by Brian Bakos
***
He chose a time when both of them were in their customary positions – Kough sitting in the stuffed chair near the TV and Bobber on the floor looking over one of his airplane books. Kough held the TV directory near his face and pretended to read it over the blare of the set. Actually, he was observing Bobber from the corner of his eye.
The boy didn’t seem particularly concerned about anything as he flipped through the pages of Famous Fighter Planes, Hunters of the Sky. His nonchalance seemed so complete that Kough wondered if he cared at all about what was happening. Since Bobber returned home, the upcoming ‘welcome home’ dance occupied his conversation more than anything about the school did.
Is Ann right, after all? Kough thought. Is Bobber going to that school just to please me?
“Bobber,” he said.
“Yeah, Dad?” The boy flashed one of his engaging smiles.
“I got a letter from the school director last week. He said you haven’t been doing very well.”
“I know, Mom told me.”
Bobber returned to his reading.
Kough was unsettled by this off-hand reply. He was about to hide behind the TV book again when Bobber suddenly looked straight at him. The boy’s face wore a totally different expression now, disturbing in its intensity.
“I just haven’t got the right vibes lately,” he said.
Frank nodded; then he forced himself to ask the question tormenting him.
“Do you want to continue, Bobber?”
His son paused for a long moment before answering.
“Sometimes yes, sometimes no. It’s up to you, Dad.”
So, the decision had landed in the one place Frank Kough dreaded most – his own lap. He felt an enormous burden settle upon his shoulders, pushing him down into the chair.
What the hell should I do – pull the plug on the whole thing?
Yet, hadn’t Bobber expressed a desire to continue ... sort of? At least he claimed to feel such a desire occasionally: “sometimes yes, sometimes no.”
All great artists, and Bobber was certainly an artist, must feel like throwing in the towel now and then, Kough reasoned. Especially if they haven’t received any return on their work yet – especially if one parent is opposing them every step of the way.
Perhaps the lack of a push at the critical moment was responsible for a great many failures in this world. Bobber could be crying out for such a push in order to get back “the right vibes.” Kough took a deep breath and made the plunge.
“Well then,” he said, “if it’s up to me, I say that we continue!”
“Okay, Dad.”
Bobber returned to his book. Neither of them noticed Ann Kough standing the kitchen doorway staring daggers at them.
3. Desperation
Frank Kough had endured many indignities over the two years since his accident – loss of income and status, the humiliation of accepting disability payments, the growing contempt from his wife – but none of them were as bad as this mission to secure a loan from his brother, Joey.
The two men had not seen each other in years, which suited them fine.
They’d never cared for each other much, even as kids. They’d seemed to exist in different worlds. Frank had been the vigorous, outgoing one, popular and good at sports, while Joey, five years older, had left little wake behind him as he moved through the public schools far ahead of Frank. He’d gone on to financial success while Frank had taken the blue-collar route, after the demise of his Rifle King dream.
But Frank was in desperate straits now. He fully understood his tenuous position as he sat in the large stuffed chair and endured the reunion.
He’d tried to present his dire situation as a sort of business opportunity – get in on the ground floor of a promising and lucrative career, make a big return on the investment. But, hell, he was no salesman
“I figured there was more behind your visit than just socializing,” Joey said. “It’s been a long time, Frank.”
Thanks, you old-maid faggot, Frank thought bitterly. Nice of you to put me at ease.
A jolt of pain in his back accompanied these angry thoughts.
“So, Bobber needs financial help, eh?” Joey said. “How’s the boy getting along? Does he still have that weight problem?”
“No.”
Frank wanted to add that Joey hadn’t taken off any baggage himself. But he said nothing.
The heat inside the house was oppressive, although it did give Frank satisfaction to watch Joey suffering along with him. The central air conditioning his brother had installed with such fanfare years earlier was out of order. The repair guys would be coming “any time,” according to Joey.
“Don’t think I’m not sympathetic,” Joey said, “but I just can’t see the boy amounting to anything special. How about putting him in a trade school?”
Frank kept his gaze fixed to the floor.
“I can’t afford to waste money on something that’s not going to pay off,” Joey added. “I didn’t get to where I am today by taking foolish risks, you know.”
The condescending tone stabbed Frank’s pride. He felt like a bug pinioned to the chair.
“Well ... that’s very responsible!” he said.
Joey nodded, apparently unaware of the sarcasm.
Frank leaned forward. The pain in his back pain worsened – it complemented the headache starting to grip his skull.
“First time I’ve heard you’re low on cash, Joey,” he said. “At least you’re not blowing it out your ass about how much money you’ve got and what you’re going to buy with it next.”
Joey’s eyebrows shot up. He toyed angrily with his beer can as he considered a reply.
Frank didn’t give him the chance. He struggled up from his chair and seized his cane. For a panicky moment, Joey feared that his brother might strike him with it.
“Why don’t you wire that air conditioner to your nuts and see if it works then?” Frank said, hefting the cane ominously. “It’ll be the biggest thrill you’ve had in twenty years!”
He turned and exited the house as quickly as he could.
Joey moved to the front door to watch his brother hobbling to his car.
“Sure you can make it back, Grandpa?” he yelled.
He slammed the door.