The Project, part 1 of 3
Wednesday, August 3rd, 9:26pm
“I need you to do this, Don!” Lydia was trying to keep her voice down, but her anger was boiling over and she couldn’t keep the lid on her emotions.
“I have to work this weekend, Lydia!” Don was pacing between the bed and the dresser. The closed bedroom door kept drawing his attention every time he passed back and forth in front of it. He wanted to rip it open and storm out of the house. His own emotions were dangerously close to a nuclear meltdown.
The only reason Don hadn’t actually left the argument in a lurch was because Lydia was talking to him about DJ. If they had been arguing about overdue bills, Don spending too much money on gadgets, them never going on a real family vacation, their need for a more reliable car or anything, Don would have been out the front door.
Discussions about DJ were different. Walking out on a discussion about their son, even an argument as heated as the one brewing in their bedroom right now, would be like walking out on his kid, and that’s something Don swore on his soul he’d never do. He remembered watching his own father walk out on his mother, and the days he’d wasted looking out the window waiting for his father to return. He wasn’t ever going to do that to DJ, even if that meant putting up with Lydia’s mouth.
The problem wasn’t that he didn’t love DJ. The problem was that he and Lydia were tsunamied in consumer debt, and somebody had to work the overtime to bring home the extra money to make ends barely meet. Don and Lydia had decided it would be Don, because Don just didn’t want his wife out at all hours of the night and having to come home to their unsafe neighborhood. Lydia understood, but the differences in their personalities — the differences that had attracted them to one another — didn’t bode well for continued marital bliss once DJ came along.
Lydia was a home body. Don was not. Lydia didn’t mind that Don liked going out with his friends. All she cared about was that he’d come home at a decent hour or that he’d call if he wasn’t home by what Lydia’s mother had called the “worrying hours.” The “worrying hours” were between 2a and 5a when the bars in their town closed, and the drunk drivers were out in full force. Don didn’t drink, but all his buddies did. Lydia had always appreciated that Don didn’t mind being the designated driver so that he could make sure all his friends got home safely to their own families. Don didn’t need alcohol to have a good time. He just enjoyed the camaraderie of being with his friends and laughing at their tipsy antics.
When Don started working more and more hours, he spent less and less time at home, as would be expected. The part that Lydia had trouble reconciling was that Don wanted to maintain his away-from-home time with his friends just as it was before he started putting in more hours at work. Those in-between-work-and-play hours had been for their family, but Don didn’t have as many of those as he used to. If Don was spending more hours at work, and also keeping his same out-and-about schedule, then that meant he was home less and less. Lydia felt neglected because of this, but she was more concerned about their son, who’d asked her if Don was staying away more and more because of him. Lydia couldn’t bring herself to tell her husband what DJ was thinking, and this was why she was pressing the issue tonight.
“I know you have to work this weekend, but you can do it when you get off. You told me two weeks ago that you were only working until 2p on both Saturday and Sunday. If you devote about four hours each day to this, you all can get the project done, and you can still go out and be with your friends!” Lydia wasn’t even trying to keep her voice down now. The lid on her pot had blown off with such force that she imagined it was stuck to the ceiling.
“Why can’t you do it?!?!” Don yelled and continued pacing.
“You know what? I could do it, but he wants you to do it with him! He asked me to ask you to do it with him!”
“Why didn’t he ask me himself. Is he scared of me or something?”
Without hesitating or considering her husband’s feelings, Lydia said, “Yes!”
This stopped Don in his tracked. Lydia took advantage of the moment and shoved the paper about the project at Don. Without thinking, he reached for it.
“Read it, please. It requires that one parent help,” Lydia said.
Don stopped pacing and sat on the bed next to his wife. He seemed deflated as he read through it and saw that Lydia wasn’t making it up. The project indeed called for each child to do the assignment with a parent.
How could he refuse? His son had asked for his help with the project. His friends were depending on him to get them home safely this weekend, and his son wanted him to help with the project. He had been looking forward to possibly taking a nap and watching some television before he left the house to pick up his friends. If he had to do this project, that whole part of his plan was blown. There was no question that the right thing to do was help DJ, but he didn’t have to like it and he wasn’t ready to give in so easily.
“DJ! COME HERE, SON!”
“Don! Don’t you dare make him…” Before Lydia could finish, DJ had knocked on the door and opened it.
