his father wanted.
They didn’t talk much about his job as an investment banker but it was understood that it was miserable. A lot of hours in exchange for a lot of money. The type of job where one needs to trade joy for a fat paycheck. Though Eric enjoyed the fruits of his father’s job it was exactly the kind of career he wanted to stay away from.
A black sedan pulled into the parking lot and circled around until it came to where Eric was seated. He stood up and wiped at any dirt that had clung to his shorts and walked to the passenger door. He hesitated when he saw that his mother wasn’t driving; it was his step-father, Jeff.
Eric always suspected he’d married his mother because she had a decent paying job and didn’t mind if Jeff went months or even years without work. More than once Eric had caught him smoking pot in his mother’s house and even saw him at a restaurant with another woman. “What’re you doing here?” Eric said as he climbed in and sat down. “Your mom couldn’t drive today kid. She’s pretty fucked up right now so I want you to take it easy on her.” “What’d ya mean fucked up? What happened?”
Jeff glanced out the window at a group of passing girls and then pulled away from the curb, taking a quick look in his rearview before turning out of the parking lot and onto the main road. “Your father’s dead, Eric.”
Eric’s heart felt like it slumped in his chest; his stomach churned, butterflies tingling his belly and causing nausea. He thought he would vomit.
“He died in India kid. He was there on some safari or some shit.”
Tears welled up in Eric’s eyes and his throat clinched but he fought them back and managed to look out the window, his reflection absently looking back at him. “How do you know? I mean, things can get reported wron-”
“They’re bringing back his body tomorrow for burial. What’s left of it anyway.”
Eric looked over at his step-father; his face was stern but there was a glimmer of pleasure in his eyes. He’d always felt inadequate compared to his father. Whenever they’d get in a fight Eric’s mother would say she wished she’d never got divorced from James. It would cut deep since Jeff knew it was true. “How’d he die?” Eric said. “You don’t want to know.” “How Jeff?” Jeff looked at him and then back out at the road. “He was killed by an animal.” “What animal?” “I don’t know. A fuckin’ lion or somethin’.” Jeff noticed his soccer uniform. “What’d you have a game today?” “Yeah,” Eric said absently, not looking at him.
“Look,” Jeff said, “he lived a crazy life your father. This type of thing was inevitable. The important thing now is that you take care of your mom. For whatever reason, she’s taking it pretty hard. And if she’s takin’ it hard it means she’s gonna annoy the fuck outta me.”
Eric felt the urge to reach over and slap his face but instead he kept staring out the window, watching the passing strip malls and fast food restaurants and pool halls as they approached his mother’s house.
It was a cold thing to say, and Jeff had said it out of spite, but there was some truth to it. His father lived like a man that wanted to die, though he always said he was afraid of it.
They parked on the street in front of the house and Eric got out, choosing to walk across the lawn rather than share the sidewalk with Jeff. The lawn was thick and shaggy from months without being cut, patches of yellow beginning its takeover of the once green grass. Eric opened the front door; the inside of the house was much cleaner than the outside. Carpets freshly washed and furniture dusted, the smell of lemon polish hanging in the air.
His mother was lying on the couch, the TV turned low. Eric sat down by her feet without saying a word and she pulled her legs up to make room, not taking her eyes off the television.
“I’ll be out in the garage,” Jeff said.
Eric watched him walk out with disgust; he remembered when his father had built that garage. He did it in one summer. Eric was eight at the time and he remembered the smell of sawdust and the taste of lemonade as he helped his father, carrying tools and helping hammer nails. James had even let him use a nail gun a couple times but the sound had scared him and his father put it away, even though it increased the work that needed to be put in.
“How you doing, Mom?” She didn’t say anything. “Are they sure?” Eric said hopefully. “I mean mistakes happen. It could be someone else, right?”
His mother watched television as if she hadn’t heard him. She took a moment and then turned to him, her eyes red and puffy. “He was a good man, Eric; I don’t want you to ever be mad at him for going on those trips. They kept him alive.”
“I know,” he said. From this close he could smell the sweet aroma of peach Schnapps emanating from her. “This is the way he would’ve wanted to go,” he lied. He knew his father would’ve rather went in a comfortable bed with a beautiful woman next to him, as any man would.
“I don’t think I ever stopped loving him,” she said, turning back to the television. “I hated him too though. I loved him and hated him. He could make me feel like the most important person in the world one day and a piece of shit the next. But I still loved him, I never stopped.”
Eric rubbed her calf; it was soft; fragile. “I know, Mom. He loved you too.” Eric could see the dining table from where he was sitting and an old photo of his father in a Navy uniform, a box with his medals open next to it.”How did you find out?” “His sister called me.” “Kathy?” His mother nodded. “Where is she now?” “Borneo I think. She’s married to some spiritual guru or some crazy shit like that. That whole family’s fucked up.”
Eric looked at her and a flash of anger filled him and then flowed away. Leaving only pity in its place. He stood up, leaned down and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek, and went off to his bedroom.
His old room had been kept the same as when he had moved out, even though Jeff wanted to put a pool table and a bar in. But his mother refused and never explained why. Jeff eventually gave up the fight when he saw she was serious. Eric thought that deep down Jeff knew his mother didn’t need or even particularly like him. He was around for convenience and because she didn’t like being alone.
Eric collapsed on his bed and found he couldn’t hold back any longer, emotion choking him. He put his face in a pillow and began to cry.
CHAPTER 7
Eric woke to the claustrophobic tightness of a dark room. It took some time for his eyes to adjust and he stared out the window at the sky, moon covered with slow moving gray-black clouds.
The alarm clock said 7:27 pm and he rose and walked out of the room. His mother was still lying on the couch, an empty bottle of Schnapps on the coffee table in front of her. Eric tip-toed out of the house and slowly shut the door behind him before making his way to the sidewalk, looking back to the house one more time before moving on.
The night air was cool, smell of fern and mountain air fresh in his nostrils. His cell phone had three messages but he turned it off without listening. After a few minutes of walking he stopped at the nearest bus stop and sat on the bench, watching the cars drive by like white-eyed demons through the night. They appeared sinister. It was funny how the most innocuous things could appear wicked when you had wickedness done to you.
There was a convenience store across the street and the clerk was eating a burrito and watching a small television behind the counter, not paying attention to the two older men that were shoving donuts into their jackets. Eventually the men bought a fountain drink and the clerk didn’t think it odd that two men had roamed the store for ten minutes and bought only one drink.
The bus approached; its engine thundering down the street until coming to a stop a little past Eric. He climbed on and nodded to the driver before taking the first seat. An old black woman sat at the back of the bus staring out the window. It didn’t look like she was focused on anything in particular. A wrinkled and worn face, lit by the passing lights of street lamps before dimming with darkness once more.
“Been on the bus damn near an hour,” the driver said.
Eric turned to him. “What?”
“That woman, she been on the bus almost an hour but she don’t talk. I asked her what stop she wanted and she just kept lookin’ out the wind’a.” The driver swore under his breath as another car didn’t let him merge and then glanced back to Eric. “They should take doze people and round ‘em up and send ‘em off.”
“Those people?”
