Scott Fleishman

A STORY FOR EVERY DAY OF THE YEAR

Tom said nothing as he let the test fall to the kitchen table. His father, Henry, glanced over the top of the Boston Globe as the piece of paper settled next to him. Tom stood by the door with his backpack already on. No words were needed. Tom let the three red slashes speak for themselves. The shape they formed burned through the paper, burned through the words scribbled in black ink behind it.

                  Henry’s eyes narrowed as he lowered his coffee mug from his lips. His eyes flicked to Tom and then towards the window as he muttered a “Jesus Christ.”

                  Tom rolled his eyes in anticipation of the argument he knew would ensue. The argument they had had so many times before. All through sophomore year, he and his father had yelled and screamed, over and over again. It always started the same way. With a tough quiz or a test after a night up with a bad cold or a couple of missed days during review. Tom would always wait for just the right moment, when there was only a few more minutes before he had to leave for school. He would sit up the night before, practicing what he would say and fantasizing about what he really wanted to say.

                  Henry shook his head in disgust. “Jeez Tom, school just started last week. How could you possibly have already failed a test? You’ve been in school for what, six days?”

                  Tom looked at the paper, avoiding eye contact. “Summer reading,” he said feebly.

                  “Well did you read the damn book?”

                  “Dad.” Tom was already feeling the frustration. “Yeah Dad, I read the book, I just, it was, like I read it, but I just didn’t really get it.”

                  “Well why didn’t you ask someone for help if you didn’t get it? You had all summer.”

                  “Dad, can you just sign it?”

                  Henry closed his eyes and sipped from his mug. “This is a lousy start to the year. I thought it was clear how you had to act now. You’re a junior, you…”

                  “Dad I act just fine. I don’t do drugs or any of that stuff; all you care about is grades. Now I’m already late for second period. My free-block ended like a couple minutes ago and I need that signed for today. Can you just skip the talk and sign it?”

                  “No I can’t skip the talk. It appears that last time we had this talk, you didn’t really hear me. And we are going to keep having this talk until you get your damn act together.”

                  Tom glared at his father, but had nothing to say. He could not seem to find the lines he had practiced the night before.

                  “We’ve talked about this over and over again. This is the most important year of high school. This is when you need to get the best grades and be on your best behavior if you even want to go to college.”

                  Tom had almost recovered his lines when his brother, Steve, walked into the kitchen wrapped in a blanket. Tom turned, annoyed. “What’re you doing here?”

                  “I’m sick,” Steve said smugly.

                  “He’s sick,” Henry said as he continued to slowly sip his coffee. Steve smirked at Tom and walked into the family room. He picked up the remote and put it to MTV.

                  “Don’t you think he’s a little young to be watching rap videos? Those things are graphic.”

                  Henry did not seem to be listening.

                  Steve turned his head to Tom. “I’m in middle school now, I can watch whatever I want.”

                  “Dad, he is so not sick. Look at him.”

                  “Tom, don’t change the subject.”

                  Steve came back into the kitchen and poured himself some cereal. “What happened? Tom flunked another test?”

                  “Steve, this doesn’t concern you,” Dad said sternly. “Stay out of it.”

                  Tom grunted in frustration and sat down at the table. “I’m late Dad, can you just sign it?” He pushed the test closer to his dad, but Henry immediately pulled away.

                  “Don’t you want to go to college, to have a future?”

                  Tom hit the table with his fist. “It’s just one test.”

                  “Yeah, now it’s one test, it’s only Tuesday. Who knows how many F’s you’ll have by Friday, let alone the end of the year.”

                  Tom’s mouth became useless as it struggled to form even one word, some kind of argument or comeback. Nothing came out.

                  Henry put his mug to his lips and started once again to take small, but loud sips of the dark liquid.

                  “God damn it Dad, would you stop with the fuckin’ coffee!”

                  Henry froze. Steve spun around and looked at Tom in amazement. “You said,” he paused, “the F-word.” Steve’s mouth hung open in stunned amazement.

                  Henry slowly lowered his mug to the table. Tom stared into the black abyss inside the mug. Anger and confusion swirled in his head like the remaining cream slowly changing shape on the surface of the coffee. No one made a sound. The dreaded word had never been uttered in the house since Tom first learned the word in third grade.

                  Henry turned to Steve. “Go watch TV.”

                  Tom looked up at his dad, then retreated back to looking into the cup. “Dad, I just…”

                  “Never talk to me like that again,” his father’s voice was dead calm, but his eyes flashed with fury.

                  Tom did not break his gaze from the mug.

                  “You know not to talk like that. I am your father, you show me some damn respect.”

                  “It’s just a word. It was a …” He grunted in aggravation. “Dad, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

                  “Well, you must have meant something when you said it.”

                  Tom impatiently gnawed at his lip. “You swear, no one yells at you.”

                  “Tom, I’m the adult. Do not start this with me.”

                  Tom was yelling now, “It’s just a word, it doesn’t matter! You always think the wrong things matter!”

                  Henry lifted the mug and finished off most of the coffee. He slammed it down on the table with his hand still tightly clutching the handle. “No, it is not just a word.”

                  “I need to go to school. Second period started at 8:45. It’s already ten past nine,” Tom tried to suppress his frustration. “Can you please sign the test.”

                  “Tom, we’re not done here. Apologize.”

                  Before Tom could retort, Steve ran into the kitchen with a worried look on his face. “Dad, look!”

                  Henry looked at Steve questioningly, then turned to the TV. Steve turned up the volume.

                  “Something’s happened, oh my God, I can’t tell but, but I think, what? Hold on, oh my God yes we have confirmed a second has struck. The screen shook as it revealed plumes of dark smoke pouring from the raging flames. Debris flew through the air and fell to the street hundreds of feet below. Dark objects seemed to move as they plummeted to the sidewalk.”

                  Henry stiffened as he stared at the TV. His mouth was slightly ajar, and he was holding his breath. He muttered something to himself and slumped forward in his chair. His elbow slowly slid off the table. As his hand went over the side of the table, his grip loosened and the mug freed itself from his grasp. It balanced on the edge of the table then tipped. It crashed into the kitchen floor. The mug shattered, turning to fragments. The rounded handle shot across the room. Coffee splattered up Henry’s leg, but he didn’t seem to notice.

                  Henry pulled his gaze from the TV to Tom’s confused face. For a moment, their eyes locked, burning into each other. The adrenaline of the argument was still pumping through Henry’s veins, but he could no longer remember why they had been fighting.

                  “There’s debris and people everywhere I can barely see oh, oh God this is horrible.”