The Dad and His Son
The dad and his son had just been seated at the booth. The waitress asked them if they’d like anything to drink. The dad ordered a water, his son a coffee. She hurried off and the dad asked, “So is there anything you need from the store before you go back to school?”
His son upheld his head with his arm like a pillar. His eyes starred down at the menu. “No,” his son said. “I’m good.”
“Are you sure? I can get you a new backpack.” The dad smiled.
The son yawned. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s cool,” he said, never looking up.
“Alright, just let me know.” The dad lifted his menu and scanned through the options, adjusting his glasses, squinting when looking at the details. “What does it say here in the description?” He handed the menu over to his son, pointing.
His son asked, “Which one?” and remained behind the wall of his own menu.
He hesistaed. “The, uh.” The dad pulled it back and looked over it again. “The Good Greek Omelette.”
His son flipped the page. “It has eggs, cheese, potatoes, spinach, um, greek yogurt and another kind of cheese on the top.”
“Wow, lots of dairy.”
The dad and his son looked through the menu for a couple more minutes until the nurse returned with the drinks and took their orders. She left and as they waited the dad finally asked, “Is this about the divorce?”
“Sure.”
He snorted. “You can’t just avoid this?”
The son said, “I’m not avoiding it, I just said said ‘sure.’”
“Exactly,” the dad raised his voice, “you just said sure.”
The son opened his eyes and clenched his teeth, saying, “Dad, come on. Don’t talk so loud.”
“Then start talking.”
“Oh, my god.” The son rolled his eyes. He started scooting out of his seat when…
“You’re just going to leave now?”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” First standing up, the son walked out of the restuarant.
The dad sat there. He tapped and tapped his finger on the table. His foot was shaking. He just about chased after his son when the waitress returned.
“I got the Good Greek Omelette with no cheddar or mixed cheese.”
He gestured it was for him.
“And pancakes with extra blueberries.”
He didn’t believe it but he said, “Yeah, just put it there. He’ll be back soon.” She sat the plate across from the dad.
The dad ate his breakfast then ordered a to-go box for the pancakes. After he packed them, gulped down the last of his water, and payed the bill he exited the diner. As he approached his car he realized his son was sitting in there and probably had been the entire time. The dad breathed and put a smile on. He came to the car and tapped on the passenger side window then lifted the plastic bag holding the to-go box. His son remained seated, arms crossed, eyes glaring. The dad’s smile went flat.
He walked around the car and went to grab his keys from his pocket. They weren’t there. He put bag on the ground and double-checked his pockets. “Hey,” he knocked on the window, “do you have the keys?”
The son didn’t move.
The dad slightly deepened his voice and talked with a kind of command. “I’m serious, David. Open up the car.”
The son looked at his dad with a steady scowl. Then, with clenched fist he screamed at the top of his lungs, “Shut up!”
The dad stepped back. Then, he was frozen. He didn’t know what to say.
The son returned to his old position, staring at nothing, probably brooding over his dad.
The dad blinked a couple times and whispered “Damn it.” He grabbed his phone and called his wife. She didn’t answer. He called again. She answered.
“What?” she said.
He said, “David locked me out of the car.”
She said, “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” he rubbed the top of his head. “Look can you call him and tell him to let me in?”
“Sure.” She hung up.
She called her son and he picked up. She convinced him and, after he hung up, unlocked the car.
The dad picked the bag up and got into the car. He said nothing. He put the bag in the back seat, careful not to brush it against his son’s shoulder. Next he put the key in the ignition, but let go of it and sat back in his seat, took a breath, looked at his son, and opened his mouth; yet, he turned his head back, grabbed the key again and started the car. The radio started playing so he quickly twisted the knob until the volume was set to zero. He backed out and drove off.
On the road the dad occasionally sighed too loud or clicked with his tongue. It was about ten minutes until he finally spoke. “Can we please talk?”
“There is nothing to talk about.”
The dad responded. “Yes, there is. I want to make this better.”
“No you don’t. You want to ruin everything,” the son said.
“That’s not true,” the dad said. He thought, “at least he is talking.” He then said, “I don’t want to ruin anything, I just want you to be happy.”
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?” the dad asked.
“I said bullshit.” The son answered.
“Okay, well you shouldn’t say those kinds of words.”
“What about the words you call mom? Liar. Bitch. Stupid — “
“Enough, enough. Okay. Look, I’ve shouldn’t have called her those things. You’re mom and I just don’t along anymore. She calls me names too. You’ll understand one day when you’re older.”
The son said, “Yeah, well she isn’t giving up.”
They came to a stop at a red light and the dad turned to his son and said, “I’m not giving up — ”
“Green light.”
The dad saw it and continued driving. “I’m not giving up. I just need a break.”
“Are you gonna date other women?” the son asked.
The dad rubbed his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Maybe, but probably not.”
His son was silent for some time and when the dad considered speaking more, his son said, “I know you watch porn.”
The dad quickly glanced at his son and then back to the road, his eyes wide and brow lifted. A reddish tint possessed his cheeks. “I’m, uh…I’m trying to stop.”
“Well, just stop,” the son said strongly.
The dad said, “It’s not that simple.
“It can be if you make it.”
“No, it’s not like that,” the dad sad, his voice deep and command-like again.
“Can I please listen to the radio.”
“Yeah here,” the dad said and immediately turned the volume up loud.
They arrived at their house and the dad pulled up the curb. Before his son could get out of the car he locked the door.
The son grunted “What do you want?”
The dad looked at his son and studied him. He had the brown-red hair like his mother and those uniquely bright brown eyes. His cheek bones were like hers too. Then he noticed the faint redness in his eyelids and the wet glaze over his eyes.
The dad thought. He said, “Don’t forget your pancakes,” and grabbed the bag and handed it to his son. Then he unlocked the door. The son got out of the car and slammed the car door. He walked to the front door and went inside, never looking back. “Maybe I’ll just stay home next weekend,” he thought and, with one last look at the house, drove off.
