The Third Parent

by Elias Witherow

  She giggled, embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s fine.”

  She raised her head to look at me. “It’s fine?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. What do you want me to say?”

  Her brow furrowed and she smiled, “I don’t know. That’s just a funny thing to say I guess.” Her voice lowered in what I guessed was an impression of me. “It’s fine. Just a little bite. I’m used to this kind of thing. Girls bite me all the time.” She chuckled and tapped the tip of my nose. “You big lady killer.”

  I knew she was just playing around, but I suddenly found her annoying. I sat up, pushing her off of me and groped in the darkness for my pack of cigarettes. I found them on the nightstand and quickly stuck one in my mouth.

  “Hey, whoa, I’m just messing around,” Lucy said propping herself up.

  My fingers closed over my lighter and I brought the flame to life. “Ok.”

  Lucy sat up now. “Ok? What does that mean? Why are you getting all weird?”

  I inhaled and squeezed the bridge of my nose between my fingers. “Maybe you should just go.”

  “What?”

  I blew smoke out of my nose. “Maybe you should leave.”

  Lucy shook her head. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “No.”

  She stared at me for a moment, wrestling with her anger and pride before saying, “Is this just what you do? Fuck girls then kick them out? Am I just another notch on your headboard?”

  I sucked on my cigarette. “I don’t know.”

  “Go to hell,” Lucy spat, springing up. “You were a lousy lay anyway.”

  “Ok.”

  She was snatching her clothes from the floor, stomping back into her jeans. “Asshole…such an asshole. Well, I hope you had a great birthday.”

  I leaned my head back, smoke wafting from my lips like angels rising to heaven. “I’m glad you bit me.”

  “Fuck you,” she snarled, now mostly dressed. “Have a great life.”

  “Ok. You too.”

  She stood in the bedroom door for a moment, like she was waiting for me to stop her. When I didn’t she threw me the middle finger, a small thing clothed in shadow, and stormed to the front door. I winced as she slammed it shut behind her. Then I heard her stomping down the stairs back to the street. Didn’t she know people were trying to sleep?

  I sighed heavily and rolled my cig across my lips from one corner to the other. I swung my feet to the floor and sat at the edge of my bed. I put my head in my hands, staring at my feet. The silence closed in and I felt it hovering over my shoulder. I was still pretty drunk, but the sex had cleared my head a little. I puffed out tendrils of squirming wraiths. Why had I kicked her out? Why the hell had I done that?

  I closed my eyes, a weight pressing at my back. Stupid. So stupid. She hadn’t deserved that. She was a nice girl. Why did I treat her like that? For half a second I thought about chasing after her, but the thought of rising exhausted me. Somewhere outside, a siren mourned woefully, a low pulsing cry that made me shiver. Why had I been such a bastard to her? The sudden emptiness of my apartment was a cruel reminder of my state of being. Wouldn’t it have been nice to ebb away that loneliness for just a little while longer? But no…Jack’s a lady killer. Slam ’em and see ’em off. What a player. What a cool guy.

  “Goddamn it,” I muttered, pressing my palms into my eyes. A long bridge of ash dangled from my cigarette. I felt something hitch in my chest and roll through me, a cloud of dark emotion. After a second I realized I was crying.

  I inhaled heavily, wiping tears from my face, and sniffled miserably. Jesus, what was wrong with me?

  “Pull yourself together, idiot,” I whispered, my voice cracking. This made me even more depressed, actually hearing the sorrow on my voice. I gritted my teeth and covered my face with my hands, shoulders shaking as grief suddenly poured into me like an avalanche. I slumped to the floor, silent sobs wracking my naked body. The cold floorboards chilled my skin as I lay down, tears running down my face. My cigarette fell away, another casualty of bad choices.

  After a little bit, I was able to regain control of myself. I ran my hand over my eyes and scrubbed my nose, gasping and blinking in the dark. I felt the waters of grief slowly pull away, back to the ocean I knew was there.

