my feet hit the floor. And I answered before he could call again. I'm coming. Give me two minutes. The routine was simple. Brush the teeth, wash the face, give up on the hair. Lucinda, our housekeeper, had come by yesterday afternoon and left a stack of clean clothes on top of my dresser. I threw on the first thing in the pile of made It downstairs with 30 seconds to spare. My dad was pacing back and forth in the kitchen, who was only 7 30 but already a phone was glued to each hand. He lowered them slightly and gestured at a bowl of fruit. Finally, get yourself some breakfast. You need to eat something before we head out. I headed automatically to the Cabinet and pulled out a mug. It was just a automatically snatched for my hand food. James, not caffeine. You don't need coffee. You're a kid. The man barely ever looked at me, but he would always seem to know exactly where I waas. I waited until his back was turned before filling up a thermos and slipping it into my bag. You ready? He asked impatiently, clicking off both phones and slipping them into his briefcase. I'm giving you a right in. Today, I paused where he stood, giving him a strange look. Since when do you care? He seemed to ask himself the same question I heard in me towards the garage with an impatient wave. Just get in the car. When I say garage, it probably conjures a certain image. Two cars grease stained, floor cluttered shelves of personal memorabilia long ago surrendered to spiders. Ours was different than that. My father didn't seem to have much passion in his life, but one thing he did care about was his cars. He cared fiercely. Our garage had been custom built to house four frickin parking bays that were as long as the house shined like a showroom and polished to the point where it was dangerous to walk on the floor. There was a Porsche, the been