Mark

Contest submission: Father-Son Relationship February 27, 2007 - December 24, 2008 I used the theme to spurr the story. Cheers!

 

Mark

by Dave Doc Rogers

 

I was too young to remember when it happened, they say. They say that as if hoping I was too young to remember the day my dad did not come home from work. They always say it was a freak accident. It wasn't supposed to happen. It happened anyway and my dad didn't come home. I was too young to remember it. But I do. I remember everyone telling me everything will be alright and it is okay to cry. I didn't. I didn't think I needed to cry. I asked them why I should. They would just look at me with sad eyes then hug me. No one was telling me anything. I was too young. I wouldn't understand. I remember everyone wearing black on a hot summer day. I remember getting into a big black car and going to this big park with shaped stones and benches everywhere. I remember being uncomfortably warm in a black suit standing next to my mom as she kept crying. I remember watching them lower a big brown shiny box into a hole surrounded by green carpet. The rest of the day and that summer was a blur of people, food, sad faces, my mom crying all of the time, and my dad not coming home.

 

I guess I was too young to realize what was happening. It took a while for everything to register. When it did, I thought it was my fault. I thought it was Mom's fault. I thought it was my dad's fault. I thought it was my dad's company's fault. I even thought it was God's fault. Later I would discover people die and it's nobody's fault. My dad being gone, no longer living with us, took too long to get used to. I guess I never did. At dinner I would look at his chair. There was no plate set for him. In the mornings before school, his coffee cup was not sitting beside the sink. The smell of his aftershave was no longer floating on the air as I walked through the house to say good-bye before heading to the school bus. He was gone, and I had to learn how to deal with that. The strangest thing is he never felt dead to me even though many people told me he was dead. It only felt like he was gone, not dead. I didn't expect him to come back. I was told he was dead. But, it felt like he should still be here. He wasn't though. He just never came back home that day during summer.

 

You get used to things if they happen everyday. Getting up for school gets easier everyday after summer is over with until it is almost automatic. You begin to expect things to be this new way. You don't necessarily like it, but you get used to it. That is the way it was for Mom and me now. We were getting used to it. Mom no longer picked me up from school. I rode the bus home and stayed with the neighbor lady until Mom got off of work. Fast food was dinner these days. Mom rarely cooked unless it was a special occasion. We would eat our fast food dinner in near solitude. Mom would ask the same few questions about my day then drift into silence as the TV took over the conversation for us. I would finish dinner in silence, finish homework in silence, sit beside Mom while she watched TV in silence. Sometimes she would hold me close and cry. I think she missed my dad a lot. I did too sometimes.

 

One day I came home from school to see Mom's car in the drive way. She was supposed to be at work, wasn't she? As I entered our house I smelled such excellent aromas. Mom was cooking! I put my books down on the table and looked into the kitchen. Sure enough. Mom was cooking. And she looked happy. She seemed to be humming to herself. She noticed me out of the corner of her eye and stopped everything to look at me. She looked positively happy. She looked like her old self again. She held out her arms toward me. I ran to her and was immediately engulfed in my mom's hug. Time seemed to have stopped for me.

 

She reluctantly let go of me and looked down at me. “You must tell me all about your day,” she beamed at me. It was like dad had never left and Mom had never gotten sad. We talked and talked like old times. It was the most fun I had had in a very long time. My mom was back and would never be sad again. Time passed as it normally does. Life was getting better for me. I didn't think about dad not coming home nearly so often now. I had Mom and she was like Mom had always been before ... well, before Dad didn't come home.

 

Then Mom started wearing 'make-up.' I had noticed that she would put stuff on her face. She would say it was to freshen things up a bit. It did make Mom look happier. She said it made her feel prettier. I liked it when she did this. I liked it when Mom was happier and 'prettier.' Life was getting back to normal for me. Mom was happier. I was getting used to school. My friends were my friends again. Sometimes Mom would ask me if I wanted to spend a night or just the evening over at one of my friends' house. This is something she had never let me do before. She said I was getting 'old enough' now. I didn't think much about it. It sounded like an adventure to me.

 

The first time was difficult. I missed Mom terribly. I didn't sleep at all that night. My friend's mom took me home straight away in the morning. She told my mom, “I guess he missed you too much last night.” They gave each other that look that moms give each other, like they are sharing a secret that little boys won't understand. I eventually came to enjoy being with my friends and spending nights with them. Little boys rarely sleep, even if scolded into bed well after midnight. We would have adventures late into the night and have breakfast for lunch the next day. These were good times for me.

