Chapter Text
It was Friday. Night was right around the corner, and Tommy felt ready for bed. Ready to just fly into it, crush the sheets underneath him, and rest his eyes, and enter a sweet dream
He was on patrol, passing through the same neighborhoods, awaiting any signs of danger. He whistled alongside the stereo—pop music practically blasting in the car—the music consisting of pure hits; all he enjoyed listening to. But he found those same songs he loved were becoming irritating to hear, and at times gave him an unusual grit in his teeth. The same plethora of songs. The past few weeks it was littered with them. Quickly as the irritation swarmed him, he swung his hand on the button, and turned off the stereo, allowing for his faint whistle to ring throughout the car.
It was one hour left until the end of his shift and the return of his vehicle. If all goes according to plan, he would be able to arrive home just in time for Adam to be put to bed.
His eyes wandered over the driveways and sidewalks, trying to see anybody’s figure widen or heighten in the distance. He approached any person on the street, mostly kids, in order to ask their parents’ whereabouts. Really, only giving them a warning of the possible bad people in the world, and that not everyone is lucky. Though, the kids would barely listen to him and scoff him off, typically in the most respectful manner they could, which generally meant a single goodbye and a walk-off.
At every encounter like that, he would sigh to himself and mumble a few words. Feeling like no danger was in sight, he ended up moving his car toward the other side of the city, away from the neighborhood, in the downtown area—a random corner known for various activities. He tried to see if anybody needed help on the street. In the past, he’d help anybody—no matter who—whether they were homeless or not, it didn’t matter. He would take them to the homeless shelter or spare them some change or even give them some food if he could. It’s not to say he was changing the world, he was simply doing a good act, one they appreciated.
Throughout his patrols, he always noted things down. Small things. Big things. Thoughts. Events. Anything at all. It just began one day and never stopped.
—
Friday
I always found myself in these corners. I don’t know why. My body, my mind, just required it—it was a yearning of sorts. An unexpected one. But every time I was there, sightseeing or just patrolling, I just feel this pull, a connection or something. And it’s always this area, I don’t know. I just don’t understand why. Like, I can’t seem to remember being there ever, not with anyone. I mean, there’s a reason. I’m not a junkie. Or do anything like that. Maybe it’s something with my Dad? I feel at home, for some stupid reason. Like I can feel him here. Maybe it’s that. Maybe it’s a connection with him. But who knows? My Dad never told me everything, not fully anyway. I used to think he did but now in hindsight he was hiding things I could never comprehend. It’s like it was a secret. But maybe it was just things that he wanted to be kept in the past. Like the wives he had. I never met any, not any of them came to the funeral. Which, honestly? Shocks me to this day. Maybe he knew someone around her. Or maybe he didn’t. Fuck if I know anything. It’s not like I can ask him anything.
Maybe when I was a baby or a toddler or whatever, he may have brought me here or something. Just to see stuff. I honestly would put that type of stuff past him. But then again, he always kept me safe. The odds of him doing something like that are slim to none.
~~
Upcoming:
Adam’s Birthday!!!
—
Eventually the minutes turned into the hour, and the end of the day arrived. He turned in his patrol car, and was finally a free agent to join amongst the late-birds. After, he hopped on a bus and took his usual route home, sitting right in the middle between two nice women, making friendly conversation. A lackluster night but no nerves or adrenaline high, and it made him happy to arrive home without any difficulties or discomfort.
…
He picked in his key and opened the door wide, his eyes being met with the landscape of his clean kitchen, the smell of recently done pizza hitting the walls of his nostrils. Tomatoey and cheesy. The pizza sat on the wooden dining table, half already served, with the second preparing itself to be bashfully eaten by Tommy.
He was ready to fill up his stomach and rest lovingly with his wife. And he could already hear the gurgles in his stomach pound together.
He joyfully said, “I’m home!” Awaiting his daily hug from his wife, he kicked off his shoes and planted them near the door.
Closing the door, he made way to enter the vicinity of his wife. He stood to the back of the couch, seeing that his son, Adam, was lightly pressed over his wife’s legs, being gently held in her arms. Adam wore his ducky pajamas, soft and nice for his sensitive skin. He looked like a gentleman especially with his downturned hair.
Excited, Adam quickly hopped off his mom and ran to his father, jumping into his arms, giggling uncontrollably. No words. Just an embrace that could last a lifetime, just like the embraces Thomas would give him—the grief still present as ever but fondly more filled with family.
Tommy greeted him, “Hey buddy!” He quickly began to tickle, all while smiling.
Sloppily, he tightly wrapped himself around Adam, practically poising him up to his side, with Adam’s legs holding on to his waist, his head resting over Tommy’s shoulder, and his round eyes staring straight at him.
He turned to his wife, her mood having quietly moved from this morning’s upbeat tone, with her lips stuck in one position—rigid and strained. Like an anger was entrapped inside her mind, or maybe a wrath of fear or sadness. He wasn’t sure what but he could tell something was wrong.
Maybe it was… No. Things are better now. Stop it.
“Babe, are you alright?”
Her back was still to them, only this time beginning to tremble, and the slight tears of whining began to ease into the pizza-y air. She was crying.
In return, Tommy asked, "What's wrong?” With no response, Tommy could only raise his voice in an urging manner, questioning her with: “Helen, what happened?”
Her trembles only magnified and her whines turned into a loudful cry, and all Tommy could do right now was put Adam to bed.
