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Milk and Cigarettes
He hadn’t understood at the time. And how could he? He was a boy of seven, with few friends and little understanding of the world. He didn’t even think to wonder why his father was rummaging through the house, throwing odds and ends in a couple carpetbags.
Once-ler was in the den with his coloring book. His father was digging through the big chest behind the sofa. Clutter grew in small piles around him. Old keepsakes. Photo albums. Manilla envelopes of records and documents. A few old toys forgotten and hastily shoved away.
Once-ler’s crayon was dull. He stood up from the floor and walked over to his father. He waited for a window to speak. His father found what he was looking for and tossed it into one of the carpetbags. He stood.
“Daddy?”
He turned around and looked down at his son. His mouth pulled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Whatcha need?”
Once-ler held out his crayon. His father always sharpened them with a pocketknife. A quick whittle back to a point. But not today. His father shook his head.
“I’m busy right now. You can help me if you want?”
“Okay.”
They took the bags to the master bedroom and opened the closet. A pile of fallen clothes lay on the floor. The two of them knelt and began sorting through the pile. Once-ler didn’t know what his father was looking for. He held up clothes at random, intermittently asking, “This one?”
His father took each one and folded it, then stuffed it into a bag. Soon, everything was sorted—either shoved in a bag or thrown back into the corner. Once-ler’s father ruffled his hair. “Good work, buddy.”
A weary smile appeared on his face. He reached back into the closet and pulled something from the pile. “Here. You can have this one.” He held it out: a grey waistcoat that no longer fit him. “I saw you liked it, so.”
Once-ler beamed and accepted the gift. He stood up and put it on. It was much too big for him, but he didn’t care. He spun around to show his father. “Daddy, look! I’m a businessman!” He stopped and set his hands on his hips. He put on a businessman voice, saying, “I want those businesses on my desk by five o’clock! More business! We have to sell more business today!”
He laughed and threw his arms around his father. “Thank you, Daddy.” His father patted his back. His eyes were empty. He looked past his son’s shoulder to the carpetbags. He sighed and gently pushed him off. “Come on, sport. Just one last thing to get.”
They went into the kitchen and set the bags on the table. Once-ler watched his father take out the stepstool and reach up to the small space between the cupboards and the ceiling. When he came back down, he held a thick envelope of cash. He went to one of the bags and shoved the money way down under the clothes.
“What’s that?”
“Just a little something-something I’ve been squirreling away. I’m ready now. Come see me to the door.”
He led his son to the front door. He looked at the door for a while, lost in thought. Once-ler looked up at him and frowned. Looking at his father, really looking, he saw past the thin mask. Past the emptiness. He saw something he didn’t understand. Something cold and watery and heavy.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Where are you going?”
His father knelt down and hugged him. Once-ler could feel the pain he was trying to shove down way under the surface to the bottom of the ocean.
“I’m just going to the store really quick. That’s all. We needed some milk, and I need… I need some cigarettes.”
He let go and stood. He patted his son’s head, then turned away. And left.