 

One day Mom asked me a most curious question. “How would you feel about having a guest over for dinner?” My mind immediately started thinking of which friends I could ask over. She looked at me as if reading my mind and added, “The guest would be a friend of mine.” I could not think of anything. I didn't know what to think. Mom doesn't have any friends. Does she? I mean, we have neighbors she talks to and all, but she doesn't have any friends. I never see her have anyone over or go anywhere. How does she have friends? I didn't know what to do. I shrugged. She just looked at me in that mom sort of way, almost hurt, almost teary, almost happy. I felt awkward.

 

The day came. Mom was frightful. I had never seen her so particular about the way the house looked, about the way it smelled, whether my toys and books were put away, even in my room. Mom had put on a nice dress and made her make-up really pretty. I asked her why. She said this was a special night and she wanted everything just right for our guest. I didn't know what to think. I just watched and tried to stay out of Mom's way as she nearly ran from bed room, to bathroom, to kitchen, to dinner table, and back again. I endured multiple checks to make sure I was clean still and not messed up. Then the door bell ran. It was as if time stopped for Mom. She just froze in place. The door bell ran a second time and I asked if she wanted me to get it. She looked down at me. Mouthed the word 'what' then sprang into action.

 

She checked herself in the mirror, used her finger to smudge her lip a bit, fluffed her hair, and breathed strangely deep several times as she walked to the front door. Wiping her hands on the sides of her legs, she let out one long breath and opened the door. There was a man there.

 

This guy looked at my mom. His eyes started at her face, went down slowly, then back up even more slowly. “Wow, Rachel, you look great. I had no idea.” My mom's face went red down to her neck. I didn't like this guy immediately.

 

“Mark, this is Bobby. Bobby, this is Mark. Mark is a friend of mine from work.”

 

The guy named Mark, who worked with my mom, put out his right hand. “Shake his hand, Bobby, like a little gentleman.” I looked up at Mom. She was nervous. I did like she asked. My hand disappeared in his. His grip was firm but not overly tight. I still didn't like him.

 

Dinner was awkward. Mom kept making nervous talk while Mark tried to remain calm and assuring. I ate and watched them both. They didn't act like friends to me. Mark tried to include me in their conversation, but I didn't know what to say to him. Mom and Dad always taught me not to talk to strangers and here was a stranger in my house trying to talk to me. Thankfully, we finished eating. Mark suggested we go for a walk since the night was nice and it was still early. I said I was tired. I wasn't but I didn't like this guy around Mom. Mark said, “Okay, maybe another time?” and that was that. The evening was over.

 

Mark started coming by a lot after that. Sometimes Mom would tell me that she had arranged for me to spend the night with one of my friends. I would look at her in surprise whenever she did this. I knew that Mark guy was coming over when I wasn't there. I think he would go through my stuff when I was not there. Then one day Mom came to me. She looked worried. She said Mark has a very important question to ask me. Ask me? Why would he ask me a question, I thought.

 

I heard his car pull into the driveway. He hopped out of the car very excitedly. He was dressed in a long shirt with sleeves that didn't go all the way down, blue jeans, and a ball cap. “Ready to go, Sport?” He had taken to calling me 'Sport.'

 

I just looked at him. “Go where?” I asked.

 

“You didn't tell him?” he asked Mom.

 

“I wanted you to. I wanted it to be your surprise to him.” Mark looked at my mom with one of those smiles that says more than it shows. His eyes squinted a little. He seemed very happy.

 

“Sport, let's go watch a big league ball game today! Maybe we'll catch a ball and I'll get it signed for you.” He seemed very happy. Mom seemed very happy. While I liked baseball, I didn't like Mark. But I wanted to keep Mom happy. I looked from Mark to Mom. It appeared this would make her happy.

 

“Okay. Lemme go get my glove.”

 

I ran back to my room to get my glove and hat. I could sort of hear Mom and Mark talking.

 

“Mark, you didn't have to do this but thank you so much for doing it anyway.” Her voice sounded in a way I had not heard before or do not remember hearing.

 

“Rachel, dear, I wanted to. I want to be a part of his life too.”

 

I stopped what I was doing. What was he saying? I tried to listen but I couldn't hear anything more.

 

“Let's go, Sport! It's best to get to these things early!”

 

“Come along, Bobby!”