“Yes, Dad?” DJ didn’t come into the room. He stood in the doorway holding the door knob as if he was ready to slam it and bolt if things got too scary. Don realized that Lydia had been telling him the truth about DJ being afraid of his.
Although neither of them had ever hit DJ in his life, their yelling at one another struck him in his spirit and left emotional scars that were sure to take many, many years to heal.
“Your mom says you want me to do this project with you. Is that true?” Don stared daggers into his son, and DJ’s eyes darted between his father and his mother. Lydia nodded encouragement to DJ.
“Yes, Dad.” DJ tried to look courageous but the shaking door knob under his hand gave him away as the tiny mechanisms inside of it tinkled ever so softly.
Looking hard at his son and finally realizing that the tinkling noise he was hearing was coming from his son’s shaking hand on the door knob, Don finally relented and his heart softened. His face, however, remained as tight as a new drum head.
“This paper says you have to choose between the three categories listed. Which one did you pick?” The edge had come off Don’s voice, but his tone was still hard.
“I want to do the solar system.” DJ relaxed a bit. He was still prepared to zip back to his room if the yelling started again, but he felt the tension dissipating from the air.
“Why not this volcano thing? Wouldn’t that be cool to make this thing explode all over your mother’s spotless kitchen counters and cabinets and appliances?” Don’s face was hard. DJ wasn’t sure whether he was serious or joking. There was pin-drop silence.
“Uh…,” DJ started.
“Come on, son!” Don stood up and held his arms over his head and said, “Let’s do the volcano! Let’s make a huge mess and leave it for your mother to clean up! What do you say?!?!” Don’s arms were flailing wildly now, the paper making repeated wispy noises as it cut through the air in Don’s hand.
Neither DJ or Lydia knew what to do or say. They just watched the man of the house flailing his arms and turning around in dizzying circles as he imitated what they assumed was lava from a volcano spewing all over the kitchen surfaces. Once Don got too dizzy and too tired to continue, he fell backwards on the bed and burst out in hysterical laughter. DJ and Lydia just looked at him as he rolled from side-to-side on the bed laughing crazily like a closet full of crazy people.
Don continued to laugh as he darted off the bed and rushed towards DJ, who was so shocked by the sudden movement that he forgot to escape to his room. Before DJ could get his thoughts together and make the mad dash, Don was scooping him up and body-slamming him playfully on the bed. Lydia had to duck to the side to keep one of DJ’s arms from clipping her on the side of the head. Before she could lean too far away, Don had snagged her by the waist and he was tickling both his son and wife until all three of them were laughing hysterically. Lydia finally broke away and stood by the bed.
“Y’all are not messing up my kitchen with no darn volcano,” Lydia said with her hand on her hip and a faux attitude. She was still smiling from the tickle-fest.
“Grammar, Mom,” DJ said teasingly.
“Yeah, grammar, Mom,” Don said and poked his tongue out at his wife. He then said, “All right, no volcano, but not because you said we couldn’t,” Don said as he caught his breath. “We’re just not doing it, because DJ wants to do the solar system.”
“Yeah, right,” Lydia said with a mirthful smirk.
“So we’re going to do the solar system, Dad?” DJ was trying to get his breathing under control, too, but his excitement over his dad agreeing to do the project with him was making that difficult.
“Hey, it’s your project, Deej. I’m just supposed to help.” Don was looking at the paper again to see when the project was due.
“Cool!” DJ got on his knees, pressed his chest to his father’s back and swung his arms around Don’s neck and read the paper over his Dad’s shoulder.
“Dude, you’re in seventh grade?” Don knew what grade his son was in, but he was still in a playful mood, so teasing DJ was definitely on the agenda.
“Dad,” DJ said insing-song exasperation. All three of them laughed.
“Man, when was the last time I helped you with a science project?” Don was trying to remember, but DJ blurted out the answer before Don could even form the thought completely.
“Second grade,” DJ said trying hard to keep his voice light, but the sadness that filtered through was unmistakable. The room was quiet for several seconds, and Lydia decided not to allow the sadness to catch hold.
“So, what do you guys need to make this happen?” She sat on the bed next to Don, and DJ put one arm around her neck and looked at the paper between his parents’ touching shoulders. Don flipped the paper over to see the rest of the guidelines.
