HLGStrider
01-13-2005, 07:02 AM
This is sort of a "feel-good" story I wrote for myself over the Summer, inspired partly by a friend joining the Marines though this Marine is nothing like my friend and has a totally different family situation, and the story is really more about the father than the Marine. It was just sort of a strange little piece that came to mind, but I like it so I thought I'd put it up for viewing.
It was one of those Saturday afternoons that occurred so often nowadays when neither of them was sure what to do with the other. All ideas were rejected on the basis that the activities were too much like what their parents had done at this point in their lives, and they weren’t their parents . . . not yet anyway.
Greg therefore set aside the creeping urge to go wax the Grand Prix. Lexi rejected utterly anything with a semblance to gardening. It was as if beginning those projects would pull Greg into retirement and hasten the turning of Lexi’s hair to gray. So they simply sat. Breakfast had been cleared away. The paper was finished. The house was clean. There was nowhere to go.
Somehow these Saturdays were the hardest. When Greg was at work, Lexi always found plenty to busy herself: housework first, various church and political activities second. Finally there was the pet project she’d began while still teaching high school English: an annotated bibliography of everything she felt one should read before their twentieth birthday.
It had been that project that had brought them together. She had made such a picture, sitting in a coffee shop with a copy of The Divine Comedy to her left and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to her right, scribbling frantically on a legal pad. The young computer programmer couldn’t resist stopping to ask what the heck she was doing. When he’d married her she’d been in the D’s, somewhere after Dahl and Dante. When he’d last inquired she’d been working on Tolkien, a good bit of work for thirty years.
This project was still the sum of all the things he adored about his wife: her childish sense of humor and joy; the enthusiasm with which she tackled everything; and the great range and depth of her interests. All of this, however, was the part of her he enjoyed as an observer only. In much of their relationship he was the audience. She did things and would show him the results. She rarely asked for his help or input, and he was fine with that. He’d come home from work and ask what she’d done that day and sit back and listen to a half-hour speech on the subject before giving a five minute summary of what he’d done. Then they’d settle down to read, talk about things in more detail, or just relax in each others arms. On weekdays it worked quite well.
Saturdays, however, he was home the whole time. They had to find something to do together. When the kids had still been home, this would’ve been seen as a gift, time when they could actually talk without being interrupted by someone wanting to borrow the car or inquire as to what was for dinner. Now, however, that time was frequent, and it was getting harder to come up with more to do.
It was worse today. Today they needed to talk about Jeff, something neither of them was ready to do just yet. Time was ticking, though. Greg looked at the clock. The call would be about noon. Jeff always called about noon. Food wasn’t important to the young man, and if he had to spend some of his free time speaking with his parents, he would spend his lunch hour. There had to be a way to just get this over with without a long discussion--with Lexi or Jeff.
“Did you see the picture Carrie sent us?” she inquired. “I left it in the inbox for you.”
He nodded, gazing out the window. The lawn needed cut. Perhaps it would be wise to cut it now. He could say he had forgotten Jeff was going to call.
“It’s so clear! Ultrasounds have improved since I had Jeffrey.” She managed to get the name into the conversation. “Can you believe we’re going to be grandparents?”
“Yeah, it’s quite a stretch of the imagination, but it’s that time of life,” he replied. “Carrie is going to be quite a mother.” Lexi nodded, coming to stand beside him.
“She said she might name it after you if it is a boy. I thought that was sweet.” She slipped her arm about his waist. He smiled laughingly.
“I hope she changes her mind,” he said. “That would be confusing.” He rested his arm about her shoulders, comfortably. Their relationship was very comfortable with one exception—and that exception was due to call in twenty-five minutes. Lexi cleared her throat.
“I can’t believe how time is passing. Carrie is married and going to be a mom and Ana is engaged. Only Jeff is unattached, and he’ll be twenty as of tonight at eleven.” Greg stiffened, suddenly realizing what topic she was trying to work into the conversation. She drew a quick breath and leapt right in. “Greg, darling, when he calls promise you won’t fight? It is his birthday. He needs you right now, and you make him feel two inches tall. You can’t do that today, please. If you love me at all, you won’t.”
Greg groaned inwardly. Why did she have to make this an issue of whether he loved her or not? Of course he loved her, but the problems with Jeff didn’t go away just because he loved his wife. It wasn’t as if he intentionally started things. The boy did just as much as him.
“I don’t seek out these arguments, Lex. . .”he began.
“Bull!” She pulled away from him. “You leap on him at the slightest chance. Maybe his choices weren’t what you wanted for him, but they’re over and done with . . . and you don’t tell a twenty-year-old who may be shipped to Iraq at any time that he is wasting his life—not if you have a heart you don’t.” Now that was a low blow.
