The End of the World As We Know It

My brother came out of our parents' bedroom looking distracted.

"Dad wants to see you."

I was nervous; he didn't even make fun of me or make me think I was in trouble. I went in the bedroom, and Dad said he had to tell me something. He didn't give a long preamble, but he wasn't brusque, either. He just said what it was: he was leaving Mom and wouldn't be at the house anymore, he just didn't love her anymore, and it had nothing to do with me and my brother and, and, and, and, and...

Did I have any questions? Not really. Was I upset? Maybe I was, way back in my fifth-grade mind, but I said no. I was sitting with my dad, and I wasn't afraid, and I could smell his aftershave, even that late in evening, and that's what was important right then. Not what was coming, but what was present. Right then, for a change and a chance, he was present.

I sat there until he told me I should go on and get ready for bed. I was still awake when Mom got home, and I felt awkward when I told her good night. I'd never felt awkward around my mom; Dad's revelation was starting to become my reality.

I did have questions later that night... but the time to ask had passed. I was upset, but the complaint office was closed. I looked at my brother, but before I could ask anything, he just muttered, "Don't even think about it," and stalked into his room.

I went to bed and tried to figure out what I supposed to think about. I thought about how it felt sitting with Dad, not in trouble for a change, not afraid. I turned on my side and thought about Natalie, the girl I had a crush on at school. I thought about the change that was coming, a change I couldn't even define. I thought about my mom, sitting at the kitchen table night after night, smoking cigarettes and reading magazines while she waited for Dad to be done drinking and flirting, waited for him to come home and ignore her some more... but at least he would be home with her.

I went to asleep thinking about how simple it should have been to be married.

~~~@~~~@~~~

I startled awake later that night to a loud bang and a yell from downstairs.

"...I am so god damn sick and tired of hearing 'that's not the way you were raised!'"

Dad had gaveled his hand down on the kitchen table, making the overfull ashtray rattle noisily before settling again. He was yelling at Mom. She was crying and trying to talk to him, saying she didn't understand, why, Jimmy, people don't get divorced in our family, we're Catholic, Jimmy, why...? But he didn't give her a real answer; he just went on railing angrily at her.

He had been kind to my brother and me when he told us. Why was he being so mean to Mom? Is this what would have happened if I had asked questions, if I had asked why, if I had said I was upset?

I closed my eyes and rolled toward the wall, wondering if I would cry. Instead, I thought about Natalie, the pretty girl who sat two rows behind me in class. I imagined we were grown, and we were married, and I was coming home from work, and I walked into the kitchen, and she smiled at me. She just... smiled at me.

I went to sleep thinking how simple I would keep it if I could be married.