Chapter - 9
Jim was cleaned up and ready by the time his son arrived home from school. He was about to light up his pipe when he heard his son enter the house crying. Jim ran to the front door and held his son which only escalated the boy’s sobbing. Jim broke off the hug and dropped to one knee and looked into Daniel’s tear streaked face.
“What happened?” Jim said. His son continued to whimper. He shook him a little and repeated louder. “Daniel, what happened?”
“I got beat up,” Daniel looked the picture of shame. He wiped his sleeve across his face, smearing mucus over his right cheek.
“Who did this to you?” Jim felt anger well up inside.
“Some kids from school.” Daniel dropped his backpack and Jim saw the urine stains on his pants. Jim’s fury drained instantly and he walked his son to the bathroom. He drew a bath and helped his son strip down. Both saying nothing. Daniel stepped into the bath and put his hands over his face. Jim splashed some water down his back from a pitcher and put a hand on his shoulder. His eyes searched his boy over for signs of abuse. After awhile he spoke.
“Are you hurt?” Jim asked.
“No,” Daniel’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Jim prodded.
“No,” Daniel kept his hands over his face. Jim didn’t know what to say to him. He didn’t know how to get him to open up. Daniel’s body shook with humiliation. He thought again of Daniel’s mother, his wife, she would know what to say. Jim felt a wave of anger at her for her absence but let it go. There was nothing to be done about it.
“It will be okay buddy,” Jim said. He scooped another pitcher of water and washed the day from his young son’s shoulders, the weight of which seemed heavy on his own. There was no protection from a hard world. Boys should stay small, Jim thought, the bigger they get the bigger come their problems.
“I’m nothing,” Daniel said.
“You’re not nothing. You’re my boy. I love you,” Jim said. Inside he felt like the pot calling the kettle black. One nothing trying to lift up another.
“I’m nothing and I want to die,” Daniel said softly. Jim felt his soul squeeze as if in a vice.
“You don’t mean that,” Jim said. “Don’t say that.”
“I want to die. I hate myself. I’m nothing.” Daniel began to cry. It was an unearthed sobbing that came slow and spent itself long and hollow.
“You’re my boy,” Jim said. “I love you.” Jim dropped the pitcher and hugged his son.
“I want to die. I want to die. I want to die.” Daniel let the litany rise and fall with the rocking of his body. Jim had never felt so powerless. “Fuck you mother,” Jim thought with deep hatred. “Fuck that bitch for leaving us. She’s the one that should die. Not my boy. Not my son.”
Jim rocked holding Daniel in the bathtub. One reeling in sorrow, one with anger. Neither thinking about the other. Lost in themselves and their own miseries.
The evening came quickly. “Do you want me to drive you to school tomorrow?” Jim asked. “I could also pick you up at the end of the day. Save your legs from all that walking.” Daniel shook his head.
“Is there anything I can do?” Jim asked. He felt a little helpless.
“No. I’m okay.” Daniel shut him out again.
“I have to go to work now,” Jim said. He looked at Daniel. He searched his face to see if the boy would be alright with him leaving tonight.
“I know.”
Jim stood up. “Don’t stay up too late.” Daniel nodded.
“Goodbye buddy.”
“Bye, Dad.” Jim left his son sitting at the table.
“Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll do them when I get home.”
“Okay,” Daniel said. With one last look, Jim walked out into the darkening sky.
Showing posts with label the provider. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the provider. Show all posts
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
The Provider - Chapter 6
Chapter - 6
Jim could tell it was around midnight by the constant line of people filing into club. He took each I.D. and dropped it in the photo box. Jim didn’t look too closely at the authenticity of the cards. Just taking the I.D. and documenting it with a photo let the club off the hook for allowing in minors. As long as he took about ten fakes off the customers a night the police stayed off the club owner’s back.
“You can’t come in,” Jim said to a man who stood holding out his I.D.
“Why not?”
