The Apple Falls
Sarah almost collapsed when her son told her the news. Their daughter, Hannah saw her Mom tears, and put her arms around her, guiding her over to the couch.
Michael felt like he was going to throw up. His Mom wouldn’t stop crying and it was all his fault. He wanted to say something, anything to take the pain away. The words did not come. It felt like they were frozen in that moment, only his Mother’s tears moved forward.
He tried to speak. “Mom…” but nothing came. He could only watch as his younger sister Hannah held her. Never in his life had Michael felt so powerless.
Joe was filled with anger. How could his son be so stupid, so careless? Or better yet, how could they? After all, it wasn’t just Michael’s mistake, it was their failure. He stared at his son. It had been 17 years since he felt this helpless. But as he looked further, he saw the way his son’s brow furrowed and his eyes squinted with a pained expression that his wife had pointed out on his own face many times. He was upset with his son, but he couldn’t blame him.
Joe motioned to his wife. “Sarah,” he said softly, “call Lily’s parents and invite them to dinner tomorrow. We have a lot to talk about.” Then he turned to his son. “Come on, we’re going for a ride.”
Of all the possible reactions Michael imagined his father might have, this calm, focused approach was not among them. He did as his Dad asked, and headed towards the door..
Joe went to follow his son, but as he reached the door, something stopped him. Turning on his heel, he moved back towards his wife, got on his knees and kissed her forehead. “It’ll be okay, love. I promise.” He emphasized the last word. Joe wanted Sarah to know that me meant it, that he wouldn’t let their family down again. “We’ll be back soon, my love.” Then he promptly turned and walked out.
The ride was quiet and it only made Michael that much more nervous. He wanted to ask his Dad what they were doing, but he was scared. His Dad had always been quiet, but this was different. There was always a kind of brightness to Joe’s stoicism. His Dad didn’t make jokes, but there was something about the middle-aged mechanic that made people feel better when he was around. But as they drove through the night, Joe seemed hardened. Where were they going? What would he say?
Just when Michael thought he couldn’t take anymore, his father's old pick-up sputtered to a halt. At 19, Michael had snuck into most of the bars in town, but he'd never even heard of the Dirty Dog Saloon. This was so weird. Why had his dad brought him to a bar?
Joe got out of the truck and walked on ahead to the door. "C'mon, boy."
Once inside, Michael understood why he'd never heard of the place. It was a fairly nice as far as bars go, but it wasn't the kind of place where people his age hung out. The Dirty Dog was where old men went to either reminisce about their glory days, or forget about that they’d never had any.
Looking around, Michael thought he was the youngest person there by 20 years. But then he saw the bartender. She was probably in her early 20’s. Brown hair, blue eyes, big boobs. Michael figured she must have made a killing off these old boys.
The whole way to the Dirty Dog, Joe had tried to figure out what he should say. He wasn't sure how to go about this. In 19 years, it never occurred to him to plan for this conversation, which only made him feel more stupid. Why didn’t he think this was a possibility? Of course it didn't matter anymore. Now he just had to figure out what to say. If only he could find the right words, his son would understand. It might ease his suffering. But the words did not come. So instead he would substitute whiskey. Michael would be joining the ranks of men in less than nine months. It was time he had a man's drink.
As they took adjacent stools, Joe caught the eye of the bartender and ordered a full bottle of Johnny Walker Red and two glasses.
The bartender looked suspiciously at his obviously underage son. "How old is your friend?" She was young, and beautiful. Her curly brown hair fell just past her shoulders and barely covered those big, blue eyes. Joe guessed she was about 22, and definitely still wet behind the ears. A wicked grin spread across his lips. He didn't quite know what to say to his son… but this girl? She wasn't even a challenge.
"Him? He's old enough. He just has that look about him. What do they call it? Dumbass! That’s it. He just looks like a dumbass." The bartender laughed, while Michael grimaced at his Dad’s insult. "What's your name, darlin’?"
The bartender tucked her hair behind her right ear in that way that girls do when they mean to flirt. "Irene." Joe's eyes narrowed and his grin grew wider. He had her.
