it happen again.
Father was awake, staring at him. His mouth clamped tight, almost in a grimace, his jaw moved left-to-right as he ground his teeth.
“Dad,” Mike said blinking and rubbing his sleep-swelled eyes, “It was an accident. It won’t happen again. I promise.”
Father’s jaw unlocked with a viciousness.
“You’ll burn in hell for this, you lousy son-of-a-bitch. I don’t give a good goddamn who your family knows up there in Jeff City or how much money they have.”
Tonight, Mike promised himself, he would not play games. He wanted answers. If Father was trying to send him a message, it was his duty to decipher the code.
“What is it? Who do you think I am?”
“Don’t act stupid. Maybe most folks around here don’t give a rat’s ass about some little colored girl, but I do. I already called the sheriff and told him what I know you’ve done. He said he’d be here soon enough. Until then, I’m not to let you out of my sight.” The exertion of speaking tired him more than a ten-mile run. Father carefully chose his next words. “I hope the sheriff let’s me cut your balls off.”
Exhausted, his eyes fluttered closed.
Mike hadn’t liked what father had said, but was glad he was consistent. Any doubts he had as to his father’s sanity were disqualified. He was of sound mind if only it was in a distant memory.
***
Mother brought Mike a coat, one of Father’s many and insisted he put it on before leaving the hospital room. It was a full size to big, accustomed to wider shoulders and a larger tummy. The furry lamb’s wool lining dyed dark blue was warm and soft. Two silver rings, where a badge would have been clipped over the left breast, were vacant. He felt like a child playing dress-up.
After breakfast with Mother, he came home. Daniel’s voice echoed from the answering machine as he came through the door. He rushed to pick-up the cordless extension, tripped, and fell in a slide across the linoleum kitchen floor. Embarrassed, he used the counter’s ledge to get back to his feet.
With regret, Mike pressed the machine’s play button. Where his mother loathed tardiness, he hated voice mail, forced to listen to people as they pretended to talk to the person they had called. It seemed counterintuitive. Likewise, he shunned cell phones. How the world’s problems were going to somehow be solved while driving seventy miles per-hour was a mystery to him.
“Hey, Mike it’s Dan. You there, buddy?” Daniel asked igniting another pet peeve of Mike’s. It was like writing a letter with the opening sentence asking if you were reading this. Some things were apparent. “Guess not. Look, dude I’ve been checking sources against what you told me, but haven’t found anything that sits on all four legs. I’m on my way now to meet a buddy. He’s got stuff going back before the bible. I’ve got a hell of a busy day ahead of me. Call me on my cellie if you want, but that’s pretty much it for now. I will be in the office all day tomorrow fact-checking. Let’s have a couple of brew-hahas for old time sake, say about six at Fred’s place tomorrow night? Anyway, call me, dude. Let me know what’s up.”
The machine’s feminine-like robot voice announced ‘end of message.’ Mike stood, thinking things over. Maybe he was chasing shadows in the dark. Daniel said he had nothing. Possibly there was nothing to find after all. Sometimes clients got like this. Regardless what you did for them, you cannot make the facts change. If Daniel found nothing by tomorrow night, he resigned himself to accept that this thing with his father was nothing more than a drug-induced fiction.
***
Mike got a good days rest. When he awoke, Mother had readied a meal fit for a king. Fresh garden-picked salad with homemade Italian dressing, handmade sourdough rolls, deep-fried steak cutlets, home cut fries, and green beans with squares thick as scrabble tiles of maple-cured bacon. It was
Father was awake, staring at him. His mouth clamped tight, almost in a grimace, his jaw moved left-to-right as he ground his teeth.
“Dad,” Mike said blinking and rubbing his sleep-swelled eyes, “It was an accident. It won’t happen again. I promise.”
Father’s jaw unlocked with a viciousness.
“You’ll burn in hell for this, you lousy son-of-a-bitch. I don’t give a good goddamn who your family knows up there in Jeff City or how much money they have.”
Tonight, Mike promised himself, he would not play games. He wanted answers. If Father was trying to send him a message, it was his duty to decipher the code.
“What is it? Who do you think I am?”
“Don’t act stupid. Maybe most folks around here don’t give a rat’s ass about some little colored girl, but I do. I already called the sheriff and told him what I know you’ve done. He said he’d be here soon enough. Until then, I’m not to let you out of my sight.” The exertion of speaking tired him more than a ten-mile run. Father carefully chose his next words. “I hope the sheriff let’s me cut your balls off.”
Exhausted, his eyes fluttered closed.
Mike hadn’t liked what father had said, but was glad he was consistent. Any doubts he had as to his father’s sanity were disqualified. He was of sound mind if only it was in a distant memory.
***
Mother brought Mike a coat, one of Father’s many and insisted he put it on before leaving the hospital room. It was a full size to big, accustomed to wider shoulders and a larger tummy. The furry lamb’s wool lining dyed dark blue was warm and soft. Two silver rings, where a badge would have been clipped over the left breast, were vacant. He felt like a child playing dress-up.
After breakfast with Mother, he came home. Daniel’s voice echoed from the answering machine as he came through the door. He rushed to pick-up the cordless extension, tripped, and fell in a slide across the linoleum kitchen floor. Embarrassed, he used the counter’s ledge to get back to his feet.
With regret, Mike pressed the machine’s play button. Where his mother loathed tardiness, he hated voice mail, forced to listen to people as they pretended to talk to the person they had called. It seemed counterintuitive. Likewise, he shunned cell phones. How the world’s problems were going to somehow be solved while driving seventy miles per-hour was a mystery to him.
“Hey, Mike it’s Dan. You there, buddy?” Daniel asked igniting another pet peeve of Mike’s. It was like writing a letter with the opening sentence asking if you were reading this. Some things were apparent. “Guess not. Look, dude I’ve been checking sources against what you told me, but haven’t found anything that sits on all four legs. I’m on my way now to meet a buddy. He’s got stuff going back before the bible. I’ve got a hell of a busy day ahead of me. Call me on my cellie if you want, but that’s pretty much it for now. I will be in the office all day tomorrow fact-checking. Let’s have a couple of brew-hahas for old time sake, say about six at Fred’s place tomorrow night? Anyway, call me, dude. Let me know what’s up.”
The machine’s feminine-like robot voice announced ‘end of message.’ Mike stood, thinking things over. Maybe he was chasing shadows in the dark. Daniel said he had nothing. Possibly there was nothing to find after all. Sometimes clients got like this. Regardless what you did for them, you cannot make the facts change. If Daniel found nothing by tomorrow night, he resigned himself to accept that this thing with his father was nothing more than a drug-induced fiction.
***
Mike got a good days rest. When he awoke, Mother had readied a meal fit for a king. Fresh garden-picked salad with homemade Italian dressing, handmade sourdough rolls, deep-fried steak cutlets, home cut fries, and green beans with squares thick as scrabble tiles of maple-cured bacon. It was
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