Tomorrow

The warm night air enters the window as the light rain collects on the windowsill. I sit staring at the activity down below. A lady standing under a streetlight approaches an oncoming car, chatters, and eventually enters and the car is a quickly a distant memory.

The ever present sirens are overwhelmed by dad’s snoring. I stare at the bed as he seems to choke, but he collects himself and rolls over.

The mice stop in their tracks as I approach the kitchen, but resume their activity after realizing it is only me. They navigate the pipes along the wall like a tightrope. I stand motionless rethinking my hunger and quickly return to my window seat.

I pass the bathroom, but the mouse on the bathtub rim convinces me I can hold it. I plant myself on the frazzled, previously discarded, vinyl kitchen chair in front of the window.

I notice the lady has returned to the streetlight, but I can’t find the car. The men collected in front of the adjacent liquor store greet her but she doesn’t seem to respond.

I notice the time on my watch and realize that the Tonight Show is on. I repeat earlier efforts to resuscitate the television. I am greeted with nothing but snow, so I turn it off and sit on the couch.

The smell surrounds me and I choke. It is a combination of rotten eggs, tuna fish, and cheddar cheese. Dad’s theory is a mouse must’ve crawled inside the sofa and died. Any movement releases more smell, so I return to my chair.

My bladder is now aching but I can’t convince myself to enter the bathroom. I grab an old coffee mug from beside the television and slowly lower my shorts. I steal a glance at dad every few minutes to make sure he doesn’t see. I am both surprised and relieved at how quickly the mug is filled.

I lean forward and slowly pour the warm liquid down the side of the building outside the window. I identify several objects on the roof below: coffee can, Jack Daniels bottle, Fall City beer can, and what looks like a belt. I decide to add the coffee mug to the mix. It shatters upon impact, but nobody other than me seems to hear or even notice.

My stomach reaches my throat as sirens approach. I quickly pull up my shorts and try to hide. I am sure someone reported me.

Tires screech and I hear voices and arguing. I peep from the edge of the window and see two police cars and a pale green station wagon. The station wagon driver is behind his car screaming at the police and pointing at his car. As one officer talks to him, another looks in the car. 

The officer lays several objects on the top of the car. One resembles my black water gun. The driver is placed in the back of a police car as another appears. There is more talk and the policemen seem happy as they shake hands. One of the officers seems to look at me. Do they know about the cup?

I just know that my brother would want to hear about the police, but dad would get mad if I woke him up. Besides, he wouldn’t want to walk to the phone booth in the rain.

I notice another car approach the lady near the streetlight and again she speeds off. I wonder where she could be going.

There is a lot of noise as a tow truck hauls the station wagon away. I remember the time dad had his car towed away, but his was different. He hadn’t been stopped by the police and it seemed to be running fine. He told me that the guy was just borrowing it, but mom said he didn’t pay for it. He told me a car was not necessary anyway. For that reason, mom dropped me off yesterday and will pick me up tomorrow. I wish she would pick me up now.

That lady is back again. I wonder why she keeps coming back. It's like she is test driving cars.

Hey, there is dad’s friend Eddie. He gave me a Coke earlier when we were in the bar. He told me that he hoped I turned out better than my old man and everybody had laughed. That was nice of him to encourage me. Dad was smoking and Eddie told me not to start that nasty habit and end up a runt like Dad. Boy, people were really laughing.

I’m getting tired, but there is no way I am sleeping on that couch. Dad said I could sleep with him. It is so hot in the room. I hope I don’t wake him up.

I wish it was tomorrow.

Sign Here

“There’s popcorn over there.” She pointed at a small popcorn machine near the pharmacy desk. 

The familiar red, white, and blue Pepsi logo filled the dark room. Why had they repeatedly called it a Coke machine?  There was a large sign on the door that said 'Vending". Why was the sign needed? The machine rejected the bill a few times. I stretched it taut between my hands while rubbing it against the edge of the machine. I had watched dad use the same technique. The machine finally accepted it after a few attempts. The cold Mountain Dew burned my throat. I quickly finished and bought another since they were only fifty cents. I grabbed some popcorn and settled into a seat near the front of the showroom. 

    

I observed the lot and its heat, but dad was nowhere to be found. I slowly stood up and stepped closer to the window, my stomach dropped as my eyes frantically scanned everything.

“Its okay, your dad went for a ride with Larry. He told me to tell you to wait for him in here.” She gently touched my back while beaming the now familiar smile. I wondered if dad had actually told her that, or was it a standard thing said during test drives. Then again, there is the chance he had left, it's not like it had never happened. The incident at the bowling alley popped in my head, but I quickly pushed it away.

I looked to the left where our car was parked. The lime green Ford LTD stood out. Its driver side front fender was a different shade of green. Dad had replaced it after an accident – that was an exciting trip to the junk yard. 

All of the old, wrecked cars lined up - you can either remove the part yourself or get them to do it - dad had done it himself since cheaper. I had kept track of the bolts and other small parts. The dark green finish on the new fender clashed with the rest of the car. We found some green spray paint at K-Mart, but it was nowhere near the original color of the car. Dad liked to call it his tank, I loved sitting in the front on that long bench seat as he drove.