Confusion fell over Michael as he watched his Dad go to work on Irene. He had never seen his father flirt with anyone besides his mom; as far as he knew, his dad hadn't even looked at another woman, much less talked to one. Yet, there he was, quite literally charming the pants off this super hot bartender who was barely older than he was!
Michael felt kind of sick as he realized his father could probably have sex with her if he wanted to. How could he be raised by this man, and never know this side of him?
Joe was letting Irene do most of the talking. All he had to do was smile and seem interested in whatever 22 year old bartenders like to talk about.
"Beauty school, huh? That's great! Good for you." Joe felt like he was laying it on a little thick, but he had been with enough women to know that once a girl's really into you, it didn't matter what you said. She was eating up every delicious, deceitful bit of flattery he served up. But he was not flattering himself at all to think that Irene would be willing to take anything else he wished to served. If he weren’t totally devoted to his wife, that is.
"Yeah, I mean bartending is good money, but I want more for myself. You know?" Joe nodded. "In fact, I just got my acceptance letter yesterday." There was his opening. "That's great! This calls for a drink! I tell you what, Irene, why don't you get me that bottle and three glasses, so we can celebrate?" But Irene still seemed unsure. "I don't know Joe, he looks a little young..." His hand slowly slid onto hers, reassuring her. He leaned in close, looking up into her blue eyes. "You know what, you're right Irene, he does look a little young. So why don't you just put both glasses next to me... in case I need a second drink." He could see Irene starting to break, so he smiled at her subtly.
"Oh, alright, I guess it couldn't hurt."
Two minutes later they were toasting Irene's future. But once that was done, she decided to spend a little more time on the other side of the bar, where she could feign ignorance if anything happened to the boy. Michael had not touched the shot of whiskey his father had poured for him. He was a mass of fear and confusion, both from the revelations of the last few days and the display this man who appeared to be his father had just put on. Finally, the words came. "Dad... don’t take this the wrong way, but… what the fuck was that?"
Joe poured himself another shot. "What? Her?" His son nodded. "That was nothing. And I'll thank you not to mention it to your Mom. I wasn't born your dad, you know."
The idea did not really sit well with Michael. He had never really thought of his mother and father as anything other than parents; more archetypes than real people. Yet here he was, nursing a glass of whiskey with his very real, very human, smooth-talking old man.
As Joe took his third drink, he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer and he had about as much courage as the liquid would give him. "I want you to know that I’m not mad at you, son. I mean, I'm not thrilled. This isn't how your Mom and I pictured your life going. But I'm not mad, or even disappointed in you."
Michael didn’t understand. "You... you're not?"
"No. In fact, it's partly my fault this happened. I didn't prepare you enough. I didn't talk to you about these things. Maybe if I was a better father, you wouldn't be in this situation."
Hearing his Dad blame himself just made Michael feel a million times worse. He took the shot of whiskey to stop himself from breaking into tears. It wasn’t working. "I'm.... Dad, I'm, uhhh..." His father put his hand on his shoulder. "You're scared." His dad poured more into his glass. "Yeah." "Well you'd be an even bigger dumbass if you weren’t. Becoming a father is the scariest thing you will ever do."
The whiskey did not sate Michael’s thirst, nor settle his fears.
It was killing Joe, knowing that his son was in trouble and there was nothing he could do. Knowing he had failed him as a father and as a man. Joe always knew this day would come, but it was supposed to be years from now. After college. After marriage. Maybe when he and Sarah were closer to retirement and being called Pop Pop by a toddler wouldn’t draw judging stares from strangers in a park.
What am I going to do, dad?" Michael struggled to get the words out. He held it together for two days, but now he was sitting in a bar and crying in front of his Dad. It was fucking humiliating. "What if I'm not a good father? What if I can't take care of them? What if Lily resents me?" He paused, trying to choke down his sobs. "Dad, what if I'm not like you?"
Joe would have laughed if it weren't so sad. Michael had no idea what he was saying. How could he know? Joe had never told him.
