by Frank Zafiro
In the small apartment, he could hear their voices carry.
“This is the first leave you’ve had in two years?” his mother asked, her voice stronger than before but still a pale imitation of what he was used to.
“First one that was long enough to come home,” his daddy answered.
“Your ship was in port just this Spring.”
“So?”
“Why didn’t you come then? If your family is so important?”
“You want another goddamn smack?” he snapped at her.
“No,” she said. “I just want to know—”
“I was in the fucking brig, all right?”
It was silent for a few moments, then she asked, “That’s why one less stripe? You were demoted?”
“I lost two stripes,” he said, a tinge of pride in his voice. “I’ve earned one back since.”
“That explains why the check got smaller.”
“Are you starving?” he barked at her.
“No.”
“No, I didn’t think so. You’ve got enough for this shithole apartment and for food and your precious vodka, so I’d say I’m providing pretty goddamn well.”
It was silent again for a little while, then he could hear them talking in lowered voices. After that, there was the rustle and clinking of items being moved. He could hear the chair slide on the kitchen floor. His mother yelped. It was quiet some more. Then came some more noises he didn’t understand, sounds that he was pretty sure his mother and his daddy were making with their voices, but they weren’t words. He thought about going into the kitchen to see if they were all right, but he stayed put. He didn’t know who he wanted to see less at that moment, so he decided he didn’t want to see either one of them.
After what seemed like a long time, the noises stopped, then changed to hushed voices again. He heard his daddy laugh derisively. “It might give him an idea what it means to be a man, that’s what,” he said.
The apartment grew dark as his parents talked and drank in the kitchen. He could hear their voices and sometimes the actual words, as well as the clink of glasses. Sometimes the tones were quiet, almost gentle. Other times, his father’s voice boomed with laughter. Still other exchanges had the sharp edge of anger to them.
Hours later, his door swung open. He hoped it was his mother, there to comfort him, but expected it was more likely his father, there to tell him that lying on his bed like that was queer and that he was a crybaby.
“Jeffie?” his mother’s voice had a softness to it, and for a moment he thought his hopes might be realized. Then she spoke again and he realized that gentleness was simply the way her voice turned when she drank a lot of her special stuff. “Wash your face and come and eat.”
He roused himself from bed. In the bathroom, he splashed his face with water. Then he made his way to the kitchen.
His daddy sat with his elbows on the table, his arms crossed, holding his drink. An edgy smile hovered on his face. Jeffrey looked into his red, watery eyes for some sign of the daddy he’d been waiting for almost forever.
“Well, Jeffie,” he said, his voice softened in the same way his mother’s was. “Done with your little crying fit?”
Jeffrey swallowed and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
His daddy’s eyebrows shot up. “Hey, he’s a quick learner.” He glanced over at the stove where Jeffrey’s mother stirred dinner. “At least there’s that, Cora. I can teach this boy to be a man someday.”
His mother didn’t answer. She served dinner in silence, the hard line of her mouth returning. She slopped some beans in front of his daddy, then Jeffrey and finally herself. The three of them ate quietly. Once they’d finished, she cleared the plates from the table.
Jeffrey’s daddy poured another drink and sipped it. He eyed the boy over the top of his glass. “So you want to learn to be a real man, kid?”
Jeffrey felt a surge of joy in his chest. “Yes, sir!”
His daddy chuckled. “All right. Good. We’ll start with lesson one right now. Stop acting like a goddamn sissy. That means no whining. No crying. And stop looking like you’re afraid of everything and everybody. You have to show the world you’re tough, kid. Sometimes you have to prove it, too. But if you look like a little sissy, then you’re going to get screwed with all the time by everybody.”
Jeffrey swallowed, but nodded that he understood.
“And no more of this ‘Jeffie’ shit. Understand? The next kid that calls you Jeffie, you punch the little bastard right in the nose. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” His daddy took a long drink, then sighed afterward. “Things are going to change around here, yessir.”