“I wouldn’t do that.” He frowned.
“Oh, it’s not stated but it’s implied.” She sat on the love seat between two big, beige pillows, pulling her knees up against her chest like a thirteen-year-old in rebellion. “The ‘How long are you in for now?’ jokes . . . asking about college scholarships all the time. . .”
“I’m simply concerned about my son’s welfare. The military is not a career that can stably provide for a family.” Greg knew the objections by heart. “The pay is bad. You get sent all over, out of the country, into God knows where, and you can get shot at. What sane father wants that life for his son? . . .Especially after saving for two decades to give him the education to be a doctor if he wanted! Instead he drops in his second year like a nincompoop! That kid can’t stick to anything!”
“That’s not true,” Lexi whispered. “Oh Greg, how can you think that about Jeff? How can you let him know you think that? Don’t you see how it hurts him? It makes him feel like dirt.”
“All I know is what I saw, bad grades and wasted time. . .” He shook his head. “Maybe he could use a healthy dose of shame. Maybe it’ll give him the sense he needs to get back on track.”
Lexi kept her eyes lowered.
“I’m going to tell him you’re gone when he calls,” she breathed. “I’ll say you got called into work on some sort of bizarre computer emergency.” He hesitated.
“OK,” he then replied.
“He’ll know I’m lying—but I don’t want you to say those things to him. You’ve already crushed him too many times.” She stood. “I’ll . . . I’ll be in the study.” She left the room.
Greg stared after her. He felt like a heel. He couldn’t leave it at this. It was all right when his quarrels with Jeff were between him and Jeff, but he couldn’t let them spill over to hurt Lex. That wasn’t right. He knocked on the door to the study. There was no answer so he pushed the door open.
“I wanted to be alone,” she choked out.
He winced. He should’ve known she’d start to cry after that. She sat upon the floor, huddled down defensively, her back against the side of the worn couch. He eased himself next to her, his back to the wall, and took her hand.
“Lex, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. . .”
“You . . . you don’t know. You just don’t know!” she wept. “You expect him to be like you, but he’s not. He’s not you and he’s not me and he’s not Carrie or Ana either. He’s him! You never understood that.”
“I don’t expect him to be me,” he soothed.
“Oh yes you do!” she snapped. “You and your IQ and degree . . . Greg, did you ever stop to notice that Jeff barely got a diploma?” Greg blinked.
It was one of those Saturday afternoons that occurred so often nowadays when neither of them was sure what to do with the other. All ideas were rejected on the basis that the activities were too much like what their parents had done at this point in their lives, and they weren’t their parents . . . not yet anyway.
Greg therefore set aside the creeping urge to go wax the Grand Prix. Lexi rejected utterly anything with a semblance to gardening. It was as if beginning those projects would pull Greg into retirement and hasten the turning of Lexi’s hair to gray. So they simply sat. Breakfast had been cleared away. The paper was finished. The house was clean. There was nowhere to go.
Somehow these Saturdays were the hardest. When Greg was at work, Lexi always found plenty to busy herself: housework first, various church and political activities second. Finally there was the pet project she’d began while still teaching high school English: an annotated bibliography of everything she felt one should read before their twentieth birthday.
It had been that project that had brought them together. She had made such a picture, sitting in a coffee shop with a copy of The Divine Comedy to her left and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to her right, scribbling frantically on a legal pad. The young computer programmer couldn’t resist stopping to ask what the heck she was doing. When he’d married her she’d been in the D’s, somewhere after Dahl and Dante. When he’d last inquired she’d been working on Tolkien, a good bit of work for thirty years.
This project was still the sum of all the things he adored about his wife: her childish sense of humor and joy; the enthusiasm with which she tackled everything; and the great range and depth of her interests. All of this, however, was the part of her he enjoyed as an observer only. In much of their relationship he was the audience. She did things and would show him the results. She rarely asked for his help or input, and he was fine with that. He’d come home from work and ask what she’d done that day and sit back and listen to a half-hour speech on the subject before giving a five minute summary of what he’d done. Then they’d settle down to read, talk about things in more detail, or just relax in each others arms. On weekdays it worked quite well.
Saturdays, however, he was home the whole time. They had to find something to do together. When the kids had still been home, this would’ve been seen as a gift, time when they could actually talk without being interrupted by someone wanting to borrow the car or inquire as to what was for dinner. Now, however, that time was frequent, and it was getting harder to come up with more to do.
