admin
22 December 2023
He couldn’t remember how long it had been. Time seemed fuzzy lately. There were bills piled high across the desk. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, get too close. They were bills and that was all he needed to know about them. But where was the check? It had to be here by now. It seemed like he’d been waiting forever.
Meg was crying in the other room. It probably wasn’t anything too traumatic. Meg cried a lot. Usually it was because she didn’t like to go to bed when she was supposed to. She would ball up her little fists and shake them in a cute, innocent mockery of her mother.
“I don’t want to go to bed!”
He found himself in the living room without thinking about getting there. He knew the house so well he could navigate it blindfolded. Sherryl was holding Meg in her lap, trying to calm the little girl down. Beside her was a letter. Was that the check?
“Mommy, I don’t want to go to bed either!” That would be Ryan. Even at six-years-old he knew his mom would baby him if he used the right tone of voice.
“DAMNIT, RYAN! GO TO BED!” Sherryl covered her mouth as soon as the words left it; ashamed at her lashing out.
Ryan sank into the couch in shock and his face melted into the twist of confusion that children have before they start to cry. But this time his face was heavy with a sense of dread. Why did she yell at him? She never got angry. She was the mellow parent of the two.
She was there now; on the couch. Holding both children closely. Desperately close. Viciously close.
The letter was at his feet. He saw that it was from the insurance company. The check was with it. Relief flooded him. That would be plenty.
Meg was looking over her mother’s shoulder at him. He smiled and waved. She cried again and through her sobs she whimpered, “Daddy, daddy, daddy,..”
“It’s OK, baby,” Sherryl soothed. “It’s OK. We all miss daddy, baby.”
It had to have looked like an accident. He suddenly remembered that. It was autumn, which gave him an excuse to be on the roof. He’d taken the hose up to clean out the gutters. Water from the hose made the roof’s edge slippery. One slip, two stories down and a new rod iron fence with sharp points finished it all up nice and neat. Well, not literally neat. It was quite messy actually, but the doctors had come damn close to saving him.
He wanted to stay. Regrets never fixed anything though. This would.
Meg was crying in the other room. It probably wasn’t anything too traumatic. Meg cried a lot. Usually it was because she didn’t like to go to bed when she was supposed to. She would ball up her little fists and shake them in a cute, innocent mockery of her mother.
“I don’t want to go to bed!”
He found himself in the living room without thinking about getting there. He knew the house so well he could navigate it blindfolded. Sherryl was holding Meg in her lap, trying to calm the little girl down. Beside her was a letter. Was that the check?
“Mommy, I don’t want to go to bed either!” That would be Ryan. Even at six-years-old he knew his mom would baby him if he used the right tone of voice.
“DAMNIT, RYAN! GO TO BED!” Sherryl covered her mouth as soon as the words left it; ashamed at her lashing out.
Ryan sank into the couch in shock and his face melted into the twist of confusion that children have before they start to cry. But this time his face was heavy with a sense of dread. Why did she yell at him? She never got angry. She was the mellow parent of the two.
She was there now; on the couch. Holding both children closely. Desperately close. Viciously close.
The letter was at his feet. He saw that it was from the insurance company. The check was with it. Relief flooded him. That would be plenty.
Meg was looking over her mother’s shoulder at him. He smiled and waved. She cried again and through her sobs she whimpered, “Daddy, daddy, daddy,..”
“It’s OK, baby,” Sherryl soothed. “It’s OK. We all miss daddy, baby.”
It had to have looked like an accident. He suddenly remembered that. It was autumn, which gave him an excuse to be on the roof. He’d taken the hose up to clean out the gutters. Water from the hose made the roof’s edge slippery. One slip, two stories down and a new rod iron fence with sharp points finished it all up nice and neat. Well, not literally neat. It was quite messy actually, but the doctors had come damn close to saving him.
He wanted to stay. Regrets never fixed anything though. This would.
artid
175
Old Image
4_3_gutter.swf
issue
vol 4 - issue 03 (nov 2001)
section
pen_think