Dinner Talk (2)

A Chapter by brownie

Here, the family is introduced.

That evening, after choking down several lumps of tuna and other assorted floating items in his dinner, his father asked him what he’d be entering in the Halloween festival this year. His father, Samuel, was normally a very quiet man at the dinner table, reading the newspaper he didn’t have time to read in the morning. He woke up at five and worked in the fields ‘till noon, then selling crops at the local swap meet. The combined effort of that every day had shaped him into a tired and reclusive man, one who’s sole interest was eating dinner, maybe watching a little T.V., and calling it a night. Sleep was his upmost importance.

For a young boy like Danny, it was the enemy. His mother, Joanne, would follow his father to bed after telling him to go sleep"but since his mother also had a day job, she was also pretty tired every night. This meant that around nine p.m., when they were both snoring, he could get up and roam the night.

Sometimes he would go out into the empty fields behind the barn and gaze at the stars, sometimes he would stay up for hours reading the latest horror novel his mother would never let him read when she was around, sometimes he would just watch the newest show on T.V. Around midnight he usually croaked, his eyes becoming weights, his head becoming groggy. Crawling under the cool sheets of his bed, he would smile as he realized he had enjoyed another fine night.

So as he sat there, his stomach protesting that it was not going to eat another bite, he was surprised as his father asked which of his crops he would be picking for honors this year.

“The pumpkins,” he replied, his voice filled with a sly mixture of assurance of confidence.

Putting a spoonful of tuna in his mouth, Samuel asked “You sure? I hear corn’s doing great this year, or at least that’s what Henry"you know, the guy east of us who always has a bunch of strays roaming his yard"has been saying. You have a crop growing out by your pumpkin patch, don’t you?”

Danny did have a small crop of corn he’d raised out by the pumpkins. He also had small crops of squash and tomatoes his father had let him grow, along with an apple tree he’d planted last year. He’d sold caramel apples last year, when the tree was new and vibrant, and had managed make a decent amount of money; this year winter had been rough on the tree, and it had but three apples jutting out from under what leaves remained.

Pushing the bowl of soup away to signal he was done, Danny said “I do have corn growing, but I’m not going to pick ‘till a week before Thanksgiving.”

“Won’t they be ripe?”

“ I’ll pick them a week or two before Thanksgiving. I just don’t want to pick them now.”

“They’re going to taste the best now. Besides, you can sell bunches at the festival! You know you’re not getting your allowance ‘till you’re at least eleven, and the festival is your best chance to make some money.”

“There’s always Christmas.”

“Who’s to say your mother and I haven’t fallen on hard times? There’s a war going on, and people are too busy sending food and letters to their sons out in ‘Nam too but decent groceries. Sales on our crops have been steadily declining, and ours taste a heck of a lot better than most people’s.”

Joanne Bernard had been sitting down on the other side of the table sipping coffee and listening intently. Her ears took in their words like a nose took in the scent of good food, and you could have said her eyebrows were slightly raised. This was the first time Samuel had ever gotten into an actual, meaningful, father-to-son conversation, and she didn’t know whether to butt in and stop it or to let it roam free into the wild and see what would happen.

Her eyes locked on her son, she waited to see what he would say.

“What does ‘declining’ mean again?”

She smiled. What else could you expect from a B average kid in school who spent more time planting and harvesting and riding his cheap bike than studying and reading? Samuel had turned a casual talk into something you’d hear on one of his political radio stations.

You just can’t expect a ten-year-old to follow conversations like that…she thought.

Danny’s father sighed. This was one of the reasons he didn’t talk much"maybe when Danny was older, he could have an actual man-to-man talk with him. Right now, he cared more about his pumpkins than he did about anything else.

Joanne set her coffee down, and answered her son’s question.

“Declining means going down, Danny. And if you don’t get to your homework now, that’s what’s going to happen to your grade"as bad as they already are.”

“I have a B in math!”

“And a C in reading! Now hurry up or get to bed!”

“Can I check my pumpkins first?”

“You already did today,” said Samuel.

“Besides, it’s getting dark. You can check them in the morning.” Joanne made sure to have an edge of don’t-mess-with-me in there.

“I have school tomorrow.”

“Well then you can check them when you get home.”

“I’ll have homework to do.”

Joanne brushed her blonde hair out of her eyes, clearing her face so that Danny could see she wasn’t messing around.

Samuel watched from the table. Although he was the father, Joanne usually did all of the arguing.

“You like your pumpkins, don’t you Danny? You like the fact that they can win you a nice, shiny new ribbon for your room, huh?”

Danny nodded. He knew where she was going with this, and knew it was time to shut up.

“If you like your pumpkins, then you’re going to check on them tomorrow afternoon, right?”

He nodded again.

“You’re not going to check on them now, and you’re not going to check on them tomorrow morning. Right now, you’re going to go upstairs, open you’re textbooks, do your homework, take a bath, and go to sleep. Is that understood?”

He nodded again. There was no use talking back now, when she was mad like this. Most mothers yelled at their kids and spanked them; Danny’s mom preferred what she called “verbal torture”. Her words strapped you down and she forced you to listen.

And at Danny’s young age, he just didn’t have the instruments necessary to break free.

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