“It says here that we can do one of those tri-fold, art-board projects, or we can make it more spectacular as long as we meet all the milestones. I figure most of the kids doing the solar system will do that corny art-board thing, so I say we do something more spectacular.” Don didn’t say it out loud but he thought to himself that if he was going to give up a nap and television, he wasn’t going to do just the bare minimum to get by.
“How’s that sound to you, Deej?” Lydia didn’t really need to ask. She already knew DJ was going to go with whatever his father suggested because he was just happy his dad had agreed to help him.
“It’d be great to have a project that’s not like everyone else’s. I mean, the whole seventh grade is doing this assignment,” DJ informed them.
“Is there going to be a prize?” Don flipped the paper back over to see if he’d missed that part.
“No. They did away with that last year because of the Avens,” Lydia said.
Don asked, “Why? What happened?”
Lydia explained to Don that the previous year a child by the name of Martin Sandoval won first prize for his science project, which was a 3-D computerized, simulation of a volcano exploding and the subsequent effect that the eruption had on the surrounding area. Gabrielle Aven’s mother claimed that there was no way Martin did the required percentage of the work he was supposed to do without his mother’s help. It didn’t help that Mrs. Sandoval was a leading computer engineer at the local university. Mrs. Aven and her husband filed suit against the school for allowing Martin to win, and even though there was no proof that the Sandovals had cheated the school decided they would abolish the prize system.
“That is such a load of hooey,” Don huffed.
“I know, but it only takes one person to ruin it for everyone. Now the kids just get a grade for completing the work,” Lydia said.
“Well, that doesn’t mean we can’t make a first-prize project, does it, son?” Don reached over his shoulder and tweaked his son’s nose.
“That’s right, Dad,” DJ said.
“I can’t believe school doesn’t start for another two weeks, and they’re mailing school work to the house already,” Don said.
“Yeah, well, this science project is one of the ten state-wide requirements for seventh graders to get promoted to eighth grade,” Lydia told Don.
“No way,” Don said with surprise.
“Way. I ran into Mr. Morrow, the assistant principal, about a week ago at the supermarket, and he told me they want all the students to start meeting the ten requirements as early in the year as possible, so any student who has trouble will have time to get the help they need to meet the requirements before the end of the school year,” Lydia said.
“Makes sense, but if you see that Mr. Morrow at the supermarket again, tell him he’s cutting into my play time. Tell him I’ve already passed the seventh grade, and he can’t put me in detention if I don’t want to do homework,” Don said jokingly. The trio laughed together and put their focus back on the piece of paper in Don’s hand.
Before Don and Lydia sent DJ off to bed, the guys had decided what they needed for their project. Lydia had written it all down and agreed to have it all by Saturday. After DJ left their room, Lydia put her arms around her husband.
“Thank you so much for doing, Don.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I should be thanking you for staying on my case about it. It was actually worth it to see DJ’s face light up,” Don said and then his expression darkened.
Lydia asked, “What’s that look?”
“I can’t believe he’s scared of me. That kind-a breaks my heart,” Don said with sadness in his voice.
“He’s a sensitive kid, Don.”
They got in bed and talked about their financial situation for almost an hour, and Lydia knew she better cut that conversation off soon or there would be another argument before they went to sleep. She let Don have the final words on the subject of braces for DJ, and she snuggled down into their covers.
“Where are you going?” Lydia asked her husband when he threw the covers off his legs and got out of bed.
“I just want to do a sweep downstairs. I’ll be right back.” Don kissed Lydia on the forehead and left the room.
As he walked past DJ’s room, he quietly opened the door and looked in on his son. The light from DJ’s computer screen made it bright enough for Don to see his son’s face. DJ was sound asleep. I love this little boy, and I feel badly that I don’t feel badly about not wanting to spend this weekend doing this darn science project with him. Lydia has way more patience than me for this kind of stuff. I can’t believe I’ve dodged these things since DJ was in second grade. I’m going to do this project with my boy, and I’m going to act like I’m enjoying every bit of it if it kills me, Don thought to himself.
Don descended the stairs, checked to make sure the doors and windows were secure, made sure their alarm system was engaged and locked the door leading from the garage into the house.
He ascended the stairs, looked in on his son once more and went into his bedroom. When he got in bed with his wife, her rhythmic breathing helped him drift into his own slumber.
Copyright © Faydra D. Fields. All rights reserved.
read part 2 of “The Project”