“We have a dress code that doesn’t allow tennis shoes,” The man looked down at his shoes and back at Jim.
“These shoes cost two hundred bucks,” The man’s face scrunched into a sneer.
“They do not coincide with our dress code. I’m sorry you cannot come in,” Jim said. The man quickly mounted an offense.
“I fucking come here all the time. I spend good money here,” The man scoffed. Some shouts of ‘hurry up’ or ‘get the fuck moving’ were heard from the customers waiting behind him.
“I’m sorry,” Jim said. “I cannot let you in. Our dress code is defined clearly on the sign outside.”
“Look at your fucking shoes,” The man said beginning to redden at his cheekbones. His voice raised in pitch and scalped each syllable. “You’re wearing ten dollar K-Mart brand, homeless man shoes. Do you get off on turning away successful people like me at the door? You fucking loser.”
“Sir, I’m going to ask you one more time to leave.” Jim looked directly at the man. Jim had allowed more warning in his voice than normal. Jim’s face, however, remained impassive against the twisted rage bestowed on the other man’s countenance.
“Fucking fine!” The man dug his hand into his back pocket and ripped out his wallet. He tore out a couple twenties and threw them into Jim’s chest.
“Here!” The man said, “Now you let me into this club you fucking asshole! I hope you fucking choke on it.”
Jim looked over the man’s shoulder at the next person waiting in line. “May I see your I.D. please?” The person stepped forward and handed her license over. Jim checked the date and dropped it in the photo box. He handed the card back to her and looked to the next person in line. Soon the flow into the club was going at its normal pace. The irate man glared at Jim. He looked down at the dropped twenties that were now being crunched underfoot. He finally left, shoving through the line. When there was a momentary break, the cover charge girl leaned and whispered in his ear.
“He’s right about your shoes,” She said, “They look real cheap.”
Jim looked down at the dirty and rumpled twenty dollar bills on the floor. He kneeled down and picked them up, putting them in his pocket. Jim looked back up at the cover charge girl. She smacked her gum and drubbed her fingers on the half-door railing. There was disdain behind her passive, regarding eyes. Jim pretended to ignored it, but it hurt. As he stood up, a group of guys entered the club loudly. They had the confident swagger of those well oiled with liquor. He was about to check their I.D.’s when he noticed one of their party had on a pair of worn sneakers.
“Excuse me sir,” Jim said. “I cannot let you in the club.”
Jim could tell it was around midnight by the constant line of people filing into club. He took each I.D. and dropped it in the photo box. Jim didn’t look too closely at the authenticity of the cards. Just taking the I.D. and documenting it with a photo let the club off the hook for allowing in minors. As long as he took about ten fakes off the customers a night the police stayed off the club owner’s back.
“You can’t come in,” Jim said to a man who stood holding out his I.D.
“Why not?”
“We have a dress code that doesn’t allow tennis shoes,” The man looked down at his shoes and back at Jim.
“These shoes cost two hundred bucks,” The man’s face scrunched into a sneer.
“They do not coincide with our dress code. I’m sorry you cannot come in,” Jim said. The man quickly mounted an offense.
“I fucking come here all the time. I spend good money here,” The man scoffed. Some shouts of ‘hurry up’ or ‘get the fuck moving’ were heard from the customers waiting behind him.
“I’m sorry,” Jim said. “I cannot let you in. Our dress code is defined clearly on the sign outside.”
“Look at your fucking shoes,” The man said beginning to redden at his cheekbones. His voice raised in pitch and scalped each syllable. “You’re wearing ten dollar K-Mart brand, homeless man shoes. Do you get off on turning away successful people like me at the door? You fucking loser.”
“Sir, I’m going to ask you one more time to leave.” Jim looked directly at the man. Jim had allowed more warning in his voice than normal. Jim’s face, however, remained impassive against the twisted rage bestowed on the other man’s countenance.
“Fucking fine!” The man dug his hand into his back pocket and ripped out his wallet. He tore out a couple twenties and threw them into Jim’s chest.
