Get Your Shoes on Billy

         “Get your shoes on Billy, we have to go.”

Dump the dishes in the sink.  Straighten the tie, sure looks fine. 

         “I’m at the door, hurry,” I call out.

Billy waddles out of his bedroom, his backpack pulling his shoulders toward the ground.  His hair is an antenna in the back.  His shoes are not on.

         “Don’t cha need to get somethin out of the fridgerator?”

         “Why, is that where your shoes are?” I snap.  Jog to the bedroom, lay on the floor, sweep under the bed. There’s one.

         “Other one’s under there.”  Billy points to the upturned laundry hamper.  “It’s in jail.”

         Two more wasted minutes.  Don’t they teach kids to tie their shoes in kindergarten?

         Traffic is hell.  The drop off line wraps around the red-brick building, twice.

         “Mrs. Gristwall says you can bring in treats for special ‘cassion.”

         “Yeah, that’s great.  School’s over at two.  Mrs. Grizwald has all afternoon to bake cookies and pies.  Maybe she should bring something in.”

         “Or cupcakes.”

         “Sure, cupcakes.  I’m at work until six, so, forgive me if I don’t open a bakery after I get home from the office.”  Must be great to be a kid these days.  Everything done for you, nothing to worry about.  Hungry?  Here’s your chicken nuggets.  Bored?  Here’s a video game.  Tired?  Great, it’s bedtime anyway.  I’ve got three more hours of tort research, say hi to the sandman for me.

         “Daddy, are you comin home early today?”

         “Not unless my boss’s heart grows three sizes this day.”

         “Oh, I just thought cause of –”

         “I know, I know, you love it when mommy gets you early, but its not her day today.”

Why wasn’t Meg getting him today?  It’s Wednesday.  Seems like I pushed to have him today.  Why –     

         “Hey, no cutting!” 

         HONK!

         Suburban, pampered, silver-spooned – think they own this school.

         “My friend Nate, he got three new Power Archer men, the green one, the red one –”

         “Who’s that?  Nate Murphy?  Yeah, he probably gets all the Power Archer men.  His dad made partner this year.  You ever heard of mesothelioma?”

         Billy stared blankly.

         “Right, neither had anyone else until Rod Murphy came along.  Nate could have the real Power Archer men come to his house and re-shingle the roof if his dad rubbed his wallet like a magic lamp.”

         “Why would they rashiggle the roof?”

         “I don’t know.  What do Power Archers normally do?”

         “They fight Dark Star and they ride speedcycles and they –”

         “Ok, they could do all that, in Nate’s bedroom.  That’s what being a partner gets you.  That’s why I can’t come home early.”

         “If you were wonderin’ what I like, I like Power Archer men.  ‘Specially the blue one.”

         “That’s nice.”  Did the mom in that SUV actually just give me the finger?  She pulled in front of me.  Where does she have to get to in such a hurry this morning?  Tennis lessons?  The coffee shop?

         “I like the red one too, but the blue one’s better.  He has the lightnin’ arrows.”

         “Didn’t I get you something like that for Christmas?  I remember mailing it up to you and your mom at the ski lodge last year.  Didn’t you get something from me up there?”

         “I got a bike from Dave.”

         “Oh, that’s so wonderful you remember that.  Dave’s really great.”  If there was any justice in the world, Meg’s boyfriend would have been run over by a snowplow in Aspen and never heard from again.

         A long sigh.

         “Listen, as soon as there’s another occasion, I’ll get you a green Power person.”

         “Blue.”

         Finally.  The door opens up.  Mr. Smiley guy helps Timmy out of the car.  I give him a look meant to be a smile but comes off as a grimace.  The door shuts as the car’s already rolling.

         Work, phone, work, email, greasy fast food, work, phone, briefs, “come in this weekend”, “got our eye on you”.

         Back in the car.  The sky hints at the absent sun, just below the horizon.

         “Mrs. Turner, I’m home.”

         “Did you have a good day, Mr. Rushing?”

         “Ugh, it’s not over until midnight.”

         “Billy’s in his room.  He’s had his bath and I gave him his dinner.  He was too hungry to wait.”

         “That’s great.  Thanks.”

         “He’s been so excited for you to get home tonight.”

         Billy was under the hamper.

         “Daddy!”  The hamper popped like popcorn.

         “Hey sport.  How was your day?”

         “Everybody sang to me at school.”

         “Weird, but fun.  I’ve got to check my emails, then we’ll do something, ok?”

         Billy squirmed like a puppy smelling bacon.  “Did you put somethin’ on the table for me?”

         “No, Mrs. Turner said you ate.”  The squirming subsided, the bacon smell gone.  “Just get a juice box out of the fridge and I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

         Typing, emails, problems, office politics, urgent, ‘the sender requests confirmation you opened this email’.

         “Daddy, are you comin’”

         “Not right now.  Just play with something.”

         The hands on the clock must have been greased today.  It was eight, and I just sat down.  Better get Billy to bed.

         I step into his room and the carpet squishes.

         “I spilled some,” Billy says, pointing to the collapsed juice box on his dresser.

         “Great, just what I wanted to do.  Clean the carpet.”

         “Sorry daddy.  Am I in trouble?”

         “Well, I’m not going to throw you a party about it, that’s for sure.”  I grab some paper towels in the kitchen and head back to the room.  Billy’s sitting in the middle of his bed, his eyes are red and puffy, strained from trying to hold back tears.

         I smash the towel into the shag, stomping it with my foot.

         “It’s not a big deal.  Don’t get all worked up.  It’s bedtime anyway.  Say your prayers and I’ll come back and tuck you in.”

         “Dear God, sorry I wasn’t good to get a birthday.  Please let me have one next time, I’ll be really good all year.  Amen.”