Eleven

Meeting Gideon's father.

When I woke up the next morning, I was very tired. I glanced over at the clock, which read 12:00. I walked downstairs to eat breakfast and trudged back upstairs where I fell back asleep. I woke back up at 2:00 to my mom yelling throughout the house. 

“Come one guys! We have to be at church in 30 minutes!” 

I quickly threw on clothes. When everyone was ready, we piled into the car. Luckily, the chapel wasn’t too far from our house. We pulled into the parking lot and there was already lots of people waiting in lines. There was a Harvesters truck pulled into one of the slots and tables were set up along the curb. My mom got out of the car and started walking toward the tables. 

 

“Come on guys!” she called after us. Then she turned to a lady. “Hey Jean! How are you?” They talked for a while as the rest of us dragged our bodies out of the car and over to my mom. 

When they were finally done catching up, Jean started explaining our job. 

“Ok, guys. What we’re doing is taking food donations from people. When the drive is over, all the food will be packed in the truck and hauled off to Harvesters.”  

She cleared her throat. “You may need to help the people get their food from their cars depending on how much they have, but mostly everyone’s just going to bring it to the tables. When you take them, place them in the boxes behind the table depending on the type of food it is. So, like pasta, cereal... stuff like that. Make sense?” she asked as she gestured toward the labeled boxes. 

My mom nodded eagerly, which Jean took as a unanimous understanding. She turned back to the people in line, and so did we. 

As I collected the food, I met many interesting characters, one of whom was an elderly woman who asked me to carry the food she brought from her car to the table. 

“They’re in the trunk,” she said with an innocent voice.  

When I lifted the trunk, I looked inside one of the many bags lying inside. What was in it you ask? The bag was filled with grape Uncrustables sandwiches. You know, those sandwiches without the crust? I looked in the other bags, and they were filled to the top with the same Uncrustables. 

After I placed the sandwiches into the corresponding box, my mom called me over to where she was talking with Jean and another girl. 

“Hey, Riley,” she started. “This is Jean’s daughter. She goes to your school!” 

I looked at the girl. She was shorter than me, but not much. She looked a lot like her mom; bright blonde hair and golden eyes with a wide smile. 

“Hi!” she said, waving. She told me her name. It was Cara, or Caitlyn... but I didn’t really listen. I started spacing out after my mom told me she went to my school because I knew exactly what she was trying to do. She was trying to set me up. 

“Riley,” I heard my mom say. “Are you listening?” 

I snapped out of my ignorant daze and nodded.

“She’s in creative writing club! Doesn’t that sound like something you’d enjoy?” 

I hesitated and shrugged. “You guys should exchange numbers,” my mom continued.  

I cleared my throat. “I hate to interrupt, but people are waiting for me to collect their food.” 

I walked back to my spot next to my dad. I exhaled when I was out of the earshot of my mom and her friend’s daughter.  

“Hello, Riley,” I heard someone say. I looked up to find Mrs. Williams standing in front of me.  

“Mrs. Williams?” I questioned. “What are you doing here?” 

“My wife and I go to church here! We love participating in the food drives,” she replied.  

Wife? The word caught my attention and I perked up, hopefully not noticeably. I didn’t know Mrs. Williams was gay, but I guess I should’ve known considering all the blazers she’d worn to school and her masculine demeanor.  

“The real question is, what are you doing here? I didn’t take you as the type to volunteer at food drives.” Mrs. Williams added. 

“More like voluntold,” I replied. 

She smiled and nodded, as if to say she understood. She looked over her shoulder and then back at me. “I think we brought about three bags full. She’s bringing them now.” 

Soon, another woman approached behind her with three bags in her hands. She had short, curly, gray hair with white highlights, and she was wearing a brown sweater that matched her eyes. She placed the bags on the table and smiled at me. 

“Riley, this is my wife, Anna,” Mrs. Williams introduced. 

“Hi, Riley! There’s...” Anna glanced at the bags. “I believe there’s twenty items.” 

“Thanks,” I said, taking the bags from her hands. As I put the cans in the corresponding boxes, questions flooded my mind. When I stood back up, I saw them beginning to walk away. 

“Can I ask you guys a question?” I called out before they were out of earshot. 

“Of course,” Mrs. Williams said, as she turned to look at me. 

I hesitated. “I was wondering... how do you guys do it?” 

“How do we...," she started. I could tell by her face that thought I was asking about something else. 

“I mean... how long have you been married to each other?” I clarified. 

They smiled at each other warmly. “Twenty years and counting,” Anna replied. 

Twenty years? Wow. “How have you guys stayed happy with each other for that long?” I hoped that wasn’t an awkward question, but I didn’t know how to phrase what I was thinking. 

“Communication,” Mrs. Williams said, smiling. “Communication has saved our relationship many times.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Anna laughed. “We’ve never stopped loving each other since we met in high school. That’s what’s kept us together all these years.” She smiled at Mrs. Williams and reached for her hand. “But she’s not wrong. Communication is definitely an important thing in a relationship. Honest communication.” 

Hm. Communication isn’t something I’m an expert at. 

“Why do you ask?” Mrs. Williams asked. “Is there a girl you’re trying to court?” 

“Well,” I replied, looking down at my feet. “Yea... there is a... someone.”  

I looked back up at them and Anna was smiling. “It’s not a girl, is it?”  