  I stared beneath my bed, waiting to feel ok again. I noticed something in the dim space, an object shoved out of site. Tentatively, I reached out and pulled it towards me. It was a shoebox. When had I put this here? I dimly recalled some memory of it, but the passage of time dulled my recollection. I forced myself to sit up, pulling the box onto my lap. I groped for another cigarette and lit it before pulling the top off.

  I stared down at the contents. My blood chilled to ice. It was my headphones. They sat alone in the box, a relic of a time I had worked so hard to put behind me. The sight of them sent a rocket of discomfort through me. How long had it been since I had seen these? And why had I kept them? I struggled to remember and vaguely caught wind of a memory. I had almost thrown them away when I moved out of the house, but some malicious force had told me to keep them. A reminder of what had happened all those years ago. A visual cue that the nightmares were real and not some conjuring of madness. Oh yes…I remembered now…all those long nights, alone, wrestling with the concept of my own sanity. Because what happened to me as a child…how could that possibly be real? The sickening fever dreams I had suffered, the tossing and turning, the cold sweats and screaming, awakening from night terrors to question the constitution of my own memory. Yes…it was all coming back now. It hadn’t gone away, merely recessed to some horrible vault in my mind. And now that I was staring down at this proof, this testimony, I knew that it had all happened.

  I knew that Tommy Taffy…was real.

  I shoved the headphones back in the box and pushed it under the bed. My head was spinning and it wasn’t just from the alcohol. I crawled to my feet and walked into the kitchen. I didn’t bother turning on the lights. I found a bottle of vodka and poured some into a glass. I drained it and winced, stomach protesting. I poured another. I downed it just as quickly. Wiping my lips, gasping, I stumbled over to the couch in the living room. I felt like I was going to throw up. Instead, I leaned back and closed my eyes.

  When I woke up the next morning, the sun was peeking curiously through the windows. My head ached like I had been struck with a hammer. My mouth tasted like sour poison. Giving my senses a moment to settle, I scraped my teeth along my tongue and then spit onto the floor. It didn’t do much good. Rising, I moaned and then walked into the bedroom to retrieve my cigarettes. I smacked one from the battered pack and ate some smoke for breakfast.

  I felt disjointed, out of sorts, and pretty sick. I looked at the clock and saw it was a little after nine. I didn’t have to work today, but the thought of staying in was impossibly depressing. I checked my phone for notifications and saw I had received a text from Jason last night wishing me a happy birthday.

  I stared numbly at my cell. I needed to call someone. I needed to talk to someone. I could feel a monster on my shoulder and knew isolation would only bring it into view. I couldn’t deal with that today. Not again.

  I dialed my father, barely aware of what I was doing. The line rang twice before he answered.

  “Jack?”

  His voice settled me ever so slightly.

  “Hey, Dad,” I said quietly.

  Silence for a second and then, “How are you, son? It’s been a while,” a pause, “I miss you. Your mother, too.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “I’m ok. How are you? How’s Mom?”

  Manufactured optimism. “We’re getting by. One day at a time. We’re good, Jack…we’re good.”

  “Are you free for breakfast?” I asked, prayed.

  Relief now: “Yes, of course. I’m afraid your mother is out this morning, but I’d be happy to meet you in the city.”

  “I’d really like that,” I breathed.

/>   “You want to do Corner Cafe?”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  “Sounds good. See you in an hour or so?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Ok…see you soon.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I whispered, but he had already hung up. I set the phone down and sat at the edge of my bed. I smoked another cigarette and it made me feel disgusting. Groaning, I stood and went to the bathroom. I dared to look in the mirror and didn’t like what I saw. I turned on the shower and as the water heated, I shaved and brushed my teeth.

  Once I was showered and dressed, I felt a little better. A little more capable to face the day. As I pocketed my wallet and car keys, I thought about the box under the bed. I thought about the headphones.

  I left my apartment, slamming the door behind me.