Jeffrey grinned. Maybe his wish was going to come true after all.
At the sink, his mother washed dishes in silence.
That night, Jeffrey sat up late at the kitchen table while his father drank and told stories. He told Jeffrey and his mother about the ship he was on, which he said was the best damn ship in the Navy, and that was mostly because of him, since the entire ship was filled with idiot officers. He described the ports he’d been to in faraway lands. Jeffrey listened, wide-eyed. His mother joined them, sipping her special stuff without a word, looking down at the kitchen table. She didn’t react to any of the stories, but Jeffrey figured that maybe she’d heard them before. She did shift in her seat slightly when his daddy described some of the women in the different ports he’d visited, but didn’t say a word.
Jeffrey learned about port and starboard that night. He learned that a man stands up for himself. That was how he got respect. Respect meant that no one touched you or called you names.
Jeffrey thought respect sounded like the greatest thing ever invented. He started to tell his daddy about the things some of the kids at school did and said to him, but stopped when he saw the disapproval in his daddy’s eyes.
“You can’t let them get away with that,” his daddy told him. “They’ll turn you into a total wimp.”
So he stopped before he got to the Pee-Pee Pants story or the dodge ball story. Instead, he promised his daddy he’d “take care of business” at school the next day.
His daddy reached out clumsily and clapped him on the shoulder. “Thas’ a good boy,” he said.
His mother rose from the table. “Time for bed, Jeffie.”
“Jeff!” his daddy bellowed. “No more of this Jeffie shit!”
His mother didn’t reply. She gave Jeffrey a withering look and pointed toward the bathroom. He slipped out of his chair, headed for the bathroom and got ready for bed.
“After I tuck him in, I’m laying down, too,” he heard his mother say.
“Fine. I’ll be in for a repeat performance after I finish this drink.”
“I’m a little tired,” she said.
“You better get un-tired,” he told her.
Jeffrey put his toothbrush away and went into his bedroom. He crawled into bed, pulling the covers over him. He wasn’t sure what his mother meant by tucking him in. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d put him to bed. Usually she just let him give her a quick hug while she sat in her chair, watching her programs with a water glass in hand. But he was surprised when she showed up at his bedside, sitting down next to his small form.
She leaned down, her breath strong with her special stuff. Even though she hadn’t tucked him in for what seemed like years, he still expected a kiss on the forehead and a whispered ‘good night.’ Instead, she grabbed a handful of his hair at the base of his neck and pulled it taut.
“Remember,” she whispered in his ear, “he’ll be gone soon. Don’t you go getting any big ideas.”
She gave his hair a painful tug for good measure, then released him. A moment later, she’d stood and left the room, leaving his head spinning with questions.
What did she mean?
How long would he be here? Would he have enough time to teach Jeffrey what he needed to know?
Exhausted and confused, he dropped off to sle
ep.
The next morning, he woke up on his own. Both his mother and his daddy slept through him making himself breakfast. He buttered his toast next to a nearly empty bottle of brown special stuff (the label said ‘whiskey’, so he figured that was what his mother had retrieved from the store for his daddy last night) and a pair of water glasses. Both still had some special stuff in them. He sniffed his daddy’s glass and jerked his head back in surprise at how strong the smell was. He wondered how his daddy was able to put that stuff in his mouth, much less swallow it. Then he realized that it was because his daddy was tough.
He wanted to be tough, too.
He wanted his daddy to be proud of him.
He wanted his daddy to stay forever.
He reached out and picked up the glass. With a shaking hand, he brought it to his lips. Before he could drink any, the strong odor assaulted his nostrils again and he had to put the glass back on the table.
I guess I’m not tough enough yet.
Besides, he figured that his daddy might be mad if he drank any of his special stuff without asking. So that was a good reason to leave it alone, too.
