Thursday Evening
Dave had just stepped
through the door of his small apartment when he heard the phone ringing.
He walked quickly over to the phone and looked at the caller ID. It
was his mother. Dave nervously rubbed his hands over his short, black
hair as his stomach knotted. His mother never called unless there was
something wrong. He debated letting the machine pick it up, but if it was
news about his father and he didn't answer he knew he would never hear the end
of it.
Feeling that he was
making a big mistake, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to
dispel the knot that had automatically formed in his stomach. He reached
out, picked up the handset and hit 'On'.
"Hello?" he
said, pretending he didn't have caller ID and that he didn't know who was
calling.
"David," his
mother's disapproving voice came through loud and clear. There was always
a hard edge to her voice when she spoke to him that hadn't softened even after
he'd moved out a year ago. He'd once had a very pleasant conversation
with her, until she realized he wasn't who she thought he was.
"Hello, mom.
How are you?" he asked, politely, not really expecting an answer.
Azriel had no problem saying whatever was on her mind, or neglecting
little niceties such as greeting you or asking after your health, but she'd
always been quick to take offense if someone did it to her. He'd had a long,
hot, dirty, tiring day at his job at the garage and he still needed to shower
and change before he went to his night job and he wasn't in the mood to listen
to the tirade that was sure to occur if he neglected the little pleasantry.
As expected, she ignored
his question and got straight to the point. "Dad and I are calling a
family meeting at 6:00. We expect you to be here."
He looked at his watch.
"That's less than a half hour," he stated, trying to contain
his irritation. "It'll take me at least that long to get across
town."
"If you'd answered
your phone earlier you'd have known sooner."
"I was at work,
mom," he protested.
"You always have an
excuse, don't you, David." A statement. "You'll be here
at six." A command.
The next sound he heard
was the click of the phone disconnecting and the resultant dead air. He
tightly gripped the handset until the recording indicating that the phone was
off the hook began to play. He pressed 'On' and quickly dialed another
number.
The line rang six times
before anyone picked up. "Martinetti's! Joe speaking!"
"Hey, Joker, it's
Dave."
"Blueburry!
Hey! Howya doin'!?" he responded jovially.
Dave closed his eyes in
consternation. He'd worn a deep blue shirt and navy slacks to work one
night and Joker had made the comment that he looked like the little girl in
Willie Wonka who'd been turned into a blueberry. He'd never worn that
combination again but Joe, and a couple of the others, continued to call him
that.
"I'm good, Joe.
Gotta little problem though. Nothing major but I need to talk to
Cam. Is he there?"
"Yeah! Hang
on!" Dave shook his head and smiled. Joe could be a royal pain
in the rear but he was a good guy, and he always sounded pleased and excited
when he spoke, no matter what he was discussing.
A new voice came on the
phone moments later. "Dave?"
"Cam? Yeah,
it's me. Gotta minute?"
"Heya, Big Blue.
Everything all right? Joker said you sounded kind of off."
"Yeah. Well, kinda.
Look, my mother called... there's sort of a family thing going on tonight
and she wants me to be there."
"Is it an
emergency? Is it your dad?" Dave had confided to his manager about
his father's condition one day when he'd been called and informed that Damien
had been admitted to the hospital.
"I don't know.
She didn't tell me what was going on, just that they were calling a
family meeting and that they expect me and my brothers to be at the house by
six."
"Think it'll be an all-night
deal?"
"I don't know.
I don't think so. The neighbors will probably call the police
within an hour to complain about the noise. Either they'll break us up
and I'll be at work a little late, or I'll end up in jail for disturbing the
peace. Or murder. It's a toss-up," Dave joked.
"But I promise when I get my one phone call you'll be it."
"Well, family comes
first, kid. I'll cover for you til eight, ok? If you're going to be
later than that or just can't make it, give me a call. I don't know if
the call is free so make sure you have fifty cents in your pocket."
"Will do.
Thanks, Cam," he replied. Dave fought back the gratitude he
felt for his boss. Cam was like a
surrogate father, and Joe was, if nothing else, a crusty but lovable uncle.