  I spent the drive across the city in numb isolation. I turned on the radio for a couple seconds but quickly shut it off. I didn’t want any noise today. The murmur of the streets was enough: impatient car horns, the rumble of engines, and the natural hum that floated above us all. My mind wandered to my parents and how they were getting along these days. They had moved out of my childhood house years ago, favoring someplace closer to civilization. My dad hadn’t been quite ready to commit to the bustle of a full-blown city, but they were close enough now that we could meet up like this with minimal inconvenience. I was wordlessly relieved my mother wasn’t going to be there, as shameful as that thought was. I loved my mom to death, but she had changed. Her warmth was vacant and a deep sorrow had crept into her eyes as the years went on. I pitied her, but not in a condescending way. I knew what she felt. I knew what she carried with her. I held the same memories, but unlike her, I had learned how to block most of them out.

  Until recently. Over the past couple of months I had noticed my depression grew worse, the violent outbursts more frequent. I thought about the guy I had bloodied last night and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. That was something I needed to reign in. I was aware of that, knew that, but sometimes it was just too…too present to contain.

  I stopped at a gas station and picked up a couple more packs of cigarettes. I checked my watch. Still had plenty of time before Dad would be around. I decided to go directly to the cafe anyway. When I crossed the city, I found a parking spot and walked the couple blocks to the humble breakfast destination. I smoked as I went, observing the bustle of people around me. They all looked so distracted. So full of life and purpose. I envied them. And then I loathed them.

  I reached the cafe and finished my cig, tossing the butt into a storm gutter. I went inside and ordered two coffees. The place smelled of pastries and sugar. A woman sat in the corner, clacking away on her laptop, completely absorbed in whatever she was typing. She was gorgeous. I had a brief flash of confidence and considered going over to talk to her. The feeling passed as my coffees were handed to me and I left to go sit outside and wait for my father. She probably didn’t want to be bothered by someone like me. A depressed asshole.

  I sat down at one of the small tables and leaned back in my chair, breathing deeply. I needed to calm down. To stop being so hard on myself. Instead, I smoked another cigarette. My lungs felt like craters of sunken ash and I suffered a flare of guilt. I could actually feel the cancer forming. Two more cigarettes and half a coffee later, I forgot all about my imaginary disease. Who cares.

  A couple minutes later, Dad arrived. He looked good, if not tired and slightly worn. He was wearing a crisp button up and tan pants. His graying hair was trimmed close and combed to perfection. But it was his face that betrayed him. Hard lines and a grim jawline spoke of hardships best left to memory.

  The cane, along with his heavy limp, stirred those memories.

  He smiled when he saw me and I stood up, embracing him in a hug. We stayed like that for a moment, exchanging more than words could ever value. Finally, I pulled away and we sat down. I pushed his coffee across the table.

  “Might not be boiling hot, but I got you one,” I said.

  Dad took a timid sip. “It’s great, thank you.” He appraised me, eyes soaking in my appearance with familiar precision. “You look good, Jack.”

  “Thanks, so do you. I like the new haircut.”

  He chuckled. “Your mother’s idea.”

  “Of course. How is she?”

  Dad played with his coffee cup for a few awkward seconds before replying. “She’s…doing her best.”

  I felt my heart sink. “That bad, huh?”

  His eyes met mine and I saw them shimmer briefly. “She’s trying some new medication. The last stuff she was on…well…it wasn’t helping. I think it made the depression worse. There was a week there where she didn’t get out of bed.”

  “Christ…”

  “But,” Dad said, his voice now optimistic, “this new stuff seems to be working. At least as much as it can.”

  I traveled my lighter across my knuckles. “You said she was out today?”

  Dad nodded and took another sip of coffee. “Yeah, she’s actually horseback riding with a friend.”

  I smiled. “I’ll be damned.”

  Dad returned the smile. “I know. Her friend convinced her to try it. And I’m happy for her. She needs to get out more.”

  I suddenly felt a buzzing in my pocket. Annoyed, I pulled my phone out and checked who the incoming call was from. My dad paused mid-sentence as he saw puzzlement filter through my face.

  “Do you have to take that?” he asked.