“Here!” The man said, “Now you let me into this club you fucking asshole! I hope you fucking choke on it.”
Jim looked over the man’s shoulder at the next person waiting in line. “May I see your I.D. please?” The person stepped forward and handed her license over. Jim checked the date and dropped it in the photo box. He handed the card back to her and looked to the next person in line. Soon the flow into the club was going at its normal pace. The irate man glared at Jim. He looked down at the dropped twenties that were now being crunched underfoot. He finally left, shoving through the line. When there was a momentary break, the cover charge girl leaned and whispered in his ear.
“He’s right about your shoes,” She said, “They look real cheap.”
Jim looked down at the dirty and rumpled twenty dollar bills on the floor. He kneeled down and picked them up, putting them in his pocket. Jim looked back up at the cover charge girl. She smacked her gum and drubbed her fingers on the half-door railing. There was disdain behind her passive, regarding eyes. Jim pretended to ignored it, but it hurt. As he stood up, a group of guys entered the club loudly. They had the confident swagger of those well oiled with liquor. He was about to check their I.D.’s when he noticed one of their party had on a pair of worn sneakers.
“Excuse me sir,” Jim said. “I cannot let you in the club.”
Saturday, September 8, 2012
The Provider - Chapter 3
Chapter - 3
Daniel walked around the clustered gatherings of other children as he made his way up to the middle school’s front doors. No one paid him any notice. He passed among the cliques like a shoeless man treads upon broken glass. He longed to be a part of a group but didn’t know how. Making friends, being interesting, conversing and bonding? These qualities were held for granted by the socially successful, seeming to effortlessly make people like them. Daniel was moved by their ability of influence and control. Daniel assumed failure, brought on by a life of public implosion. Attaining the doors, he pulled the metal latch and walked inside. He turned smartly to the left, entering the stairwell. Reaching his hand far up the banister, he pulled and leaped taking the steps two at a time. His shoulder bumped into a couple boys who were descending to the main floor.
“Damn it!” One of the boys yelled. Daniel froze on the landing, like a penitent waiting for the scourge. He was turned and pushed roughly against the stairwell. The railing bit vengefully into his side. The violence of the attack didn’t scare Daniel as much as the fact that he had no idea who this boy was.
“Watch where the fuck you’re going fag boy!” The enraged kid spat the words into Daniel’s face. The violence was explained with that one condescending word. Daniel felt better knowing the abandon of the assault was due to his own reputation proceeding him. This other boy must have known the fact that he could wield the fury of God without any chance of retaliation. “If you want to fight I will fight you at any time!” The boy said. His friend laughed, looking at his buddy with lustful reverence.
“I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to get suspended,” Daniel whimpered. He felt his body melt, muscles loosening and drooping under newly heavy bone. He become completely submissive. Yielding in wait for the aggression to end. The boy let go; sensing his prey defeated.
“If you touch me ever again, I’ll kill you,” The boy said. He and his friend left, descending the stairs and congratulating each other on their misuse of another human being. Daniel waited for his heart to slow down and breath to calm. He continued his climb up the stairs. His body scurried the hallways like a fretful rodent, trying to remain invisible, trying to meld into the walls. Daniel made it into his first class of the day. His teacher didn’t look up from his desk while hailing him.
“Daniel, do you have your homework done for today?”
“About half of it,” Daniel said. He dug in his bag for his paper.
“Half isn’t finished. That‘s not what I asked. I asked you if you had your homework done.”
“No. I didn’t have a chance to finish it last night,” Daniel found the paper a held it out to his teacher. He waved it away.
“I also didn’t ask you for any lame excuse you had for not finishing your work. Did I?”
“No,” Daniel said.
“You disrespect me and my classroom by not finishing your work. Do you know that?” The teacher asked.
“I didn’t mean to disrespect you,” Daniel said. The teacher looked frustrated and finally regarded Daniel.