I was startled when dad touched my shoulder. Old Spice enveloped me as he sampled my popcorn and took a long drink from my can. I never liked drinking after people. Mom forbid it, but dad said she didn’t need to know everything. I wiped the can with my sleeve when he was not looking.

“What do you think of that?” Dad motioned at the gray car in front of the building.

“Nice.” I didn’t know what to say.

"It's a Camaro. Remember the blue one I had?"

"The one with the rusted trunk lid?"

"That's right, it did have some damage on the trunk." He laughed like it was a joke.

"You always said you hated that car."

“Did I say that? Well, would you like to go home in that?” He smiled proudly while staring at the car.

“I thought you were just looking?” Everything had suddenly changed, I wanted to go home - call mom to pick me up.

“Well, I did look.” He smiled while staring at the women that had helped me.

“I thought you wanted something bigger? You had talked about a truck.” I searched for anything to support my case.

“Sir, the credit check went well. Follow me so we can review the paperwork.” Burt rudely interrupted us.

“Dad, don’t you.” I stopped as he turned and walked away.

I watched as Burt repeatedly visited the pharmacy desk. Other salesmen escorted people around the lot. I smiled as Burt and another man slowly circled the tank. The other man elbowed Burt and they shared a laughed. I wondered what was so funny.

“You ready to ride home in style?” Dad beamed while hovering over me.

“Sure.” I observed the now familiar car through the window. I hated myself for wanting to ride in it.

“C’mon, let’s go put our stuff in it.” Dad said.

“Okay.” I plodded behind him. I felt a sense of loss as we approached the tank. I wanted to ride in it one more time. I kept thinking of all of the places we had been in it.

I ignored Burt as we transferred things from the big trunk to its smaller counterpart. Fishing poles, tackle boxes, sleeping bags, tools, our tent, and much more rested on the hot pavement. It resembled a big puzzle as dad arranged the items.

“Well, the green monster is gone. Let’s hop in the gray ghost.” Dad announced.

I plopped into the passenger seat and slammed the door. I adjusted the side mirror, but dad made me move it so he could see. He slowly pulled from the curb as I spun around for a last glance at the tank.

“I bet you’re hot?”

“Yeah.” I smiled with a shrug as moisture covered my body.

He pushed a lever to the right and warm air exploded from the louvered vents.

“Well, that is odd.” Dad mumbled while pulling to the side of the road.

“Does it have a/c?” I mumbled to myself with immediate regret, but there was nothing on the controls that indicated air conditiioning.

“Well, I assumed it did.” He responded with a sheepish smile while playing with the levers on the dash.

My heart sank as I watched embarrassment and subsequent anger erupt in his eyes. I knew mom would laugh about it. So, I vowed she would not find out as we raced down the highway with our arms dangling from the windows.

I held my hand out the window and leaned forward to get air to my wet back as we we raced down the highway.

These Men

I remember like it was yesterday. We stepped out the back door of grandma’s shotgun house into a crisp, dark autumn morning. The grass was wet as we trekked to the car dressed head to toe in camouflage. 

I pondered why we had to get up so early and did we really need to go stealth to find a deer?

Dad checked the trunk - guns, bullets, knife, binoculars and bologna sandwiches along with his obligatory case of beer. One piece of equipment that stood out was the orange toboggan and vest. 

Dad explained in a stern voice that we must wear them at all times to minimize the risk of being shot. This snapped me fully awake - get shot!? My eyes were wide as I asked for verification of what was said. I commented that I didn’t realize deer were armed, but dad did not find the comment funny as my brother did. Honestly, I was scared.

“The bright orange is so hunters won’t mistake you for a deer.” He kneeled in front of me and explained as if it made perfect sense.

I looked myself up and down and did the same with my brother - we looked nothing like deer. At least, nothing like the pictures of deer I had seen. Furthermore, we were camouflaged so how would the hunters see us? Then I wondered, a little too loud for dad’s sake, if the deer were camouflaged as well. 

“Why would a deer be camouflaged? What are they hiding from?” Dad asked with hands on his hips. 

“Us?” I stammered.

“You think they know who we are?” 

“They don’t?” I was more confused.

“Of course they don’t, they are stupid animals.” He patted my brother on the back while laughing.

“Then why are we masquerading?” I motioned up and down at my clothes.

“Mascaring what? All those books making you stupid. These clothes allow us to blend in so they don’t get spooked.”

“Okay.” I shrugged.

We were now standing in a field with a few bare trees around us. The green of our costumes looked nothing like the surroundings. It made me think of a puzzle that tells you to find what doesn’t belong - I’d circle the three of us.

“What about our orange hats?” I just could not avoid it.

“What about them?”

“Do deer wear orange?” I almost laughed at how funny it sounded.

“Are you getting smart boy?” 

“No sir.”

“You know damn well they don’t wear orange, it is for protection.”

“But won’t the deer see them and know it is us?” 

At this point, my brother grabbed me and dragged me to our hiding spot. Dad stood mumbling to himself for a few minutes before joining. I kept waiting for a slap that never arrived.