"You'll be fine."
"But what if I'm not?! I'm a fuck up. I can't even take care of myself without you and Mom helping me. How am I supposed to take care of a baby? How do you know it'll be okay?" The tears came again.
Putting down the glass, he closed his eyes and centered himself. "Mike... let me tell you a story..." As Joe spoke, the world seemed to fall away and he was in another place.
A boy of 17 stood next to a mighty oak on a summer day. The boy’s fingers traced along the carved edges of a heart, and on either side of it sat the initials JS and ST. A year prior he had carved them himself with his own knife for his sweetheart. He’d been with a couple of other girls, but Sarah was special. Even at 17, he was sure she was the one.
The oak was their special meeting place, deep in the woods where no one could find them… where nothing existed but the two of them. The story of their love was etched upon the history of the ancient tree, and as he stood waiting for his love he wondered what history would be made this time. He arrived earlier than she had asked. The boy wasn’t known for his patience or restraint. He could hear her footsteps as she approached and his heart leapt against his chest. But when he sad the sadness in Sarah’s eyes, he feared the worst. She crept slowly along the path, whereas she usually ran to him. What could trouble her so? She went to speak, but found her voice frozen. The boy pulled his love close, and kissed her. When she had calmed herself, she gave him the news that she felt would send him running. Her sobs echoed throughout the forest with every word. And when she was done, she looked up at him, prepared for the worst. But the boy just stood there with the brightest smile she had ever seen. “It’ll be okay, love. I promise.”
Michael’s confusion could not be plainer upon his face. “You were 17? But I thought you were 19 when you married mom?” His father’s right eyebrow cocked pointedly. “Wait… you mean you… I…”
“Yes, son. Yes to everything you’re thinking. Yes to everything you’re about to ask. You’re more like me than you could ever imagine. That’s how I know. You’ll make it. It may not seem like it, but you’re going to be fine.”
As the reality of the situation washed over him, Michael stopped drinking from his glass, and took a large swig straight off of the bottle. “I don’t understand. Mom told you and you weren’t even scared? Weren’t you at least surprised?”
The question didn’t even phase him.
“Scared? Hell yes, I was scared. But she needed me to be confident, so I was. At least while she was around. But surprised? Not really. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Your Mom and I used to screw like rabbits back then.” As the words hit Michael’s ears, alcohol burst forth from his lips, dowsing the bar in a mist of whiskey. Irene noticed the mess that she now had to clean up, and looked more than a little put out. “Okay. Well, son, you’ve pissed off the bartender. I think it’s time we leave.”
When the arrived back at the house, Michael was exhausted and went straight to bed. But Joe was far too caught up between the past and the future. Hitting the light switch in the living room, he was surprised to find his wife. Joe looked into her eyes and saw the same 17 year old girl he fell in love with. Nineteen years later, and she was still just as beautiful as the day he met her.
“How did it go?” He sat next to her on the sofa. Sarah had stopped crying after they left, but she was still a wreck from worry. “It went fine, love.”
“What are we going to do about this?” Deep inside, Joe laughed at his wife’s question. He always found it funny that she looked to him for advice, as she had always been the smart one. He never understood that she turned to him because though she was far smarter than he was, to her, he was the strong one. “Well, I gave it a bit of thought. I want him to finish college. So we’ll support him, as long as he gets a part-time job to at least partly provide for his family. Beyond that, I think we should let them find their own way. After all, that’s how we did it, and we turned out all right.” His arm slinked around Sarah’s shoulders pulling her into him for comfort. “Did we?” she asked. “We didn’t turn out the way our parents had hoped we would, and now because of our mistakes Michael’s life won’t either.” She looked into her husbands eyes for the reassurance he had never once failed to provide. “Our parents hoped we would live good lives and we have. I couldn’t imagine a better life than the one I have with you. I only hope our son will be lucky enough to find himself where I am, nineteen years from now.”
And with that he kissed her on the cheek.
“Now let’s go to bed my love.”
Story originally written in April of 2007. I rewrote a good chunk of this one.