“It’s not what you meant, but what you did,” the teacher said. “You disrespect me and my class. Get out.”
“Get out? Can you do that?” Daniel said. The teacher sighed.
“Get out. Apathy doesn’t have a place in my class.”
“Where will I go?”
“I don’t care,” the teacher said. “I just don’t want to look at you.” The teacher got up from his desk and moved toward Daniel. He didn’t touch Daniel but used his body to coax him backwards enough to shut the door in his face. Daniel could hear the class laughing as the door closed. At a loss, Daniel sat down in front of the classroom door for the first hour of his day. He tried to finish his homework while he sat but didn’t understand it. Eventually he gave up. He spent the rest of his time daydreaming about jamming a pistol into his teacher’s mouth and asking the fuck if he would like to try and kick him out of class now? He imagined the teacher fouling himself while gagging from the large metal barrel. He saw himself removing the gun and forcing the teacher to show him how to do the homework. “Was that so hard, you humiliating fuck?” Daniel would ask right before he pulled the trigger.
Daniel walked around the clustered gatherings of other children as he made his way up to the middle school’s front doors. No one paid him any notice. He passed among the cliques like a shoeless man treads upon broken glass. He longed to be a part of a group but didn’t know how. Making friends, being interesting, conversing and bonding? These qualities were held for granted by the socially successful, seeming to effortlessly make people like them. Daniel was moved by their ability of influence and control. Daniel assumed failure, brought on by a life of public implosion. Attaining the doors, he pulled the metal latch and walked inside. He turned smartly to the left, entering the stairwell. Reaching his hand far up the banister, he pulled and leaped taking the steps two at a time. His shoulder bumped into a couple boys who were descending to the main floor.
“Damn it!” One of the boys yelled. Daniel froze on the landing, like a penitent waiting for the scourge. He was turned and pushed roughly against the stairwell. The railing bit vengefully into his side. The violence of the attack didn’t scare Daniel as much as the fact that he had no idea who this boy was.
“Watch where the fuck you’re going fag boy!” The enraged kid spat the words into Daniel’s face. The violence was explained with that one condescending word. Daniel felt better knowing the abandon of the assault was due to his own reputation proceeding him. This other boy must have known the fact that he could wield the fury of God without any chance of retaliation. “If you want to fight I will fight you at any time!” The boy said. His friend laughed, looking at his buddy with lustful reverence.
“I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to get suspended,” Daniel whimpered. He felt his body melt, muscles loosening and drooping under newly heavy bone. He become completely submissive. Yielding in wait for the aggression to end. The boy let go; sensing his prey defeated.
“If you touch me ever again, I’ll kill you,” The boy said. He and his friend left, descending the stairs and congratulating each other on their misuse of another human being. Daniel waited for his heart to slow down and breath to calm. He continued his climb up the stairs. His body scurried the hallways like a fretful rodent, trying to remain invisible, trying to meld into the walls. Daniel made it into his first class of the day. His teacher didn’t look up from his desk while hailing him.
“Daniel, do you have your homework done for today?”
“About half of it,” Daniel said. He dug in his bag for his paper.
“Half isn’t finished. That‘s not what I asked. I asked you if you had your homework done.”
“No. I didn’t have a chance to finish it last night,” Daniel found the paper a held it out to his teacher. He waved it away.
“I also didn’t ask you for any lame excuse you had for not finishing your work. Did I?”
“No,” Daniel said.
“You disrespect me and my classroom by not finishing your work. Do you know that?” The teacher asked.
“I didn’t mean to disrespect you,” Daniel said. The teacher looked frustrated and finally regarded Daniel.
“It’s not what you meant, but what you did,” the teacher said. “You disrespect me and my class. Get out.”
“Get out? Can you do that?” Daniel said. The teacher sighed.
“Get out. Apathy doesn’t have a place in my class.”
“Where will I go?”
