Walking In

[Richard]

My aunt woke me up that morning. I lay in bed and looked at the ceiling for a long time. It was still dark outside, and I didn’t want to get up and put my feet on the cold floor of my room. My father had called me the night before and asked me to go with him to work. He always asked me, and I had always said no, but the next year I was going to start high school, and I knew it was, most-likely, my last chance to go with him. I would be busy with friends and school, and I wanted to go on to college. He said he wanted me to see how he made a living. It was what he wanted for me--to understand what it meant to be part of the family. I didn’t want to have anything to do with it, but I couldn’t tell him that. I had to go, but I stayed in bed as long as I could with the covers pulled up close to my chin.

[court959]

About twenty minutes went by before I finally forced myself to get up.  I wobbled my way into the bathroom and grabbed my toothbrush.  Brushing my teeth, I thought about what my friends might be doing, probably sleeping, but definitely not waking up this early to go to work with their father.  I stuffed my toothbrush back into its holder, spit into the sink, and smiled one last time for the mirror.  I looked acceptable, well, good enough to be spending the day with my dad, his co-workers, and their tightly-skirted secretaries.  I ran out the door without breakfast.  Dad was in the driveway and honking loudly.

[jpd]

Dad's car was immaculate, as was usually the case.  Not a smudge on its windows nor a stray bit of dust on its leather; the car was as structured and orderly as the man's mind.  The mind that had driven Mom and me away to live with Aunt Helen.   His car smelled of lavendar and it's seats squeaked as I fidgeted uncertainly.

"I'm sorry, Bob" he spoke into a tiny microphone as he drove, "but I just wouldn't feel comfortable accepting all of the blame for this one.  Surely it was a collabaorative effort by our entire team, and while Katie's loss is certainly an unforseen consequence, she was merely..."  he winced as a clatter of loud static or distortion could be heard through his earpiece.   "Okay, I'll be there in 20 minutes." he concluded the call abruptly.

The tires continued to whisper softly at 35 MPH for several moments while reflections of Autumn trees and morning sunlight sparkled the windshield.   Dad was as placid and unmoved as ever, his hands at 10 o'clock and 2'clock on the wheel as the scenery crept past with methodical, slow-motion, certainty.  

The thought struck me then that it was a beautiful fall morning, and I mentioned this notion to my father as the man slowly turned to look back at me with the strangest expression I had even seen cross his face.