CHAPTER EIGHT
Reality
Max feels like school will never end. His eyes are red and swollen, and he wishes he hadn’t had quite so much to drink the night before. His last class is history, and he’s dozed off so many times already he wonders if he’ll make it to the end.
“Max, snap out of it man,” Jamie whispers to him.
Max glances lazily in his direction. Jamie is warning him, his head tilted in confusion as Max’s head floats up and down. Their teacher, Mr. Kennedy, stops mid-sentence and looks in their direction.
“Mr. Shaw, Mr. Kendall, do you have something you’d like to share with the class?”
Jamie slouches down in his desk and shakes his head no. Max looks at Mr. Kennedy and replies sarcastically, “Yeah, I’d like everyone to know that if we all chip in a dollar apiece, we can buy you a toupee that actually matches your natural hair color,” Some of the students snicker. Mr. Kennedy is not amused.
Problem solved, Max thinks to himself. He’ll soon be sent home, and with any luck, he’ll get the whole week off as well. Max smiles in triumph as Mr. Kennedy marches him ceremoniously to the principal’s office.
Max is only sent home for the day, much to his disappointment. He waits patiently as his mother is called, and then his father. Max listens as the school secretary whispers to one of the counselors nearby, the phone in one hand.
“I tried his mother first, but she’s probably at work. You know she works at the hospital. His father should be home. He’s unemployed.” Someone picks up on the other line, and the secretary pauses.
“Yes, Mr. Shaw? I’m calling about your son, Max.”
Twenty minutes later Max’s father arrives, visibly irritated and slightly inebriated. Max frowns at the sight of his father. He can’t even come to get Max from school without having a drink first.
“Come on, Max!” his father growls after signing him out for the day. Max looks at his father disdainfully.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” he replies. “I know my way home.” Max gets up and walks out of the office, his father close on his heels. Max heads towards the bus stop, walking past his father’s car.
“Max, don’t you dare walk away from me when I’m talking to you!” his father is livid. He grabs Max by the arm and swings him around to face him.
“You’re going to cut the crap and get in the car now!”
Max pulls himself away from his father’s grip, his arms and legs trembling.
“Don’t you ever touch me!” he shouts.
Nevertheless, he storms over to where his father’s car is parked and sits in the backseat. When they arrive at the house, Mr. Shaw goes straight to the kitchen and grabs a beer. He places himself in his Lazy Boy and turns on the television. The classifieds section of the newspaper lay on the table beside him, decorated with scribbles and notes in the margins.
Max shakes his head in disgust and watches his father. Mr. Shaw lost his job the day Max wrecked his car. Max’s father never kept a job for long. His temper was short and his patience was thin.
Still, unemployment didn’t keep Mr. Shaw from his weekly, often daily, ritual of going to the bar in the early evening and returning home just before daylight. His mother and father were always arguing about how much time he spent at Willy’s Bar. It had become his favorite place in the last few months, with Max and his mother seeing less and less of him each night.
Not that Max spent much time home himself. He was usually at Jamie’s house, or a party, or his girlfriend’s house. Max hated being home. His father was always angry, his mother was always crying, and Max was always powerless to do anything about it.
When he was younger he always tried to fix things between his parents. He’d run up to his dad and hug him, reassuring him that he’d find another job; then he’d tell his mother there was no need to cry because Dad loved them. His mother would look at him with pity; his father would push him away in annoyance. Then his parents would argue over him.
His mother would tell his father what a bad example he was, and his father would accuse his mother of babying him too much. Then his father would leave for hours, sometimes days, without telling his mother where he was going. It was a madhouse, and Max eventually got tired of being stuck in the middle.
Max narrows his eyes as he watches his father slowly rise and make his way to his room. Shortly afterward, he reemerges with a limp suit and cheap cologne.
“I’m going out, Max. Don’t go anywhere.” Max rolls his eyes at his father’s demand.
As if he could stop me, he thinks to himself. “Whatever,” he replies with indifference. His father walks out of the house and drives off, likely in the direction of Willy’s.
“Figures,” Max grimaces, vowing silently that he’ll never be like his father.
You know what you need, Max.
Max feels his mouth go dry and goes to the refrigerator, hoping that his father hasn’t completely wiped out the beer.
•••
Mr. Shaw pulls into the parking lot at Willy’s and takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes, silently willing himself not to go in. The familiar smile of the waitress inside tips the scale, and he slowly gets out of his car. Bambi already has his usual order ready for him by the time he gets inside. She looks at the tiny round watch on her wrist and crinkles her nose.
“You’re a bit early, Art, but I’m always glad to see you coming.” She smiles at him. Mr. Shaw feels his stomach muscles tighten and his palms begin to sweat. Bambi always makes him feel like a nervous schoolboy; but, she always makes him feel like he is wanted, too. She is the reason he keeps coming to Willy’s.
“I’ll have something different today, Bambi,” Mr. Shaw returns her smile. “I need something a little stronger.”
Bambi purses her lips and places her arm on his shoulder. “Did you have a rough day today, hon?”
Mr. Shaw loves the way she always calls him hon. “Yea, my kid got into trouble again.”
Bambi tsks and shakes her head. “Sorry to hear that.” She slides into the seat across from him and takes his hand in hers. “I wish there were something I could do.”
Mr. Shaw allows his hand to stay for a moment then pulls away. “You know I can’t, Bambi.”
Bambi rolls her eyes in frustration. “Why can’t you? You know you love me, Artie.” She smiles at him softly. “You know how I feel about you.”
Mr. Shaw frowns. “My wife doesn’t deserve an unfaithful husband.”
Bambi snorts. “She doesn’t deserve you, that’s for sure. She’s always telling you how worthless you are and how bad an example you are to your son!”
“That’s not entirely accurate, Bambi,” Mr. Shaw scowls.
“You told me that yourself, Art,” she retorts. “She obviously doesn’t want you, honey, and you know I’m crazy about you. Just leave her.”
Mr. Shaw gets up quickly, nearly turning over the table and losing his drink. “I won’t abandon my wife, Bambi!” he speaks in hushed tones.
“My father did that to my mother and she had to raise me and my brothers by herself. I don’t want that for her, and I don’t want that for Max. Despite the fact that I haven’t had a steady job in years, she’s always been good to me. She’s been better to me than I deserve.”
“You’re afraid to lose that pretty little Focus because she’s the one making payments on it, Art!” Bambi snaps. Mr. Shaw clenches his jaw and Bambi softens her tone.
“Art, I know how you feel, but this is different. You won’t be walking out on them. You don’t love her. You may be keeping her from being happy the same way that she’s making you miserable. And you won’t be abandoning Max. You’ll just be taking care of you for a change.” She places his hands back in hers.
“Artie, you’re always thinking about everybody else. Just think about yourself for once. Think about how happy I can make you.” She leans forward and kisses him on the cheek.
“Just think about it,” she whispers.
; Bambi gets up quietly and continues to make her rounds throughout the bar. Mr. Shaw looks down at his glass and swallows hard. A lump forms in his throat, and as he watches Bambi walk away, he wonders if his heart rate will ever slow. Despite the belligerent protests of his thoughts, Mr. Shaw pays his tab and leaves.
Listen To Me Page 9