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 felt awkward when I told her good night. Dad's explaination 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 worry about it," and stalked into his room.

I went to bed and thought about Natalie, the girl I had a crush on at school. I laid there and 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 books while she waited for Dad to be done drinking and flirting, waited for him to come home and ignore her some more.

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

~~~@~~~@~~~

I woke up with a start later that night to a loud bang and a yell.

"...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 something downstairs and was yelling at Mom. Mom 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...?

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 on my side, 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 married, and I was coming home from work, and I walked into the kitchen. And she smiled at me.

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