“I don’t care,” the teacher said. “I just don’t want to look at you.” The teacher got up from his desk and moved toward Daniel. He didn’t touch Daniel but used his body to coax him backwards enough to shut the door in his face. Daniel could hear the class laughing as the door closed. At a loss, Daniel sat down in front of the classroom door for the first hour of his day. He tried to finish his homework while he sat but didn’t understand it. Eventually he gave up. He spent the rest of his time daydreaming about jamming a pistol into his teacher’s mouth and asking the fuck if he would like to try and kick him out of class now? He imagined the teacher fouling himself while gagging from the large metal barrel. He saw himself removing the gun and forcing the teacher to show him how to do the homework. “Was that so hard, you humiliating fuck?” Daniel would ask right before he pulled the trigger.
Friday, September 7, 2012
The Provider - Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Daniel walked to school. His movements resembled a frightened rabbit traveling amidst the smell of a fox. His eyes jerked to his surroundings, flashed right and left, returned to center, then around again. Daniel moved his long legs by kicking out awkwardly from the knee, giving him a slightly cocky gait. His shoulders rounded in, hands slammed into pants pockets gave all viewers the outward impression to leave him well enough alone. Daniel tried to overtake the walk to school with fast movement and unapproachable personal stance. His gait contradicted itself, showing him to be both hard predator and easy prey. During one of his quick glances, he saw a boy from his school. The kid, Daniel knew his name to be George, was sitting lazily on the sidewalk. His legs outstretched into the street, a mundane unsafe practice yet one Daniel would never consider doing. Daniel feared and revered the boy’s tough exterior. George looked and acted all of the bully. He had a rough, hard bitten face, dirty clothing and an eye that searched out weakness. Daniel worked his body into forced nonchalance but his pace quickened without him meaning too.
“Hey faggot,” George called to Daniel as he passed. He didn’t answer. The first time a kid in school called Daniel faggot was over three years ago. It was in the middle of a paper presentation he was giving in English class. The name struck Daniel like the shock of cold metal pressed to flesh. He stuttered, lost his place and ultimately froze. The teacher, asleep at his desk, was no lifeline. Tears had come then. Any laughter from the class fell silent at this social faux pas that bordered on high treason. Daniel had stood there for several minutes, crying in front of his peers, only to be saved by the bell tolling the end of class. The other kids left like new murderers, silent, fearful, smirking. The name had stuck, now most of the kids in school referred to him by that hateful slang. Most days Daniel was hailed by faggot more than his given name. Each time he heard it, it shoved Daniel further into himself. Nothing in his body told George he noticed, but George knew he did. George knew it hurt him. It wasn’t that George thought Daniel would come over to him when called. It was enough to bait the wounded fish with a severed worm.
“Hey you! Fag boy. Come here,” George called to him again. Daniel didn’t answer. He kept moving. The first abuse of the day took its pound of flesh and readied itself for the upcoming feast. Daniel felt a hard hand slam down on his shoulder, roughly turning him around. “I know you can hear me Fag boy. You ignoring me? I should have to walk my ass over to you to get your attention?”
“No,” Daniel said meekly. His body stiffened as George gave him a smart slap on his left ear.
“Maybe you hear me a little better now?” George said.“Pick you head up so I can slap you on the other side.”
“Please don’t hit me again,” Daniel said.
“Pick your fucking head up before I decide to punch you instead of slap you.” Daniel looked up. The second slap was harder than the first and rocked him. Daniel’s legs buckled. “Stand up bitch. You’re not hurt.” George hefted Daniel back to his feet. “You gonna make me walk over to you again?”
“No,” Daniel said.
“You gonna answer me when I call you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s my bitch. Off to school you fag bitch. I’m sick of fucking looking at you.” George took one hand and shoved Daniel in the face. Daniel stutter stepped, spun and returned on his way to school. The rest of the walk was spent in the fantasy of smashing George’s face in. Watching his teeth clatter on the concrete. Driving hard kicks into George’s ribs, feeling them bend and break. He dreamed of George begging for forgiveness as landed punch after punch into his face. “I will kill you George,” Daniel thought. “I’m going to kill you”.