  “No, no, it’s no one,” I said, ignoring the call. Liz? What the hell did she want? I hadn’t seen her in almost three years. Not since she had broken up with me. My mind itched with curiosity, but I blocked it out as best I could. I didn’t need any more noise today. I needed to enjoy a quiet morning with my father.

  I placed a fresh cigarette to my lips and felt a telltale buzz in my pocket. A voicemail. At least I could check that later and see what she wanted. Not a word in three years…and now she was calling me out of the blue.

  Whatever.

  I lit my cig and puffed a stream of smoke. Dad looked on disapprovingly but said nothing. I kind of loved him for that.

  “How have you been, Dad?” I asked, washing down the nicotine with Colombian brew.

  Dad shrugged and sighed, “I’m ok, I suppose. I spend so much time looking after your mom that I don’t really have time to think about myself.” He paused, eyes dropping. “I think it’s probably better that way.”

  Silence expanded between us like darkness between stars.

  “You getting along ok these days?” Dad finally asked.

  I offered him a smile I no longer felt. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

  “If you need money or something—”

  I raised a hand. “I’m ok, Dad. Thank you, though. I mean it.”

  My father bit his lip and suddenly had a hard time looking at me. “I know we don’t see each other as much anymore, but…but I want you to know that I’m here for you.” An edge of emotion rose in his throat. “Whatever you need buddy, just let me know.”

  I reached out across the table and took his hands in mine. “Thank you, Dad. You’re a good man. I want you to know that. You’re a good man.”

  Tears were threatening my father’s eyes now as he shook his head, voice shaking, “Not as good as I should have been…”

  “Dad…”

  And now the tears were falling, his face flushed. “I’ve just been thinking about your sister a lot lately…”

  I squeezed his hands tighter and struggled with a rising wave of grief. “I know, Dad…so have I.”

  My father exhaled a shaky breath between puckered lips and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to burden you with this. It’s just been really…” I saw him fighting with his emotions again, but they seemed to be winning. “It’s just been really hard lately…”

  I leaned across the table, our hands pressed together. “I love you, Dad.”

  He looked up at me with almost relieved shock and then he
broke, a sob escaping between his teeth, “I love you, too, Jack. You’re a good son.”

  “A good son gets his dad hot coffee,” I chuckled, trying to shake the sorrow away. “And that lukewarm garbage you’re sipping just ain’t cutting it.”

  Mercifully, that shattered the bubble and my dad laughed, wiping his face. “Yeah, what is this crap, anyway? Can we get some hot joe and some damn breakfast already? I’m starving, kid.”

  I laughed, standing, and helped him up. “Yeah, me too. Come on, old man, let’s get some grub in that gut.”

  He took my arm and grasped for his cane.

  And it broke my heart, just like it did every time.

  Chapter 7

  During the drive home I realized I felt a little better. My mood wasn’t so dismal now. Spending time with Dad had certainly helped once the conversation had settled and we were chowing down on some good food. When we parted ways, I promised it wouldn’t be so long until our next visit. I had missed him.

  Now, back in the isolation of my car, I remembered that Liz had called. Thoughts of my former girlfriend came creeping back into the silence of my mind. We had dated for a couple months, about three years ago, and then she had ended it. It hadn’t been a messy breakup, but it hurt nonetheless. Her reasons were understandable and unavoidable. She had claimed I wasn’t emotionally there for her. As I pondered this, I realized she was probably right.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket, keeping one eye on the road, and checked the voicemail she had left. With more than a little curiosity, I put the phone to my ear.

  Her voice was calm but edged with caution: “Hey, Jack. I’m sorry to be calling you like this. I know we haven’t spoken in a long time and I wasn’t even sure you’d still have the same number. There’s something I need to talk to you about. I’ve been contemplating this for a long time and decided to just buckle down and call you. I’m sorry if this sounds weird, but I’d like to meet up with you. Are you still in the city? I hope you’re doing well; I really mean that. I’ve thought about you from time to time. Anyway, sorry, just give me a call when you get a chance? Please?”