Dave had spent time with both guys and their wives and families ever
since he'd started working at the restaurant two years ago, and each time he'd
fantasized that he was their son, and that their kids were his brothers and
sisters.
Stubbornly refusing to
rush, he took the time to take a quick shower and change into clean black
trousers and a long sleeved, off-white Henley. He tied his black leather
sneakers, picked up his apron, baseball cap and keys and headed out for 'the
meeting'. It was mid-November but the weather that day had been
unseasonably warm and his jacket was in the car. He took a moment to
admire the inky blue black sky before getting into his car and heading out.
He arrived at his
parent's house at 6:18 and noticed that his brother's cars were already in the
driveway. He parked on the street, walked up to the kitchen door and
knocked politely, waiting for permission to enter as his parent's had
instructed him the day he'd moved out. "You don't live here anymore,
it's not your house, so you will not just walk in as though you belong
here," Azriel had said.
His oldest brother Devon
greeted him at the door with a curt nod. "Have a seat," he
said, gesturing with a jerk of his head toward the kitchen table where everyone
else was already seated. The rest of the family had glasses of iced tea
in front of them. No one offered him a glass and he didn't ask. He
briefly wondered why Devon's wife wasn't there.
Dave calmly seated
himself on the chair that had been 'his' growing up, rested his forearms on the
edge of the table and clasped his hands. He was acutely uncomfortable
with Devon and Dane hemming him in on his left, and mom, within arm’s reach, on
his right. He fought down his apprehension by taking slow, deep breaths.
He was an adult now. He didn't live here anymore. They
couldn't hurt him anymore, he reminded himself.
"Nice of you to
finally make it," his father had said sarcastically from his seat across
from David. "You always were unreliable." His father continued to berate him for several
more minutes but Dave knew he'd earned it by being late, and remained silent as
his father proceeded to list the many ways he'd proven to be a disappointment
to his parents over the years.
Damien would never say
it aloud but he approved of the way his youngest was accepting his
chastisement. It used to be that David would well up and cry at the
slightest hint of criticism. He should have known then that his youngest
was a pansy. No real man would cry the way David had over every little
thing, but he was taking it like a man now. Damien congratulated himself.
He'd obviously done something right with the kid after all.
Dave let his father's
words wash over him as he studied the man's features. Damien had always
been active and had remained fit. He was still broad across the
shoulders, still pretty muscular for a man of 71. If a stranger were to
look at him he would never guess that he was even ill. The cancer and the
treatments he'd undergone so far hadn't yet begun to take their toll on the man,
but to Dave the changes were obvious. Damien's face was more lined and
worn. The jowls a bit more pronounced, the grooves bracketing his mouth
were deeper. But the biggest, most evident change in his father was his
hair. Once thick and dark, his hair was now pure white and hardly more
than peach fuzz on his scalp.
At some point Damien had
stopped his rant and his wife had taken that as her cue to begin the meeting.
"As you all know,
dad isn't well," Azriel began. "We've researched all the available
treatments. He's not eligible for some, and he's in the process of trying
some experimental procedures. We're doing all we can and we're remaining
hopeful, but there's no guarantee."
"I've had my will
drawn up," Damien had said, picking up the thread. "That's why
we called this meeting. I want to spell everything out to you people so
that there will be no disputes or arguments regarding it after I'm gone.
It stands as it is. The only question that's left is which of you I
decide to name as executor of my will."
"You," he
said, glancing at Dane, "definitely not. I don't think you have one
functioning brain cell in your entire body. I'm surprised you can walk
and breathe at the same time." Dane flushed but remained silent.
"You," he continued,
pinning Dave with his dark eyes, "were a possibility, but I don't think
so, all things considered." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.
Dave didn't react at all. He'd have been surprised if he'd been
chosen.
He couldn't help but to
wonder why he'd been invited to attend this meeting if it involved his father's
will. Had he actually been named in the will to inherit something,
despite how his parent's felt about his 'unnatural leanings'? Or maybe
they'd brought him here to tell him to his face that he'd been cut out of it.