He finished buttering his toast. After he ate, he crept into the living room and turned on the television. He kept the volume as low as it would go and still allow him to hear anything. Quietly, he changed the channel knob from station to station. There were only four channels to choose from. One of them had a preacher. Another one looked like a news guy. The Sesame Street channel had more news guys on it, but the final channel featured a Bugs Bunny cartoon. He smiled and sat just a few inches away from the T.V., laughing at the antics of the ‘wascally wabbit.’ Just to be careful, he covered his laughter with his hand.
Cartoons eventually gave way to football games, so he turned off the T.V. and tried to read his Dr. Seuss book again. It was difficult to concentrate with his ears piqued for any movement from his parent’s room.
He was starting to get hungry for lunch when his mother stumbled out of the bedroom in her robe. She breezed past the living room and straight to the kitchen, where he heard her brewing coffee. Then, magically, he heard sounds of sizzling food. The aroma of bacon wafted out into the living room.
His mother was cooking breakfast. She never cooked breakfast.
He walked to the kitchen and poked his head around the corner of the doorway. He spotted his mother standing at the stove, turning strips of bacon, then cracking several eggs into a frying pan.
From behind him, the heavy thud of feet stomped out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. From behind the closed door, Jeffrey could hear his father making retching sounds. His own stomach clenched at the sound. He covered his ears. After a few moments, the sound ended. The toilet flushed, followed by running water. Then his daddy stumbled from the bathroom and toward the kitchen. He brushed by Jeffrey without a word, sliding up behind his mother. Amazingly, he swatted her on the bottom, causing her to jump. A slice of bacon flew through the air and landed on the counter.
“Goddamnit, Stan!” she snapped. “I’m cooking your break-fast.”
“The kid can have that piece,” he said, motioning to the errant slice of bacon. He stood directly behind her, pressing up against her back. His arms snaked around to the front of her. Jeffrey couldn’t see what he was doing, but his mother twisted and dodged in place while he groped at her. “And I’ll have this one.”
“I’m trying to cook,” she said in an irritated tone. “Jesus, I took care of you last night.”
His daddy’s hand flew up and grabbed his mother’s hair. He pulled hard with a backward jerk. “And what if I want it again right now?” he asked her in a low, mean voice. He jerked on her hair again. “What do you say to that, huh?”
“You’re hurting me,” she said.
“You even haven’t seen the beginning of hurt,” he told her. “You want to see hurt? I will lay the whammo on you, Cora. You won’t walk right for a week. And you definitely won’t be able to smart back to me with that pretty little mouth.”
“The eggs are going to burn,” she whimpered.
He laughed then and let her go with a slight shove. She immediately went back to stirring the scrambled eggs, then retrieved the wayward slice of bacon.
His daddy glanced over and spotted Jeffrey in the doorway. He lowered himself into the chair at the kitchen table. “I see we have a little sneaky spy in the house,” he said.
Jeffrey didn’t know what to say, so he replied, “Yes, sir.”
His daddy laughed again. “Oh, he’s learning.” He reached out and swatted Jeffrey’s mother on the bottom again. “You hear that, Cora? He’s learning. Better than you, he’s learning.”
His mother didn’t reply. She served them wordlessly, just as she had the night before. His daddy didn’t thank her, but he tore into the food, eating quickly. Jeffrey watched him, amazed. Then he picked up his fork and tried to do the same.
Once his daddy finished eating, he lifted the water glass from last night and peered at the brown liquid. “Hair o’ the dog that bit ya,” he said, almost more to himself than anyone else. Then he drained the glass in one swift swallow. He grimaced, let out a small belch and sighed afterward. “Good ol’ Jack,” he said.
Jeffrey tried to eat his breakfast as hurriedly as possible. His daddy didn’t notice. Instead, he stood with the bottle of special stuff and wandered into the living room.
When Jeffrey finished, he found his way into the living room, where his daddy sat watching a football game and sipping his drink. Jeffrey found a place to sit unobtrusively and watched the game with his daddy. Neither of them said a word, but for Jeffrey, that two hours would become quite likely his greatest childhood memory.