Daniel walked to school. His movements resembled a frightened rabbit traveling amidst the smell of a fox. His eyes jerked to his surroundings, flashed right and left, returned to center, then around again. Daniel moved his long legs by kicking out awkwardly from the knee, giving him a slightly cocky gait. His shoulders rounded in, hands slammed into pants pockets gave all viewers the outward impression to leave him well enough alone. Daniel tried to overtake the walk to school with fast movement and unapproachable personal stance. His gait contradicted itself, showing him to be both hard predator and easy prey. During one of his quick glances, he saw a boy from his school. The kid, Daniel knew his name to be George, was sitting lazily on the sidewalk. His legs outstretched into the street, a mundane unsafe practice yet one Daniel would never consider doing. Daniel feared and revered the boy’s tough exterior. George looked and acted all of the bully. He had a rough, hard bitten face, dirty clothing and an eye that searched out weakness. Daniel worked his body into forced nonchalance but his pace quickened without him meaning too.
“Hey faggot,” George called to Daniel as he passed. He didn’t answer. The first time a kid in school called Daniel faggot was over three years ago. It was in the middle of a paper presentation he was giving in English class. The name struck Daniel like the shock of cold metal pressed to flesh. He stuttered, lost his place and ultimately froze. The teacher, asleep at his desk, was no lifeline. Tears had come then. Any laughter from the class fell silent at this social faux pas that bordered on high treason. Daniel had stood there for several minutes, crying in front of his peers, only to be saved by the bell tolling the end of class. The other kids left like new murderers, silent, fearful, smirking. The name had stuck, now most of the kids in school referred to him by that hateful slang. Most days Daniel was hailed by faggot more than his given name. Each time he heard it, it shoved Daniel further into himself. Nothing in his body told George he noticed, but George knew he did. George knew it hurt him. It wasn’t that George thought Daniel would come over to him when called. It was enough to bait the wounded fish with a severed worm.
“Hey you! Fag boy. Come here,” George called to him again. Daniel didn’t answer. He kept moving. The first abuse of the day took its pound of flesh and readied itself for the upcoming feast. Daniel felt a hard hand slam down on his shoulder, roughly turning him around. “I know you can hear me Fag boy. You ignoring me? I should have to walk my ass over to you to get your attention?”
“No,” Daniel said meekly. His body stiffened as George gave him a smart slap on his left ear.
“Maybe you hear me a little better now?” George said.“Pick you head up so I can slap you on the other side.”
“Please don’t hit me again,” Daniel said.
“Pick your fucking head up before I decide to punch you instead of slap you.” Daniel looked up. The second slap was harder than the first and rocked him. Daniel’s legs buckled. “Stand up bitch. You’re not hurt.” George hefted Daniel back to his feet. “You gonna make me walk over to you again?”
“No,” Daniel said.
“You gonna answer me when I call you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s my bitch. Off to school you fag bitch. I’m sick of fucking looking at you.” George took one hand and shoved Daniel in the face. Daniel stutter stepped, spun and returned on his way to school. The rest of the walk was spent in the fantasy of smashing George’s face in. Watching his teeth clatter on the concrete. Driving hard kicks into George’s ribs, feeling them bend and break. He dreamed of George begging for forgiveness as landed punch after punch into his face. “I will kill you George,” Daniel thought. “I’m going to kill you”.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
The Provider - Chapter 1
Chapter - 1
“Good Morning,” Jim greeted his son warmly. The smile on his lips countered the low affect of his face. His was the vacant countenance shared among the viciously underemployed. The only work his father could find was bouncing at a basement nightclub downtown. The breakfast and sweet pipe aroma didn’t hide his father’s reek of cigarettes, sweat and stale alcohol. That odor clung viciously to his dad every morning from a night in that damp bar. His father had worked there for several months now and the longer he worked there the smell made an ever more permanent presence in his pores. Daniel stuck his face closer to his plate to get away from it. He tried hard to keep his nose from wrinkling in disgust. His father worked a hard job, making hard money for them to live on. There was no one else. Daniel shifted. His chair creaked shrilly.