It was worse today. Today they needed to talk about Jeff, something neither of them was ready to do just yet. Time was ticking, though. Greg looked at the clock. The call would be about noon. Jeff always called about noon. Food wasn’t important to the young man, and if he had to spend some of his free time speaking with his parents, he would spend his lunch hour. There had to be a way to just get this over with without a long discussion--with Lexi or Jeff.
“Did you see the picture Carrie sent us?” she inquired. “I left it in the inbox for you.”
He nodded, gazing out the window. The lawn needed cut. Perhaps it would be wise to cut it now. He could say he had forgotten Jeff was going to call.
“It’s so clear! Ultrasounds have improved since I had Jeffrey.” She managed to get the name into the conversation. “Can you believe we’re going to be grandparents?”
“Yeah, it’s quite a stretch of the imagination, but it’s that time of life,” he replied. “Carrie is going to be quite a mother.” Lexi nodded, coming to stand beside him.
“She said she might name it after you if it is a boy. I thought that was sweet.” She slipped her arm about his waist. He smiled laughingly.
“I hope she changes her mind,” he said. “That would be confusing.” He rested his arm about her shoulders, comfortably. Their relationship was very comfortable with one exception—and that exception was due to call in twenty-five minutes. Lexi cleared her throat.
“I can’t believe how time is passing. Carrie is married and going to be a mom and Ana is engaged. Only Jeff is unattached, and he’ll be twenty as of tonight at eleven.” Greg stiffened, suddenly realizing what topic she was trying to work into the conversation. She drew a quick breath and leapt right in. “Greg, darling, when he calls promise you won’t fight? It is his birthday. He needs you right now, and you make him feel two inches tall. You can’t do that today, please. If you love me at all, you won’t.”
Greg groaned inwardly. Why did she have to make this an issue of whether he loved her or not? Of course he loved her, but the problems with Jeff didn’t go away just because he loved his wife. It wasn’t as if he intentionally started things. The boy did just as much as him.
“I don’t seek out these arguments, Lex. . .”he began.
“Bull!” She pulled away from him. “You leap on him at the slightest chance. Maybe his choices weren’t what you wanted for him, but they’re over and done with . . . and you don’t tell a twenty-year-old who may be shipped to Iraq at any time that he is wasting his life—not if you have a heart you don’t.” Now that was a low blow.
“I wouldn’t do that.” He frowned.
“Oh, it’s not stated but it’s implied.” She sat on the love seat between two big, beige pillows, pulling her knees up against her chest like a thirteen-year-old in rebellion. “The ‘How long are you in for now?’ jokes . . . asking about college scholarships all the time. . .”
“I’m simply concerned about my son’s welfare. The military is not a career that can stably provide for a family.” Greg knew the objections by heart. “The pay is bad. You get sent all over, out of the country, into God knows where, and you can get shot at. What sane father wants that life for his son? . . .Especially after saving for two decades to give him the education to be a doctor if he wanted! Instead he drops in his second year like a nincompoop! That kid can’t stick to anything!”
“That’s not true,” Lexi whispered. “Oh Greg, how can you think that about Jeff? How can you let him know you think that? Don’t you see how it hurts him? It makes him feel like dirt.”
“All I know is what I saw, bad grades and wasted time. . .” He shook his head. “Maybe he could use a healthy dose of shame. Maybe it’ll give him the sense he needs to get back on track.”
Lexi kept her eyes lowered.
“I’m going to tell him you’re gone when he calls,” she breathed. “I’ll say you got called into work on some sort of bizarre computer emergency.” He hesitated.
“OK,” he then replied.
“He’ll know I’m lying—but I don’t want you to say those things to him. You’ve already crushed him too many times.” She stood. “I’ll . . . I’ll be in the study.” She left the room.
Greg stared after her. He felt like a heel. He couldn’t leave it at this. It was all right when his quarrels with Jeff were between him and Jeff, but he couldn’t let them spill over to hurt Lex. That wasn’t right. He knocked on the door to the study. There was no answer so he pushed the door open.
“I wanted to be alone,” she choked out.
He winced. He should’ve known she’d start to cry after that. She sat upon the floor, huddled down defensively, her back against the side of the worn couch. He eased himself next to her, his back to the wall, and took her hand.
“Lex, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. . .”
“You . . . you don’t know. You just don’t know!” she wept. “You expect him to be like you, but he’s not. He’s not you and he’s not me and he’s not Carrie or Ana either. He’s him! You never understood that.”
“I don’t expect him to be me,” he soothed.
“Oh yes you do!” she snapped. “You and your IQ and degree . . . Greg, did you ever stop to notice that Jeff barely got a diploma?” Greg blinked.