The door opened quietly and a middle-age man entered the room. Todd knew it was his dad. Sleep would have to wait a bit. This visit once or twice a week had become a tradition of several years now. Todd didn’t know when it would all end, but he loved his dad and tried not to say much about his visits. Sometimes he prayed not only for his dad but for the strength to do what he knew he had to do in life.
“Son, are you asleep?” Lem Lewiston asked Todd in a soft voice.
“No, Dad. Just laid down a few minutes ago,” he lied. “Are you okay?”
Lem sat in the wooden chair near Todd’s bed. Sobs gushed from inside the sottish father and husband. He held his head with both hands in silence for a while. Then, between sobs, he spoke.
“Don’t be like your old man, Son. He’s useless. A good-for-nothing sot.”
“Dad, please. Don’t say that,” Todd said.
“I love you, Son. Only God above knows how much. May He strike me dead because of the harm I’ve caused this family.”
“It’s okay, Dad. You have a job. You’re a good worker,” Todd said.
“I’m a good motherfucker, Boy. You… you’re gonna have a different life. A great, important life, Son. If I didn’t feel sure about that, I swear I’d kill you with my bare hands here and now.”
Todd didn’t speak. His dad could sometimes make the 17-year-old youth’s imagination run wild. Sometimes he could just see the old man in a rage, his powerful hands round his throat, choking the life out of him. But it was fantasy. In real life his dad was normally a gentle man. A gentle man with a drinking problem.
Lem stood up to go to his own room. It was Friday night and he could sleep in tomorrow morning.
“Got practice tomorrow? Thought we could go fishing,” he asked Todd.
“Got practice, Dad. Thanks anyway.”
“Goodnight, Son. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Dad. Night.”
Lem quietly closed the door behind him.
The End