“What an injustice!” Jim said, “I’ve never seen a seat complain so loudly at such a small weight being applied to it.” Jim smirked at his wit and took a long pull off his pipe. He tried to meet his sons eyes unsuccessfully. His looked seared into the boy, yearning for one flash of those youthful, steel gray eyes from inside the brown tangles of hair. Jim let the unshared smile drop from his face. Daniel sat. He stared at the spread of food set before him. The breakfast was placed in neat piles on the plate. Jim felt a rush of pride at being able to provide his son such a meal. A home cooked, hot breakfast was a tribute. The silence bothered him. He decided on asking a question that he was sure would elicit a response.
“Do you want coffee?” He asked.
“Yes. Thanks,” Daniel said. Jim got up and fixed the cup of coffee. The black luster in the mug was lost in a swirl from a heavy helping of cream and sugar. Just the way Daniel liked it.
“I don’t know how you can stomach this,” Jim said, “You can’t taste the coffee under all this other crap.” Daniel drank the cup hot and fast.
“Do you want some?” He asked.
“No you go ahead and finish off the pot.” Jim poured the rest of the coffee in Daniel’s cup, rinsed off the yellowing carafe and placed it back in the coffee maker. Daniel drank the coffee without extras and grimaced.
“I’d better get going.” Daniel said. He got up from his reproachful chair and wavered in place. To Jim, it was as if he were waiting to be dismissed.
“Do you need anything?” Jim asked.
“No.” Daniel said. Jim knew he should say something. Could he risk saying he loved him? He couldn’t remember the last time he told Daniel that singular phrase of intimacy. Jim was at a loss. He couldn’t bring himself to verbalize what he felt, there was no reason why. It was what it was. The palpable silence bit deeply.
“See you make it to school on time.” Jim finally blurted. Daniel unfroze and nodded assent. Jim caught a glimpse of Daniel‘s eyes rolling. He inwardly cursed himself. The boy was never late for school. Another spent morning climaxing in a useless directive from a failure of a father.
“I’m going to go,” Daniel said, “See you tonight.” Daniel picked up his backpack, turned, and walked out the front door. Jim sat at the kitchen table ignoring his food. His body nourished by the steady gnaw on his self-loathing. Jim inhaled smoke from his pipe into his lungs. He held it there until it hurt and exhaled a long stream of smoke into the kitchen ceiling. Jim felt better after this self abuse rebuke to his behavior. Abruptly, he stood up and walked across the pea green living room carpet to the front bay window. He looked down the street and saw Daniel. The boy was a half block up the street and walking at a good clip. Jim noticed his sons hunched shoulders. His drawn in torso. Daniel walked like a hurt boxer protecting his wounded vitals. So hunched, he moved stiffly, without confidence. “He looks a lot smaller than he really is,” Jim thought as he shut the blinds. Sighing and feeling suddenly weary, he went to the bathroom to wash. Jim looked in the mirror. Dark circles and baggy skin complimented the black stubble of beard. His eyes searched lower. A few spots of blood were plain on his shirt collar. The blood was his own. Spilled by a bar patron whose reasoning capabilities were drowned in clear, fiery, aqueous Vodka and smashing fists. He cursed himself again for not checking his appearance before the boy woke up.
Jim tore his gaze from the mirror. He gripped the pedestal sink with a moment’s rage that shook the plumbing violently and threatened to tear the porcelain from its foundation. Adrenaline dumped, he stood still for a few moments and looked again into his grizzled face in the mirror.
“Fuck you for a fool.” His voice cracked as he spoke into his pained reflection.
Jim took off his shirt and threw it in the hamper. He left the bathroom, went into his disheveled bedroom and fell into the rumpled quilts on his bed. He was asleep within moments.
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