He filed the thoughts away and focused his attention on his father, who
had resumed speaking.
"You are not my
first choice by any means but you're the only one left," he'd said to
Devon, an expression of distaste clear on his face. "You won't
actually have to do anything except make sure that everything I've stated in my
will is carried out. Even a sot like you should be able to handle
it." A muscle in Devon's jaw twitched but he also, remained quiet.
Strict obedience.
Even now with the three of them grown the old lessons were firmly
ingrained. No one could say that Damien hadn't trained his boys well, at
least as far as that went, Dave thought wryly.
"When I'm gone and
mom passes, this house will belong to the three of you. We expect you to
sell it and divide the proceeds evenly. None of the monies you receive
are to go to your wife, Devon. The same goes for your girlfriend," he
said, glancing at Dane again.
"Each of the
grandkids will receive a set amount and are not entitled to any more than that.
If anything happens to Dane, the house he's living in reverts
automatically back to the estate and will be sold." He pinned Dane
with a gimlet eye. "It is held in trust and therefore your
girlfriend and your kids have no legal claim to it and are not entitled to
either the house or any of the proceeds of the sale."
Dane's jaw dropped and
he paled noticeably. "What are the kids supposed to do? Go
live in the slums with the deviant?" he asked, jerking his head toward
Dave.
"Don't you start
again about where I live, Dane," Dave retorted, keeping his voice level
and his hands on the table, ignoring the personal slur. None of his
family had ever visited him at his apartment but they'd recognized the
neighborhood when he'd mentioned the street name, and every time he saw them
they made some derogatory comment. Dave admitted to himself that it
wasn't much, but it was his home and he paid for it, as well as everything else
he needed, with money earned working two honest jobs.
"Truth hurts,
doesn't it fat ass?" Dane asked smugly.
"Truth?" Dave
asked in dismay, "The truth is that if mom and dad hadn't bought
that house for you you'd either be in the 'slums' with me, or still living in
that little one bedroom apartment with your kids sleeping on the floor in the
hallways. If I'd known all I had to do to get them to buy me a house was
to have a pack of illegitimate kids and move in with a ..."
Dave's mentally kicked himself,
closing his eyes and his mouth when he realized what he'd been about to say.
He dropped his gaze to his now tightly clenched hands and silently
berated himself for saying as much as he had. Past history dictated that
this gathering would end up in a shouting match but he'd been determined not to
be the one to start it.
Devon did not have a
problem completing the sentence. "Slut," he said succinctly.
"She's not a
slut!" Dane yelled.
"Oh, I'm
sorry," Devon said with mock regret. "I meant to say
whore."
"Devon!" Damien
snapped in warning, glaring at his eldest son.
"Are you saying
she's not?!" he demanded of his father. The calm he'd felt as a
result of the half pint of vodka he'd tossed back before getting out of his car
was beginning to fade and he was too far gone to heed the warning in his
father's voice.
He focused back on Dane.
"Then where is she now, Dane?" Devon shouted. "The
last I heard she'd gone off to Alabama to be with her sugar daddy and left you
with six kids. Two of them aren't even yours!" he said, referring to
Mariam and Royal, her two oldest children from two other men. "Or
was that some other woman named Tracy you were talking about? And then
you go right out and find yourself another one just like her and move her in a
month later!"
"I warned you about
Tracy when you first started going out with her!" Azriel shouted.
"And I told you I didn't want that other one to move in with
you!" She slammed her fist on the table top, causing the glasses to
jump. "You had no business bringing in another woman to live with
you when you still have young children in the house!"
Dave, effectively
sandwiched between the three outraged people, stayed still and quiet, willing
his breathing to remain steady. He could feel the panic building in his
chest. Moving slowly he drew his hands under the table and placed his
sweaty palms down on his thighs. Guilt ate at his stomach. He
hadn't meant to start an argument. Stupid! Idiot! Jackass! He swore at himself. The desire to run
was strong but he sat quietly to avoid attention being directed at him.
