Father

Based on a true story.

Cars passed back and forth in front of their dilapidated home. The light blue paint on the siding, which hadn’t been washed in years, or possibly never had been, was chipped in various places and the white shudders, always thrown open, were stained brown from morning after morning where the sun kissed them upon it’s awakening. A shiny 1966 Ford Thunderbird sat in the dusty gravel driveway facing a dirty white shed that looked like it would fall over if the wind blew the wrong way. The house was oddly placed on a main road, no other houses around it. It was surrounded by trees, almost engulfed by them. Vines slithered up the siding and encroached upon a foggy window on the second floor. The right shudder hung by one hinge and slammed against the house every time the wind blew. A brick chimney traveled up the right side of the house, bricks missing from it in various spots, and it looked like it hadn’t been used in years. The roof was missing many shingles and the front porch sagged to the right. The steps creaked and a few floor boards were missing. One pane in the window next to the front door had a baseball sized hole through the glass that no one had gotten to fixing. If not for the mint condition Thunderbird perched in the driveway, a passerby would think the home abandoned. 

Three pairs of identical high top sneakers, all equal in grime, pounded down the pavement of the road. With a nasty look in his eye, Jim leaned into Ed’s ear and whispered. Ed nodded in agreement with whatever he had said, a smile of equal squalidness spread across his face. All three heard a car approaching quickly and as it was almost upon them, Ed grabbed Sean by his backpack and gave him a shove. Sean stumbled into the road blindly, unable to counter the force of Ed’s shove and the weight of his backpack. He fell face first onto the sizzling hot, May pavement. The car blared it’s horn, Sean lay there frozen in fear, the sound of Jim and Ed’s laughter and the ringing of the car horn creating a cacophony to confuse him further. The driver jerked his wheel and missed the tips of Sean’s twelve year old fingers by a narrow inch. 

The car sped away and Sean rolled onto his back. He could feel tears welling in his eyes, a knot forming in his throat. He swallowed hard and willed himself not to cry in front os the brothers he shared a womb with. That would be asking for it. He could hear Jim and Ed’s footsteps as they approached him, still laughing. 

“Come on, you little baby.” Jim sneered.

“Yeah, you’re afraid of everything, you little f*g. The speed it was going, you wouldn’t have died or nothing.” Ed laughed, kicking him in the side. 

Jim and Ed took off running down the street toward home and left Sean to fend for himself. When they weren’t looking, he let one lone tear escape down his cheek. 

Jim and Ed pounded up the decaying stairs of the porch and threw open the front door, which was missing any form of a doorknob. It was easily pushed open from the outside, but anyone leaving had to stick two fingers through the hole where a doorknob should be and pull. A hazy cloud of cigarette smoke hung around the living room and the rest of the house, which was just as neglected inside as it was outside. There was a big, worn out chair propped in the middle of the living room, which was the room the front door opened to, and a small television directly across from it. To the right of the chair, sitting under the front window with the baseball sized hole, was a dirty brown colored floral couch. It’s left front leg was missing, someone had shoved a block of wood underneath, but it still leaned a little. Five pictures, the three boys and their two sisters, hung on the wall, but none were in the right sized frame. They were all crooked, fallen down into corners, or placed over a series of other pictures of various sizes as if the person who framed them had no emotional attachment to the subjects and simply didn’t care for the appearance that the too big frames had on the wall. Or maybe this person had just been in a hurry and had thrown the pictures in the too big frames as a place holder, until she could get to the store or earn the money to buy frames of the right size. I guess questions like that, little questions, will never have answers. 

In the worn out chair sat James Norris, a heavy set man in his late forties. On the little table next to him was an ashtray with a lit cigarette, almost burned out, and half a bottle of Jack Daniels. When he heard the boys run inside he startled, waking from his alcohol induced nap. The boys tried to make their way to the stairs as quietly as they could but they knew it was pointless. James braced himself on the arms of the chair and rose. He turned to face them, his bloodshot eyes landing on Jim first, then Ed. 

“Where the hell have you two been?” He slurred, his voice full of menace. 

“We just came home from school.” Jim answered, his eyes fixed on the floor. James looked at the clock on top of the mantel that hung on the wall. 

“It’s four thirty in the afternoon, school ends at three, doesn’t it?” Neither of them answered.

“Doesn’t it?!” He boomed. They nodded. “So where the hell have you been!” 

“We were with Joey Barnes behind the skating rink.” Ed whispered. 

“And what were you doing with Joey Barnes?” He said in a mocking tone. 

“Just hanging out.” Said Jim. James’s eyes wandered the room for a second, Jim and Ed kept theirs fixed on their dirty sneakers. 

“Where the hell is your brother? Get distracted chasing a butterfly on his way home?” Jim and Ed chuckled at this. 

“He didn’t come with us. We don’t know where he is.” Jim lied. 

It was at that moment that Sean hesitantly pushed open the front door. When he saw his brothers and his father standing, intoxicated, in the middle of the living room, he glued his eyes to the floor and attempted to slip, unnoticed, to the stairs. 

“Look at me, boy.” He father mumbled. Sean stopped in his tracks. “I said, look at me.” 

Slowly, Sean lifted his eyes and met the glazed over stare of his father. His body froze, waiting for what ever verbal beating was about to land on him. Ed stared back and forth between them, also waiting, but for his own entertainment. 

“Your mother has been slaving in the kitchen all day to make you boys and myself a sub par meal. Now you go in there, sit down, and pretend it tastes good or you get this,” He lifted his fist in the air. “Understood?” The boys nodded and scurried into the kitchen where Colleen, their older sister, and Laurie, the youngest, were already seated. Their father pounded in after them, the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. He slammed it down on the table as he sat in his chair at the head. The boys filed into their seats as Jane, their mother, brought in a steaming tray of macaroni and cheese. 

“What the f**k is this?” James questioned.

“Your dinner.” Jane replied, her voice emotionless. 

“This is the s**t I’ve been smelling all day? Jesus Christ.” Jane slapped a spoonful down on his plate and he threw it to the floor, the glass shattering. The children jumped at the sound but kept their eyes on their own empty plates. James violently got up out of his chair and stormed out of the house. After the slam of the door, they heard the Thunderbird peel out of the driveway and speed down the road. Everything was silent but for the ticking of the clock on the mantel. 

“Where did Daddy go?” Laurie asked. Jane cleared her throat.

“He just had to leave.” She said as she spooned some of her creation down on to each of her children’s plates. “Now shut up and eat.” She commanded as she turned to retrieve the lamb chops from the oven. What no one would ever see, what her children would never bear witness to, was the one silent tear that fell as she went. 

Author's Note

This is a story I've started writing based on the life of my father. I intend for it to be a story following his life and the conditions I believe caused his alcoholism and Bipolar Disorder. This is the first four pages. I just want some feedback and to see how it is received.