A/N: It's strange that there's no category for the movie... but that's what this story is based off of. I hope you enjoy it!
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"Then I'll run away! To Switzerland! Bavaria! The candy capitals of the world!"
I remember that day. I suspect you thought you were being clever, running off and thinking I wouldn't expect it. No, ever since your accursed mother was trucked off to the asylum, I knew you were going downhill. I knew that you, my only son, would leave me, probably in the same way your mother did, in a straitjacket. But I hadn't expected you to take the initiative and leave yourself. I was at a loss after you told me that, and said something I would forever regret:
"Go ahead! But I won't be here when you come back!"
Immediately after I said that, I realized I had to keep my word. You would never respect me as an authoritative figure if you found me still here when you came back. I did my best to retain my authority, even if it meant never seeing you again, even if it meant spending half a fortune relocating our house… and you needed the discipline, I'm sorry to say. I should have been a stricter father. I should never have exposed you to your mother. She infected you with all her talk of being a professional pastry chef or a confectioner. Such nonsense was not to be tolerated in my house! The house of a dentist! Or at least, that's what I told myself. So, I decided, she had to go. It was only a matter of time before you went, too.
I remember the Halloween night two months before, when I had protected you from the evil that is sugar overdose, and you'd said in your whiny way, "Maybe I'm not allergic… I could try a piece…"
As if I would risk you catching the candy bug just as all those other snotty brats had! I would not let you follow in your mother's footsteps, no matter the cost to our relationship. But something about you changed over the next few days. I saw a pink confectioner's bag on your bed, and recalled that you'd begged for your allowance money a few days early. I had complied, not thinking much of it. But as the days progressed and I saw hastily hidden chocolate bar wrappers stuffed under your bed or in your extra shoes, I began to suspect serious subordination. Your teeth became steadily more appalling, and even with my weekly checkups, there would always be the sneaky beginnings of a cavity forming on the very last tooth. I don't know why I didn't stop giving you money right then and there. I had begun to go soft, I suppose. Seeing you growing steadily happier was rather a breath of fresh air after so many years of tragic looks from behind the special headgear I made you wear. I knew you hated the thing, but you would certainly develop a perfect smile, something your mother never had.
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And then came that day when you finally decided to up and leave. You even had your schoolbag packed and ready to go right there on the hat stand. That may have been what shook me the most. You were so prepared.
I never heard from you again after that night. It was a very stormy night, I remember, and to this day I wonder where you stayed; if you had camped out in the abandoned apartments across the street from ours, or maybe you had snuck unnoticed into a candy shop just as they were closing. You still haven't got back to me about that. You must have gotten a job at some candy store or other (I wouldn't know of course, never having been in one of those accursed buildings), and before I knew it, you had opened that little store on Cherry St. I imagine you were about twenty by then… when I was twenty I'd just started up in college, and there you were, already in business. I must say it was a bit irritating, you having all that talent already; hardly having to work at all for it.
I would pass your store on the way to my dental equipment supplier, and I would always see crowds upon crowds of customers lining up for your candy. I would never have admitted it to myself at the time, but it was a relief to see you so successful. I risked peeking in your window once, and saw a very happy old man serving throngs of customers, but I didn't catch a glimpse of you. I may have left too early, not wanting to be seen staring into the window of a sweet shop. How degrading that would have been!
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A few weeks later, I found an unaddressed envelope on the doormat along with my other mail. I was fed up with my life at the moment; a root canal had gone awry earlier that week, and I was running low on funds. I dismissed it as an advertisement, and it sat on my coffee table, forgotten. The next day I found it stuck stubbornly to the bottom of my coffee mug. I plucked it off and carelessly tore it open, throwing the envelope into the fireplace. In my hand I held a note:
"This is me, in case you forgot. Just thought you ought to know. ~WW~"
Imagine my shock when I flipped it over and saw your sullen face staring back at me! It was a bit of a letdown; I saw you hadn't gained any weight, that being the surefire indication of a successful businessman, and you still had that pouty look on your face, although the tweed suit you were wearing looked expensive and was well tailored. I sighed, and dug out an old frame for it.