"If you were smart
you'd have gone out and had paternity tests done on all of them as soon as they
were born! I'm positive that at least one of the four she claims are
yours, isn't," Devon added, snidely.
"And you're
perfect, Mr. DWI? Mr. I Can't Keep a Job Because I'm a Frigging
Alcoholic? Mr. I Put My Beer In A Coffee
Cup In The Morning And Think I'm Fooling Everyone?" Dane shouted.
"Your wife is talking divorce and your kids can't stand the sight of
you! Or the smell! You reek of cheap aftershave, cigarettes, booze
and sh..."
"I'm an
alcoholic!?" Devon yelled. "At least I never got so stinking
drunk that I couldn't tell the difference between the bathroom and the closet! And who was it that mommy and daddy bailed out
of jail when he was arrested for possession?"
Damien stood up, gripped
the edge of the table lifted it up and then slammed it back down onto the
floor. The glasses tipped and rolled, one fell to the hard wood floor and
shattered.
"That's
enough!" he bellowed.
"And we haven't
even mentioned our resident pervert yet!" Devon shouted to be heard over
his father, hoping to take the focus off of himself and put it onto someone
else. "Probably sleeping with every fruit he finds that'll have his
fat ass. At least you'll never have to worry about him coming here and
telling you he's got some girl pregnant or popping out one bastard after the
other! I'm just waiting for the day when we hear he has AIDS!"
Dave's heart beat had
been increasing little by little as the argument escalated, but when he heard
those words he raised his head and looked impassively at his brother. He
shoved down the deep hurt his brother's callous words had caused.
Allowing his father or brothers to see that anything they'd said had hurt
him had always been an open invitation for them to continue. It was a
game to them... each trying to come up with the most hurtful, cutting comments
to outdo the others. When he'd been a young child, the winner had been
the one who made him cry. He'd learned a long time ago not to cry.
Dave had been aware of
his preference since he was twelve, but he'd never been with another man
sexually. He knew that his family would never believe the truth, they
never did, preferring to believe the worst of people. As far as they were
concerned, being gay was the same thing as being a man whore or a pedophile.
Devon refused to leave his children alone in a room with Dave on the rare
occasions he'd been invited to the house. Dane's girlfriend had been
equally if not more homophobic and had refused to allow him to see 'her' kids
at all. Dane had never objected.
Devon's harsh comments
signaled the beginning of the verbal free for all. Accusations,
recriminations, and foul names flew and stung like hot ashes in a high wind.
They came relentlessly from all sides. No sooner would one pause to
take a breath then the next would pick up the thread and continue, all of them
shouting to be heard over the other, no one actually listening to what anyone
else was saying.
Dave tried several times
to get a word in. Each time he'd taken a breath to respond to something
that had been said he'd been interrupted and shouted down. Every sin he'd
committed from the time he'd learned to walk to the present day, real or
imagined, was dredged up and thrown in his face. Every failure was
pointed out and expanded upon. Every shortcoming reviewed in great
detail. Every flaw magnified. Hurt and frustrated, and frankly seeing no
resolution or end to this blue ruin, he stood up, preparing to leave.
"Oh! That's
right!" Damien yelled. "Run! That's always been your
answer when things don't go your way! Sit down! You're not leaving
yet!"
Dane stood, grabbed Dave
by the arm, dug his fingers in a vice like grip, and shoved him back down onto
the chair.
"You never could
take constructive criticism!" Azriel threw at him.
Dave turned on the chair
to face his mother and gaped. "Constructive!? Is that what you're
calling it? There's nothing constructive about anything any of you have
said! It's destructive because it's constant! It's vicious and
hurtful and irrational! Jesus himself wouldn't stand a chance against you
people!"
He knew it was the wrong
thing to say as soon as the words had left his mouth, but it was too late to
take them back. His mother shrieked in outrage. His father's face
was suddenly suffused with anger and the blood rushed to his face.