 

I grabbed my ball glove and put my ratty old “Steamers” ball cap on. I ran out of my bedroom to the front room.”Let's go, Sport,” Mark said with a smile.

 

Mark seemed nervous and excited the entire way to the game. He yelled a lot during the game. He would say some things then apologize to me for saying them. He would always tell me to never repeat them around my mom or at school. Then he would wink. He made sure I had enough hotdogs, caramel corn, and cold soda. He even bought me a big pendent flag to wave back a forth. I almost forgot I didn't like him. I was having a good time.

 

After the game, Mark asked me if I wanted to get some pizza, maybe bring something home for Mom. I don't think Mom really liked pizza. She always gave me most of the pizza and only had a little, but I said okay. We stopped off at a pizza parlor on the way home. Mark ordered a 'New York pepperoni to go' and a couple of sodas. As he sat in the booth across from me, he looked really nervous. He didn't look okay.

 

“Bobby.” He didn't call me 'Sport.' “I want to ask your mom something. But before I do, I need to ask you something. Do you think that would be okay?” He looked really nervous.

 

I shrugged, “I guess so.”

 

He pulled out a small fuzzy looking, black box. “Bobby.” He paused. “Over the last several months I have come to know your mom very well.” He stopped looking at his fingers holding the little box and looked me in the eyes. “I like her a lot.” He swallowed. “Do you know what it means when a man asks a woman to marry them?” No, I thought and shook my head. “It means they commit their lives to one another and live together, partners in life for the rest of their lives.” He looked at me. I stared back. I am not sure why but something in me kept saying I wouldn't like it.

 

“Bobby, I want to ask your mom to marry me and I wanted you to know first before I ask her. This way there are no surprises for you.”

 

“But Mom's already married to my Dad,” I said matter-of-factly.

 

“Was, son. Your mom was married to your dad. Your dad passed away a long time ago. You were probably too young to remember it.”

 

At his words burning tears flowed down my face. My dad was gone and was never coming back now. My mom was replacing my dad with this guy Mark. I could do nothing but accept it. I cried.

 

Years later that moment still plays fresh in my memory. My mother never could get me to call him 'Dad.' My little brothers and sisters never understood why I called their dad Mark and they couldn't. Later in life, they wouldn't forgive me for that either. We never made friends. I tolerated him. He was not my dad, except on paper. It really angered everyone when I took my dad's name after high school. I don't think Mark ever forgave me for that. Standing over his grave site, laying next to my mom, I am still angry about that. I look to the other side of Mom and read the tombstone. I wasn't too young to remember the day you didn't come home, Dad.

 

Author's Note

ignore grammar problems, what do you think of the dialogue

Reviews

[Sound]

To me, in my opinion, it doesn't feel real. I come from a family like the one you described and was still a little kid--around 5-6--when my mother remaried. I never felt any real anymosity toward my stepfather, aside from the typical teen angst that's normal. I never called him, "dad", though. I think if you left it at just that "you're not my father" type anger with bobby, I think it would've felt real. However, as I read through it it was clear there was a big dislike of the man whereas I feel that for the most part Mark was a decent step father, trying to do his best. If you want to spark the reader to be on bobby's side, you must give them a reason to. At best I can understand the kid.

[lilfeather]

I really loved it!
It really stuck to me at the end, how Bobby never really accepted Mark, was very, very real.

[TL Boehm]

the dialogue is solid in this piece - you stay true to the 'child's pov' in the story - this one was a punch in the gut - well done.

[Nick Erickson]

This was a great story, with an excellent view point from a young boy.

"It only felt like he was gone, not dead. I didn't expect him to come back. I was told he was dead. But, it felt like he should still be here. He wasn't though. He just never came back home that day during summer."

That stuck out the most to me, the truth behind that statement. Every time I go to my grandfather's house to visit with my grandmother I'm always half expecting for him to walk in from outside and say hello....

You did a good job of writing this from the perspective of a young boy.

Well done!!

[An Ordinary Woman]

I liked it too ... A story thru the eyes of a child always intrigues me. I think you have a fine story here. The ending got to me a little bit, I wasn't expecting her to be gone too. :+(

And this story lends truth to what I've always believed, no one can replace our parents. Not really.

Good job, Doc.

[Donald Meikle]

Like the way you kept everything in focus, no surprises, just how it was through his eyes

[Rain]

Just an excellent piece of writing, definately short story publishable. It's the written voice of a million young boys, too young to remember. I liked this, alot. I see me in this story, also. Rain..