Age 14
Bobby laid on his back on his bed, his hands behind his head; ever growing elbows pointing out to the sides. He stared up into the darkness. Shards of moonlight broke past the edges of his tightly closed curtains. He heard his mothers muffled sobs; he could tell her face was in her hands. Listening again.if only he'd been around to listen earlier maybe he'd have been able to prevent this one, maybe this whole thing would never have happened. He closed his eyes tightly, and knowing it was childish, he wished the whole thing would go away.
Outside a car door slammed, then slow, heavy steps came up the walk, stopping on the front porch. Mumbling curses, George looked for his keys, then a quick shout of triumph when he found them. Metal slid and ticked against metal as the wrong key was tried, and tried again. With a loud curse to the keys, and one to the door, the right key was finally found and George let himself into his home. The king arriving at his castle.
When the front door slammed, Bobby opened his eyes and looked at his bedside clock. 3AM. 'He's early' Bobby thought to himself just as he heard a heavy thump from the living room and his father shouting out, first in pain, then Bobby's name, calling for help.
"BOB!" Came the holler from the living room. Through the thin walls, he could hear as his mothers sobs got louder, her breath coming heavier, in gulps. "ROBERT, Damn it!" the king bellowed again. With a deep sigh of resignation, Bobby tossed the sheets off of himself, swinging his legs to the floor. He propped his elbows on his knees and let his head drop into his hands, letting out another sigh.
"Boooobbbbyyyy." The call for help had gone from angry to whining.
His mothers voice came through the wall, and Bobby's tightly wound muscles jumped at the sound. "Bobby, please, go help him." She was pressed up against her side of the wall, he could tell. She whispered, and yet he could hear her as if she was right behind him.
He didn't answer her, he didn't have to. He would go, they both knew he would. He always did what his mother asked.
The living room was dark expect for the small lamp on an end table. Bobby had purposely left it on for just this occasion. Reaching the intersection of the hall and living room, he quickly glanced around, trying to find his fathers huddled figure in the dim light. "Bob! Nice of you to come." Anger to whining to sarcasm, always the same.
"Ok, Dad, come on." Bobby's face and voice were expressionless as he bent to pick his father up off the floor.
George grabbed Bobby's shoulders and heaved himself up. Uneasily on his feet, still leaning against his son, George grabbed Bobby's upper arm and squeezed it a couple of times. Bobby held his breath as best he could, trying not to breath in the perfume his father was doused in.
"My son. My son." Bobby struggled and George stumbled and together somehow they made it to the easy chair. "Got a girlfriend?" George asked as he dropped into the chair. Bobby ignored the question, kneeling down, unlacing then removing his fathers' shoes. "Let me give you a piece of advice, Son." George paused, staring at Bobby's profile, willing him to look up. He didn't, and George continued. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's don't get married. Ever. Oh, sure . . . it's all dandy at first, but then. . .that beautiful bride of yours turns into a . . .a. . . " Lunatic. Unspoken, it hung in the air between them, each knowing how to fill the empty space. Bobby looked up, meeting his father's eyes for the fist time that night. He waited. George's eyes became suddenly watery, and he tore his gaze away from his sons. "Wife." He finally finished. "She becomes a wife."
Bobby laid on his back on his bed, his hands behind his head; ever growing elbows pointing out to the sides. He stared up into the darkness. Shards of moonlight broke past the edges of his tightly closed curtains. He heard his mothers muffled sobs; he could tell her face was in her hands. Listening again.if only he'd been around to listen earlier maybe he'd have been able to prevent this one, maybe this whole thing would never have happened. He closed his eyes tightly, and knowing it was childish, he wished the whole thing would go away.
Outside a car door slammed, then slow, heavy steps came up the walk, stopping on the front porch. Mumbling curses, George looked for his keys, then a quick shout of triumph when he found them. Metal slid and ticked against metal as the wrong key was tried, and tried again. With a loud curse to the keys, and one to the door, the right key was finally found and George let himself into his home. The king arriving at his castle.
When the front door slammed, Bobby opened his eyes and looked at his bedside clock. 3AM. 'He's early' Bobby thought to himself just as he heard a heavy thump from the living room and his father shouting out, first in pain, then Bobby's name, calling for help.
"BOB!" Came the holler from the living room. Through the thin walls, he could hear as his mothers sobs got louder, her breath coming heavier, in gulps. "ROBERT, Damn it!" the king bellowed again. With a deep sigh of resignation, Bobby tossed the sheets off of himself, swinging his legs to the floor. He propped his elbows on his knees and let his head drop into his hands, letting out another sigh.
"Boooobbbbyyyy." The call for help had gone from angry to whining.
His mothers voice came through the wall, and Bobby's tightly wound muscles jumped at the sound. "Bobby, please, go help him." She was pressed up against her side of the wall, he could tell. She whispered, and yet he could hear her as if she was right behind him.
He didn't answer her, he didn't have to. He would go, they both knew he would. He always did what his mother asked.
The living room was dark expect for the small lamp on an end table. Bobby had purposely left it on for just this occasion. Reaching the intersection of the hall and living room, he quickly glanced around, trying to find his fathers huddled figure in the dim light. "Bob! Nice of you to come." Anger to whining to sarcasm, always the same.
"Ok, Dad, come on." Bobby's face and voice were expressionless as he bent to pick his father up off the floor.
George grabbed Bobby's shoulders and heaved himself up. Uneasily on his feet, still leaning against his son, George grabbed Bobby's upper arm and squeezed it a couple of times. Bobby held his breath as best he could, trying not to breath in the perfume his father was doused in.
"My son. My son." Bobby struggled and George stumbled and together somehow they made it to the easy chair. "Got a girlfriend?" George asked as he dropped into the chair. Bobby ignored the question, kneeling down, unlacing then removing his fathers' shoes. "Let me give you a piece of advice, Son." George paused, staring at Bobby's profile, willing him to look up. He didn't, and George continued. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's don't get married. Ever. Oh, sure . . . it's all dandy at first, but then. . .that beautiful bride of yours turns into a . . .a. . . " Lunatic. Unspoken, it hung in the air between them, each knowing how to fill the empty space. Bobby looked up, meeting his father's eyes for the fist time that night. He waited. George's eyes became suddenly watery, and he tore his gaze away from his sons. "Wife." He finally finished. "She becomes a wife."