Panic flooded through my veins. I looked over at my dad, and thankfully, he was too busy talking to another man about football to hear what the blue shirt man had said. 

I tried to speak. “I... -” But she walked closer to me and bent down so we were at eye-level. “Communicate,” she whispered. “I know it’s scary, but you have to talk to him.” 

Surprisingly, I smiled instead of denying Anna’s accusations. 

“Thanks,” I replied. 

She smiled and backed away. “Tamika, we should get going,” she said to Mrs. Williams. 

Mrs. Williams looked back at her and nodded before adding, “See you in class, Riley.” She smiled. “Good luck.” 

I smiled back and waved at them as they walked away. Throughout the rest of the day, all I could think about was Mrs. Williams and her wife. 

 

~ 

 

 

When I opened the door and sat in the passenger seat, Gideon’s voice became tense. 

“Okay listen,” Gideon replied without saying hello back. “My dad isn’t like your parents.” 

“Okay...?” I replied. I didn’t know why Gideon seemed to be stressed. “What do you mean?” 

“He’s not nice. Just... don’t try and challenge him.” 

“Challenge him?” I questioned. Gideon didn’t clarify what he meant, so I added, “What about your mom?” 

He hesitated. “She passed away when I was 9.” 

Suddenly, I had swallowed a frog. “I'm sorry... I-…" 

“It’s fine...,” he interrupted. 

Soon, we pulled into a small baby-blue house with two attached garages. We got out of the car and walked up the stairs to the right of the garages leading to the front door. Gideon opened the screen door and held it open for me. As soon as I walked inside, the smell of beer filled my nose. 

“GIDEON! IS THAT YOU?? COME IN HERE!” I heard a gruff voice with the same accent as Gideon’s growl from a different room. Gideon gestured toward me, and I followed him out of the mudroom, up the small stairs, and into the living room, which looked like it was pulled straight out of the 90s.  

The walls were painted white and there were two windows with vertical window shades on the back wall of the room. There was a small television at the front of the room. A slim man wearing a white tank top and black jeans that were too tight, was laying on a dusty gray couch in the middle of the room. A wood coffee table was sitting in front of it, beer cans and chip bags piled on top of it. 

“Dad, this is Riley,” Gideon said. 

The man looked up at me. He had a short, bowed beard and mustache spreading across the same tan skin as Gideon. Although his eyes were different. Unlike Gideon’s eyes, which were green, caring, and somewhat filled with awe, the man’s deep brown eyes looked angry. His black eyebrows were furrowed.  

“Isn’t that a girl’s name?” he interrogated. I opened my mouth to answer but was interrupted.  

“Why is he here?” Gideon’s dad continued. 

“School project,” Gideon replied quickly. “We’ll just be in my room.” He quickly grabbed my arm and started pulling me toward the stairway leading upstairs. But his father continued.  

“BOY! Come back here,” he demanded with an icy tone. Gideon exhaled and walked back over to the couch. 

“Yes?” 

“Did you pick up what I asked for??” 

Gideon’s face turned panicky, and he muttered under his breath, “No... I forgot.” 

“Excuse me? You WHAT??” his father yelled.  

“Dad I’m sorry. I forgot. But you don’t need any more beer, okay? We have some Coke in the fridge if you-…,”  

Gideon was interrupted by his father as he stood up from the couch. I could now see that he was taller than Gideon. 

“Are you trying to TELL me what to do, Gideon??” his father catechized. 

“No, no... I’m sorry I was just-...” Gideon defended.  

This time, it wasn’t his father’s words that interrupted him. It was his father’s hand. Before I knew what was going on, Gideon was struck across the face with a loud ‘SMACK!’  

Fear and anger filled my body and I stepped closer to Gideon. 

Gideon didn’t cower. “DAD! STOP!” he yelled, gesturing toward me. With his face twisted angrily, lines appeared which weren’t otherwise visible. Suddenly, he looked older. 

 “So? It’s not like he ain’t seen your black eye! Maybe now he can see what poor excuse of a son you are.” 

So that’s why Gideon had a black eye. I had no idea.  

“HEY!” I yelled. “Don’t talk to him that way. If anything, you’re a poor excuse of a father!” 

Gideon’s father looked over at me. “Listen here kid,” he started. 

“He didn’t mean it Dad. Leave him alone,” Gideon said, standing in between us. 

His father looked back at him. He bent down to look him eye-to-eye. “If I tell you to do something, you do it. Do you understand?” 

Gideon nodded, and his dad looked back at me and scowled. “Now, get out of my f*****g house. Both of you!” he demanded as he sat back down on the couch. 

Gideon grabbed my hand and led me towards the front door. I heard Gideon’s father call after us before the door slammed shut. 

When we were outside, he groaned. “I’m so sorry. This is why I didn’t want you to come to my house.” 

I shook my head as I sat in the passenger seat of his car. “No, it's not your fault. I’m sorry for asking to come over.” 

“Yea, well you shouldn’t have tried to stand up to him. I told you, don’t challenge him.” 

I hesitated. “So... your dad was the reason you had a black eye?” 

Gideon stayed silent as he looked in the rearview mirror and sped out of the driveway. 

“Yea...,” he admitted quietly. “Can you do me a favor, and not tell Val or Adrian about this? They know my dad and I don’t get along, but they don’t know to what extent.” 

I nodded. “Yea, of course.” 

“Alright, we have to finish this project. Let’s go to the chapel,” Gideon said, changing the subject.