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Authors: John D. Mimms
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after former pro basketball star Charles Barkley. After years of fitness training, when Barkley finally retired he let himself go and became a rather rotund former basketball star. The logic to Donâs analogy was that when he was finally out of his fatherâs âbounce a quarter on the bed sheets, white-glove-inspectedâ house he let himself go out of rebellion, and quite frankly because he was tired of the stringency.
I think his real problem was the fact that he had made a number of candid and unkind remarks about his dad whenever I visited his home the last couple of years. I am certain that the negativity I heard was a small sampling of what had been discussed behind closed doors. Had his dad been there listening the last couple of years?
I guess Don was about to find that out. He had come to see me for a number of reasons â doubt, curiosity, and fear among them, but most likely he was procrastinating from facing his old man once again. It had been bad enough facing him in the flesh but now ⦠I suspect there are a lot of people going through their own individual Hell of impromptu reunions today with the dearly departed.
âJust remember, he is still your dad,â I said as I held the front door open for him. That was the best I could offer. Even though I was 95-percent sure that Seth was Seth, that 5-percent still nagged at me. I mean, how certain about anything are we really?
Don nodded imperceptibly and headed down the sidewalk like a man walking to his execution. He slumped into his Camaro and grinded the gears as he shifted into reverse and then grinded them again as he lurched forward into first gear and slowly disappeared around the corner.
Dusk was settling across the neighborhood, giving the outdoors a surreal quality. The blackness of night seemed to have been replaced by the uncanny lavender glow. It was not like the darkness was illuminated by this extra-terrestrial light, it was like it had been replaced. The air shone eerily like a large black-light painting, undulating in almost imperceptible waves.
It was late spring and an otherwise cool and pleasant evening. Thatâs what made it so darn strange that there were no people out. No people in the yards, no kids playing, and no traffic ⦠it was as if everyone had vanished. The only thing dispelling that perception was that most of the homes had lights on and blinds drawn; moving shadows could be seen passing about inside some of the windows. People were there, they just seemed to be heeding the warnings to stay indoors.
Turning around, I saw Seth had cautiously crept from his hiding place and was watching me hopefully from the laundry room door. I stepped back inside then firmly closed and locked the door.
âIs he gone?â Seth asked, apprehensive.
âYes he is. Why did you do that, buddy? You had me worried sick.â
âI didnât want him to see me,â Seth said with a sadness that was deeper than any I had ever seen in him.
I suspected I knew the answer but I asked anyway.
âWhy not?â
He pointed at the mess of cereal now smeared across the kitchen floor. A tangled knot of frustration and love formed in my gut. I loved Seth dearly and would defend him to the end of time, but I also knew he was right. The people who still occupied the world of the living would look at him as a freak, a novelty, something to ogle, but also something to fear. He would be nothing more to them than an attraction at a funhouse or a zoo.
Seth would be the amputee, the paraplegic, the burn victim, or deformed person who constantly finds himself the subject of unkind voyeurism, making him the outcast or the punch line. The world is cruel, damn cruel, to those that are different. I knew he could never live a normal life, but is that what heâs doing? I buried him just two weeks ago, and now Iâm talking about a normal life? How could he have any chance of normalcy if his own dad had doubts? I had
I think his real problem was the fact that he had made a number of candid and unkind remarks about his dad whenever I visited his home the last couple of years. I am certain that the negativity I heard was a small sampling of what had been discussed behind closed doors. Had his dad been there listening the last couple of years?
I guess Don was about to find that out. He had come to see me for a number of reasons â doubt, curiosity, and fear among them, but most likely he was procrastinating from facing his old man once again. It had been bad enough facing him in the flesh but now ⦠I suspect there are a lot of people going through their own individual Hell of impromptu reunions today with the dearly departed.
âJust remember, he is still your dad,â I said as I held the front door open for him. That was the best I could offer. Even though I was 95-percent sure that Seth was Seth, that 5-percent still nagged at me. I mean, how certain about anything are we really?
Don nodded imperceptibly and headed down the sidewalk like a man walking to his execution. He slumped into his Camaro and grinded the gears as he shifted into reverse and then grinded them again as he lurched forward into first gear and slowly disappeared around the corner.
Dusk was settling across the neighborhood, giving the outdoors a surreal quality. The blackness of night seemed to have been replaced by the uncanny lavender glow. It was not like the darkness was illuminated by this extra-terrestrial light, it was like it had been replaced. The air shone eerily like a large black-light painting, undulating in almost imperceptible waves.
It was late spring and an otherwise cool and pleasant evening. Thatâs what made it so darn strange that there were no people out. No people in the yards, no kids playing, and no traffic ⦠it was as if everyone had vanished. The only thing dispelling that perception was that most of the homes had lights on and blinds drawn; moving shadows could be seen passing about inside some of the windows. People were there, they just seemed to be heeding the warnings to stay indoors.
Turning around, I saw Seth had cautiously crept from his hiding place and was watching me hopefully from the laundry room door. I stepped back inside then firmly closed and locked the door.
âIs he gone?â Seth asked, apprehensive.
âYes he is. Why did you do that, buddy? You had me worried sick.â
âI didnât want him to see me,â Seth said with a sadness that was deeper than any I had ever seen in him.
I suspected I knew the answer but I asked anyway.
âWhy not?â
He pointed at the mess of cereal now smeared across the kitchen floor. A tangled knot of frustration and love formed in my gut. I loved Seth dearly and would defend him to the end of time, but I also knew he was right. The people who still occupied the world of the living would look at him as a freak, a novelty, something to ogle, but also something to fear. He would be nothing more to them than an attraction at a funhouse or a zoo.
Seth would be the amputee, the paraplegic, the burn victim, or deformed person who constantly finds himself the subject of unkind voyeurism, making him the outcast or the punch line. The world is cruel, damn cruel, to those that are different. I knew he could never live a normal life, but is that what heâs doing? I buried him just two weeks ago, and now Iâm talking about a normal life? How could he have any chance of normalcy if his own dad had doubts? I had
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