After that day, I began collecting every news article or photograph I saw of you, and kept a large scrapbook full of clippings. A bit obsessive, but I hadn't seen you in twelve years, and the house always seemed empty.
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It was convenient that the year I bought a television was the year your factory's grand opening was broadcast all over the world. I stared at the screen nearly the whole day, watching the local news relay the footage of your magnificent achievement over and over again. I made another mistake on a root canal that day, and cursed myself for being so sentimental.
I spent all of that night sitting in front of that box, watching you present your factory in that ridiculous red coat so reminiscent of colored tinfoil. I wondered how in the world you had the courage to wear such silly getups. Purple top hats and turquoise button up shirts… even a cane filled with what looked like tiny candies. I just couldn't understand your success.
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Over the years I learned more about you from the newspapers than I knew of you before you'd left. I would feverishly scan interviews, hoping and dreading that maybe you'd mention me, but you never did. You seemed to have become a very solitary being, and even your workers said in the papers that they hardly ever saw you. From what I gathered from my customers, you were always off in foreign countries, trying to find new flavors for your infamous candies.
I spent my time outside of my appointments sitting in my armchair and wondering how I'd gone wrong; when I had let you slip so far away from my watchful eye. It may have been the day your mother was carted off. I could see the fear and misunderstanding in your young face as you watched your mother being dragged, screaming, out the back door and chained up in that white jacket.
You had turned to me and asked fearfully, "Where are they taking mom?"
I was trying to be logical, I was telling myself that my wife had not snapped, she had not thrown a kitchen knife at me, she had not called me a heathen witch doctor, but my mind was overwhelmed. I yelled at you to get your tiny ass up into bed, no questions! You had shot off upstairs, and I could hear you sobbing all night.
It may have been the day I fixed your headgear on, telling you that you were too feeble, that you'd always be squashed under someone's foot if you didn't stand up for yourself. You tugged at the metal fixture around your head, and even though your face was placid and timid as always, I knew you were seething inside. You told me every day that the other kids at school made fun of you and threw things at you, and every day I told you to stand up for yourself, even though I could see that you'd just get pushed down again.
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I sat in my armchair night after night, thinking the same things over and over again, wishing I could just start over. Being a man of sound logic, I knew this wasn't possible, but I kept wishing all the same.
I read that you had closed your factory, and a small hope began to well up inside me as I wondered if you'd come back home. But I thought, how could you come back if you didn't even know where our house went?
I read that you had reopened your factory, but hadn't re-hired any of those traitors who had betrayed your secrets to the competition, or anyone else for that matter. I wondered how you managed such a large factory without any workers, and again I was impressed. To think that I had a part in raising such a successful man! A small, miserable part, but a part nonetheless.
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Here I sit in the same armchair that I've been sitting in for years, thinking the same thoughts. The fire blazes away just like it always has, your picture stares at me from the mantelpiece just like it always has, and the house is just as empty as it always has been. A knock on the door startles me from my routine, and I wearily get up and answer it.
A strangely dressed young man and a boy are on my doorstep. No appointment, but I really haven't anything better do to today, so in they come. Apparently the man is a bit overdue for a dental checkup, but it seems to me that a mental checkup may be more beneficial. He avoids my eyes and looks like he wants to hide behind his young companion, staring in agitation at everything around him. The boy goes over to look at my wall of clippings and photos, and the man nervously lies down on the chair.
"Open," I say drearily. He gives me a terrified look and slowly opens his mouth. I poke around a bit with my dental mirror, inspecting, when I notice a something familiar. There's a cavity peeking out from behind a molar, and— "Gracious. I haven't seen bicuspids like these since—since…"
The man looks up at me with a very familiar expression; the same one I saw the day my wife was taken away.
"Willy?"