When the game ended, his daddy glanced over at him, seeming to just then notice he was there. He took a drink from his glass and sniffed in disgust. “Seems like it was a bad idea for Seattle to get a football team, huh?”
Jeffrey had heard of the Seahawks. Some of the boys at school wore jerseys to school with the stylized blue and green logo of the fictional bird. He himself didn’t care much about football, but if his daddy liked it, maybe he would, too. In fact, maybe football would be his favorite sport from now on.
“You retarded or something, kid?” his daddy said. “I asked you a question.”
“Yes, sir,” Jeffrey blurted automatically.
His daddy scowled. “Yes, you are retarded?”
“I mean, no, sir,” Jeffrey sputtered.
“No? You mean you like the Seahawks? They’re almost as bad as Tampa Bay.” He waved his hand at Jeffrey. “Now go to your room. You’re bothering me.”
Jeffrey spent the rest of the day in his room, listening to every whisper of movement and voice out in the living room and the kitchen. He crept out once to use the bathroom, peeing carefully onto the inside edge of the toilet bowl in order to keep as quiet as possible. He didn’t flush.
There wasn’t much talking between his mother and his daddy during the day, but occasionally he heard an exchange, though he couldn’t make out the words most of the time. Once, the words were sharper and he heard some sort of tussling. This was followed a smacking sound, which made him jump. There was a pause, then more tussling, but it was quieter and more rhythmic.
Around dinnertime, his mother brought him in a peanut butter sandwich. She had changed into her robe. He noticed a deep redness below her left eye.
He thought about asking her what happened, but instinctively, he knew. She must have made a wrong look at his daddy and so he laid the whammo on her.
He stared up at her, torn. He felt a perverse thrill knowing that she wasn’t in charge. Maybe she could still be mean to him, but she wasn’t the boss anymore. At the same time, an overwhelming desire came over him to hug her and make her feel better.
Before he could act on either emotion, she thrust the plate toward him. “Eat your dinner,” she told him numbly, “and put yourself to bed.”
She left without another word.
He chewed the
peanut butter slowly, his stomach growling while he ate. He didn’t know what to think or what to feel. He was glad his daddy was home. But it wasn’t working the way he’d hoped.
What could he do?
Jeffrey chewed on his sandwich, thinking.
The next morning, he went to school with purpose. At the morning recess, he waited in line to play tetherball. Most of line was made up of girls, which he thought was just fine. In fact, it was probably almost perfect. His daddy would want him to put one of them in her place.
Laura Kennedy was the one who tried to take cuts when it was his turn. She was a girl who always wore overalls to school because she said her daddy was a farmer. Once, she’d told Jeffrey that being a farmer was much better than being in the Navy, so he thought it was fitting that she be the one to step in front of him now.
“It’s my turn,” he told Laura resolutely.
“No, it’s not,” she said. “It’s mine.”
“I’m next,” Jeffrey insisted.
“Shut up, Jeffie,” Laura said. “Why don’t you go pee your pants?”
Jeffrey felt a warm satisfaction coil up inside his stomach. He balled up his fist and punched Laura in the cheek as hard as he could.
His knuckles grazed her cheekbone and scraped across her ear. Laura’s eyes flew open in surprise, then narrowed in anger. She punched Jeffrey in the stomach. The air whooshed out of his lungs. He sank to his knees, then curled into a ball on the ground.
Laura wasn’t finished, though. She dropped on top of him, rolling him onto his back. Her knees pinned his arms to the blacktop while she punched him in the face. The first punch landed on his mouth, driving his lip into a tooth, cutting it. The second punch blasted into his eye, sending racing white dots shooting through his head. The third and final blow crunched his nose, sending comets chasing after those white dots. The warm flow of blood gushed from his nostrils, covering his upper lip.
The teacher on playground duty interceded at that point, hauling both of them to the principal’s office, where Jeffrey had to undergo the humiliation of admitting that he threw the first punch in the fight. This shame was coupled with having been beaten up by a girl, even if it was a girl who wore overalls and whose dad was a farmer.