It happened quickly,
without warning, as it had so often when he'd been a child. The hand came
at him with lightning speed, a blur with long nails and clear polish. He
ducked his head to the side instinctively but he'd reacted too slowly and
hadn't been able to entirely avoid it. The back of her hand connected
with the right side of his face, either a knuckle or the tip of one of her
fingers caught him in the eye, causing it to burn and tear up immediately.
When it came at him a
second time, Dave impulsively threw his own hand up, knocking hers away and
accidentally catching her fingers, causing them to bend awkwardly. She
gasped in pain and clutched the affected hand to her chest.
Not realizing that he'd
hurt her, Dave stood up, wanting only to put some distance between himself and
the hand. Before he could move another step, Damien lunged across the
small ellipsis shaped table and grabbed Dave by the front of his shirt.
He hauled his son over the table so that Dave was forced up onto his
toes, the edge digging into his thighs. Dave only prevented himself from
falling face first by propping himself up on his fingertips.
"Don't you dare
raise a hand to your mother! How dare you!?" he bellowed, the dark
veins standing out on his temples.
Damien backhanded Dave
across the face, catching him across the right temple and cheek, and inflaming
his already injured eye.
Dave, stunned, was
vaguely aware of the taste of blood in his mouth. Damien viciously
slapped his son across the face repeatedly, forward and back, before Dave gathered what was left of his
wits, pushed himself backward and threw his arms up, forcing Damien to release
his hold on his shirt.
Incensed that his son
would dare to raise a hand to him, the man began to unbuckle his belt.
Turning swiftly, Dave
pushed past Dane and Devon and bolted for the door. Blocking out the
angry words that followed him, he ran to his car and got in. He locked
the door, terrified that one of them would chase him and try to pull him from
his car, and fumbled for his keys. His hands shook so badly that he
missed the ignition several times and had to steady his right hand with his
left before he could get the key in the starter. Unable to control his
muscles for the shaking, he revved his engine and hit the gas, burning rubber
before the tires finally caught and the car accelerated, taking him quickly but
by no means fast enough away from his loving family.
He had no idea how far
he'd driven, he was not even fully aware of where he was driving as long as it
was 'away'. He'd run a stop sign and nearly had an accident. The
screeching of tires and the honking of horns shocked some sense back into him,
and he realized that he couldn't safely drive in the state he was in. He
pulled over, turned off the engine and sat back, breathing deeply and concentrating
on making his panicked breathing and rapid heart rate return to their normal
rhythm.
His sweaty hands
clutched the steering wheel in an effort to still the violent shaking. He
blinked his eyes several times trying to clear the fog that seemed to have
formed over them, finally settling on keeping them closed as he tilted his head
back against the headrest. His right eye burned and the pain in his face
flared in sync with his rapid heartbeat as the tears continued to fall unbidden.
This sounds more like a nightmare than an actual family. My heart is racing after having read what he went through. What an abominable excuse for parents.
ReplyDeleteHello again, Storm. :)
DeleteYes, I agree, these people are a nightmare, and I'm sorry if the chapter upset you, but I want to thank you for leaving a comment. I really appreciate it.
Snarks
I'd like to thank everyone who has been visiting this blog site. I hope to have more of Dave's story up soon, as well as more of Angelo and Amadeo. Once their beginnings are posted and read, I plan to post their later stories, and I hope you'll keep visiting and enjoying their stories as they unfold.
ReplyDeleteComments are welcome.
Last, but absolutely not least, I'd like to thank PJ for all of the hard work she's doing to keep this blog going, and to my friend JL of JL's Junction. If it hadn't been for her, Dave would not exist. (But that's another story. :) )
Please feel free to visit their sites, and the others that are linked at the top of the page.
Enjoy!
Snarks
I was in the Tea Room and came upon your name as one of the authors. I liked your name so I stopped in and I'm glad I did.
ReplyDeleteGreat stories so far. I can't wait to get to the next chapter.
Dear Christian, I'm glad you liked my name, and I'm very glad you like my stories. I hope you continue to enjoy them. There are more chapters in the works. Sorry it took me so long to answer.
ReplyDeleteSnarks