A post of a different color

Hey all, been awhile since I posted anything here. I was just beset by an idea today and it ended up in a short little story that's not really like anything I've done heretofore. So I fingered I'd put it up here and torture y'all with it. This is a writing blog after all . .

So, I'm welcoming any criticism or comments or complete lack of response.

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Friday

The goddamn table was dirty again. He stood there looking at it for what must have been five minutes, clock ticking, staring at brown semicircles of coffee mug footprints and crusty red clumps marking the passage of spaghetti from plates to the mouths of the children. There were several dried up spots of milk, small islands of flaky mud on a sea of chipped formica. He knew the sink would be full of unwashed dishes without looking just as he knew the oven would be cold, barren of supper.

He knew the kids were gone. Sleeping at various friend's houses. It was friday, after all, and there were rituals to be observed. Even on a friday like this one. And they didn't know. He wondered if things would be all that different if they did know.

He set his briefcase on the table and hung his jacket by the door. Routine. He needed routine right now. Checking the fridge gave him the options of half a plate of dried spaghetti, pre-mixed with sauce, or the makings of a sandwich. He opted for the spaghetti, eating it cold with a generous helping of salt. Washing it down with half a glass of milk, he added his dishes to the sink and went to break her the news.

She was in bed, of course. Still in the same nightgown she'd put on the night before. Earlier this morning was more the truth. He snapped the light on and she looked up, shading her eyes.

"When did you get home?" she rasped.

"Just now. Ten minutes ago. I finished the spaghetti."

"Spaghetti? I was going to make some for supper. Tell Danny to start some water for me."

"He's at Ryan's house. I finished what they didn't eat already. It's friday."

"Oh." She closed her eyes. "Turn off the light please."

He stood there looking at her, his fingers twitching slightly. For the first time in years he wanted a smoke. More than that, he wanted to get drunk. Smashed. The way she was most nights.

She looked at him again, irritated.

"Can you turn off the light? What's wrong"

"I . . ."

The phone rang. He walked around to his side of the bed and answered.

"Jim?" Forest's voice was thick.

"Yeah."

"Have you heard?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, man. I really am."

"I know."

"Have you talked to anyone else? Mary?"

"Yeah, she called me at work."

"She ok?"

"Yeah." He closed his eyes, suddenly tired.

"Listen, Jim. We're really sorry, both of us. If you need anything . . . "

"I know. Thanks."

He hung up, not knowing how many more calls like this he could take. There'd been several already. He sat on the edge of the bed face in his palms.

"Who was that?" she asked.

"Forest."

"What did he want? Who called you at work."

He didn't answer, not wanting to go through with this anymore.

"Jim? What did he want?"

"Hank's dead."

"What?"

"Hank's dead. This morning."

"How? What happened? Was he drinking again?"

"No."

"Then what happened?"

"Car accident. On his way to work."

"He was driving? I knew it. He was drunk again. You're just covering for him! You always cover for him!"

"No. He wasn't driving. He was hit by a car when he was walking to work."

"When did he get a job? He was still drunk, no matter what you say. I know your brother and he was drunk."

"He wasn't. He's had a job for months now. Back at the shop."

"Right. You're just covering for him. He's dead and you're still lying for him."

He'd known this would happen. He knew she'd react like this. His brother was dead and here she was accusing him of lying. Hank had been sober and working for months. She'd been drunk for years and hadn't held a job for more than three weeks in longer than he could remember. He was afraid he'd be filled with rage, but he only felt tired. Empty and tired. When was it going to be his turn to break down?

He stood up and looked at her again.

"Do the kids know their drunk uncle's dead?" she asked.

"No."

"Well, don't expect them to be sorry."

He knew his kids loved his brother, just like Hank loved them. Had loved them.

"Turn the light off, my head's killing me."

He didn't move for a few moments, then he walked out of the room, switching the light off and closing the door.

He left the front door open, though, and the dishes in the sink.

The kids were upset when he picked them up, wanting to stay with their friends. They understood after he explained. The hotel was nice. They spent some time in the pool and he ordered pizza.