Page 125 - What They Did to the Kid

What They Did to the Kid 113

“He’s questionable,” Mike said.
“Have you noticed,” Doc said, “that our national anthem, ‘The
Star-Spangled Banner,’ begins and ends with questions?” He began
singing, “Oh, say, can you see?” He stopped. “But no one ever asks
me the most dignified of all questions: What do I prefer? What is my
choice? Has anyone recently asked you what you’re all about? What
might be your choice?”
Julia broke into such tears she had to excuse herself. “Not this
again.” She headed to the kitchen.
“Good-bye, Julia, my wife,” Doc said. He turned to me. “Are you
an independent boy or a dependent boy?”
“I don’t know. Independent, I guess.”
“That’s good for a guess and better as a choice...if it’s true.” Doc
threw his napkin on the table full of china and stood up. He was
quite tall. “Mike’s an independent boy.” He looked at his son and
we all waited the longest moment. “Well...Good-bye, my boys. I’m
off to the bright-lighted chromium drugstore to serve up malts on
the Fourth of July. Later on, come on down, and I’ll treat you to an
independent independence sundae.” He exited singing, “Oh, say,
does that star-spangled banana still wave....”
Mike and I sat alone.
“My mentor is my tormentor, “ Mike said. “Nine rooms and a
bath.” He gestured across the shambles of the meal.
“There was no call for you to lead me into an ambush,” I said.
“They deserved it.”
“Deserved it!” I yelled. “Your father’s ego and your mother’s
humiliation?”
“He’s crazy like a fox and she loves it. They sort of have this act.
Besides, they stood your family up on your vacation last year. They
didn’t have to go away to a funeral. They’re insecure. Julia thinks
my family isn’t holy enough for your family. She thinks you’re great,
because your poems show you have a true vocation.” He rose and
started for the front porch. “You coming?”
We tried to shoot a little basketball in the driveway. I beat him
at a lazy game of “Horse,” and he put a half-nelson on me and we
wrestled around and then pulled free of each other.
Off down the block, roman candles shot through the twilight.

©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved
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