As Dad told the story, we were lucky as it only took a few hours before deer appeared. It felt like an eternity, I made up stories in my head to pass the time - the orange hat made me think of Holden and his red cap.

“Get ready.” He both yelled and whispered while signaling to aim our weapons. He had spent hours, well at least one hour Saturday night, teaching us to shoot. 

My hands shook as I raised the weapon. The deer approached, it seemed like I could reach out and touch it. Mentally, I named it - Wilma.

“Shoot!” He whisper yelled at us.

I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger moments after my brother unloaded. I looked to my right and saw my dad yelling, but I could not hear - the ringing filled my head for another hour.

Within moments we were standing over a dead body. I doubted, rather wished, it was not my fault. I think Dad shot it and gave us credit, my brother agreed. I was just happy the hunt was over as we could now go home. The deer was dead as a doornail as grandma would say. What the heck is a doornail? I made a mental note to look it up.

We helped Dad drag it back to the car and into the trunk. The size of that trunk was amazing - it was an LTD, one of biggest cars I’ve ever seen, we always referred to it as the Tank due to its size and green color.

On the way home, we stopped at a shop that would clean and dress it - I still have no clue why it is called that - and Dad proudly stood over the carcass and looked at us.

“These men are no longer the people you once knew.”

With those words, he motioned towards us and smiled and all the guys patted our heads, laughed and grabbed another beer.

Dear Santa

Dad was suffering his usual Sunday morning migraine following a very late night. 

Christmas was weeks away and I wanted the latest G.I. Joe and some other stuff that dad needed to know. This was important information for talking to Santa as he did every year. 

Dad grabbed some coffee and sat at the kitchen table. I talked while he massaged his temples. I laid it all out - cost, location, and availability.

“For-chrissakes, will you stop,” Dad erupted.

“I just want to make sure you have what is needed. I don't want another last year."

"What, wait, what was wrong with last Christmas?" 

"Well, I get an alarm clock and pair of socks."

"He is doing his best."

"Really?"

“Goddamnit, grow up! Do you really still believe all of this? Give it a rest. Why do you think I work everyday? Do you think money grows on trees? I am Santa, the Easter Bunny, and every damn character that gives you gifts! You’re eight years old, you should know better! You're too old to act like this."

    

My stomach dropped. He touched my shoulder, but could find nothing more to say. I knew he was worried about Mom’s reaction. 

I tried to dismiss everything. Mom had always called him an idiot, but I always ignored it.

I had always wondered how other kids got so much whether it was Easter, tooth fairy, Christmas or whatever. 

I grabbed my coat and ran outside, the door slamming behind me. I wrapped the coat around my body to account for the missing zipper. Dad's duct tape plan was ill-conceived.

I sat on the picnic table watching my breath. Mom would be upset, so I wouldn’t be a tattle-tell when she picked me up. I didn’t want more fighting.

Suddenly I no longer wanted anything. I was a fool. I now knew the real reason others enjoyed more rewards.

I always wondered why other kid’s parents were often working or busy when my family was always home in front of the tv. All that crap about being good because Santa was watching. The only thing Santa was watching right now was the coffee going into his mouth. 

I was overwhelmed with thoughts going one way and then another. I now knew why the freaking tooth fairy was a no-show. Mom always said we moved too much. And all that talk of receiving Easter goodies was nothing; who ever heard of the Easter Bunny running out of treats?

Occasionally, Mom took me to church where I was forced to listen to preachers expound the merits of God and how those that followed would be rewarded, but would they? I looked at mom and grandma, where were the rewards?

Mom never complained, but she had nothing and seemed so unhappy. We lived in a mobile home along with riding the bus while others had actual houses and cars.   

The cold air stung my ears as I leaned back. I made a decision - would no longer wish for things, expect nothing. The future is within my reach and control. I returned inside as Dad was asleep on the couch with a bottle of Tylenol nearby. 

    

I walked into the bedroom where my things lay in the corner. The JC Penney Christmas catalog was opened to the appropriate page and the letter to Santa was neatly composed. I felt like I should cry, but I didn't.

    

I crumpled the letter and pushed the catalog under the bed. The days of circling items and wishing gone. I stared out the window as his snores echoed. I grabbed my math book and decided to tackle schoolwork until Mom arrived. I wanted to call her now but Dad wouldn’t want to walk to the telephone booth and Mom would question leaving early. 

    

My daze was broken by a honking horn. She was in her boyfriend’s Malibu. I collected my things and hurried to the door, waking and telling Dad good-bye in one motion. He watched me leave in a daze.

    

I jumped in the car with the book in my lap.

"So, how was your weekend with Mister Wonderful? What did you guys do? Anything happen?"

"Nah, we watched Clint Eastwood movies, ordered pizza, popped popcorn, cleaned out his shed and went bowling."

"Always bowling and could he learn to cook? Do you know he took our only car to Cincinnati when you were born? I had to get a ride from Joy."

"Yeah, I know, but it was an important tournament in Cincy." I had heard it all before, so I made a joke to end it.

She laughed and looked at my book again, reaching over and patting my head and saying “Santa will be so proud of you!” as we sped away.