Friday, August 1, 2014

Father's Day

Small changes. This is the version I will submit to Flash Fiction Online. I'll let you know when they reject it.
 
 
 
 
Joe was obsessed with the possibility that he had been a lousy dad.

The present didn’t concern him as much because when your sons are in their thirties fatherhood is more of a spectator sport.

But the past. The past drove him crazy with worry.

He irritated his wife endlessly, looking for validation that he had been a loving father. “Was I a good dad? I mean, was I attentive? Sensitive? Did I take out my frustrations on them?”

The last question was the one he worried about most. Joe’s entire life had been consumed by lousy jobs that left him screaming for release. Jobs that suffocated his spirit and forced him to drink.

Booze was the first thing he reached for when he got home just so he wouldn’t smash his head against the wall and scream at his family. He didn’t have a choice, really. Employment forced his hand. Raging nerves were dangerous untreated; alcohol brought a measure of peace.

Until of course he had consumed more than was required.

His wife was consistently reassuring in her responses, but the dead brain cells in his head left vacancies where memories should have been.

He wasn’t quite sure if she was being truthful or considerate.

Joe’s gut told him that he had been a good dad but he couldn’t help wondering if there were alcohol fueled rages that left scars on his sons’ souls.

There were holes in the cheap bathroom door that stood in bold suggestion of just such a possibility.

Joe’s wife was a sweetheart. At least she appeared to be.

She put up with a lot. Like his drinking and insecurities and his stubborn commitment to underachieving, which reduced their life together to subsistence levels.

They could have done better. Lived easier.

But Joe was mired in self-doubt, success eluded him and pizza was a big night out.

Still his wife handled it all calmly, with her innate ability to smooth out the rough edges. At least she appeared to. There were tensions and hints of impatience, maybe some frustrations, but generally she maintained an even keel.

She had created a garden in the front yard that was a triumph and a source of peace for both of them.

A pool stood in this spot for many years. An above ground pool plenty big enough for the four of them to play, laugh and relax in. A pool that left behind great memories.

When the kids moved out the pool stood silent and eventually Joe’s wife was inspired to take it down and replace it with paradise.

They spent a lot of peaceful moments out there listening to the fountain, the breeze, the birds and each other.

Father’s Day was tough on Joe recently. His kids’ schedules were hard to coordinate and he had spent a few Father’s Days without them.

Those were the days his imagination tortured him the most.

This year was the roughest because he had to work. He worked for a state run liquor store and it was open seven days a week.

Joe was old school and despised working on Sundays. He could remember when barely anything was open on Sundays and people seemed to survive.

Still the kids were not going to be around so Joe volunteered to work, allowing another father to be celebrated.

He made it through the day as best he could, dealing with all the insensitive idiots who said repeatedly “I can’t believe you are open today.” He would look at them incredulously. He wanted to scream “I wouldn’t be here at all if you were intelligent enough to plan ahead.”

He held his tongue and bought a couple of nips to sooth him on the ride home.

When he walked onto the screened-in porch, his wife kissed him hello and gave him a look. She tasted the whiskey on his lips, which always pissed her off.

He brushed past her into the house, poured himself a tumbler of whiskey and invited her to join him in the garden.

Before going back out he asked “Honey, do you think I was a good dad? Do you think the kids are thinking about me today?”

She smiled. She told him he had been and still was a great dad.

It was a gorgeous day. Brilliant sunshine, beginning to fade, but plenty warm with not too many bugs.

The fountain was gurgling, the birds were singing, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves as Joe rationalized that his life was not really so bad.

He felt at peace.

He heard his wife approaching with a tray full of munchies. She said “Happy Father’s Day, honey” and Joe began to turn to say “Thank you,” but the words never left his lips.

She pulled the trigger quickly, killing his response and then gently returned the gun to its spot next to the cheese and crackers.

She sat next to Joe and ate enthusiastically, marveling at the soothing effect of the fountain.

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