Playfully, he poked at Adam’s stomach, sliding in a little “time for bed.” Adam’s face plastered his disappointment, his eyes showing disapproval but he couldn’t do anything but relent, rubbing his hands against his father’s shirt. Roughly, he muskered a frown.
Tommy glided past Helen and secured Adam to his bedroom, the stars inside gleaming in the dark. His bed was made and spread out for his child-like body to fill its gap. Tommy pulled Adam off him, setting him straight in the middle.
Standing above him, Adam said, “Lay down, okay?”
Adam followed his order. He pushed himself down onto the bed, the bed rustling down with him. He turned to grab his thinly sliced blanket, its blue plush design gazing at him. He let them slip over his legs and onto his belly, its tenderness scraping against his lightly exposed skin.
Adam propped to the bed’s height, his face close to Adam’s. “Goodnight,” he whispered, kissing Adam’s forehead. He remained there until Adam’s sleep took over. Tommy pressed the blanket more on his body, his snores softening near Tommy’s ears.
He reached to touch Adam’s black hair, ruffling it slightly. If anybody ever said Adam was never his, it would undoubtedly be a lie. Adam was practically his doppelgänger. The same short nose, the same sparkling blue eyes, the same rusty brow shape—everything was his—except for Adam’s attitude and his mother’s round eyes.
…
When he returned, all he could smell was the aroma of day-old sweat on him, sticky and wet. It disgusted him. He really needed to shower but he couldn’t do that until he understood how his wife felt and if he could help with anything at all.
He sat down next to her, narrowing the gap between them. He moved his hand over hers, clutching it, her tears heavily falling down her cheeks. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please,” he pleaded.
She sniffled, “I…”
“I think,” her throat tightened.
“Tell me.”
“At—“ she wiped her tears. “At daycare, when I picked him up, the teacher said…” she lowered her head, “that Adam isn’t progressing. In talking. He hasn’t begun to speak.”
“He’s just a slower child. He’ll catch up.”
She snapped, “But what if he doesn’t?”
“He will.”
“But it’ll be our fault. Don’t you understand?”
“Helen. It’s just a phase. He’ll speak soon.”
“It’s not a phase. I know it isn’t.”
“Helen.”
“Don’t do that,” she retorted, her tears fading from her face, drying up in her pale skin. “He’s about to turn four years old. Four years old!”
“Don’t yell. He could hear you.”
She huffed, “I’m not yelling.”
He calmly continued, “Yes, you are.”
“Whatever. Whatever. I guess you don’t know how it is, knowing as you’re barely around.” Tension arose with resentment. Tommy glanced at her, attentive to her words. A slight hint of annoyance rang in his body.
“Barely around?”
She crossed her arms. “Yes, barely around.”
He whispered, trying not to respond too loudly for Adam to hear, “I go to work. I pay the bills. Why shouldn’t I work? I work for you and Adam.”
“That’s it, you work all-day. All fucking day! You have no time for us!”
“I’m here now. Aren’t I?”
She raised her head and gave him a timid look, her thoughts gnawing at her. “It’s…” her voice cracked, the anger leaving her body, her teeth shedding through. It was always like that. Angry for one minute. Understanding the next. Sometimes it was a mix. It had gotten better but some days, it only worsened, like it was a dog trying to find its owner. It looked and looked, it found hope, and then that hope vanished, and everything was back to square one. Tommy could only feel exhausted, unfulfilled. It was curled in a mania of dramatic moments and intensity of decisions. Some days, he could only feel like he had done the wrong thing.
“It’s… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, okay?”
He mumbled, “Okay.” When do you never mean it?
“It’s not easy seeing all the kids speak and he doesn’t. Not even a babble. No ‘mama, or ‘dada.’”
He cupped his chin and he sighed briefly, biting his lip as he tried to understand fully. It’s not to say he didn’t have any understanding, simply that he didn’t understand the underlying fixation on it. Adam, as any other kid could be, was mute. Not all kids grow out of being mute by the time they are this age or that age, it’s something that could only be changed in time. And he explained this so perfectly to her, it just hurt more when she pushed the subject until its last living moment.
“I sometimes can’t anymore. I can’t see that. I can’t allow him to not speak. He understands me. He listens. But he doesn’t reply. He just stares at me.”
“Just give it time.”
“I’ve given it time! The doctors are showing signs of worry. Worry! They think he should see a speech therapist.”
“He can speak. I know he can. He just doesn’t want to.”
“Why?”
Why? “How should I know? He’s just shy.”
“If he was just shy, he’d speak.”
He furrowed his face and scrunched his nose. By the end of the conversation, he couldn’t deal with it anymore.
Shaking his head, he interrupted himself, “I’m going to take a shower.”
Still annoyed and muttering random sentences, she stopped to say, “I made food. Are you not gonna eat?”
Glancing back to the pizza on the table, he lied: “I’m not hungry.” He could imagine the cheesy sensation on his tongue, the smoothness of the dough scorching his mouth in an unbeatable heat. He really wanted to eat it but all this talk made him flustered for anything but a hot shower and the coziness of his bed. “Save it for tomorrow. It’s already nine something anyway.”
She heaved a breath and pushed herself off the couch, withdrawing to put the pizza in a random plastic container. She avoided making contact with Tommy and stayed in her place, finally composing herself when she heard the shower turn on and the door shut.
The days started strong and then withered away by the end. There was trouble. Trouble from everything and it had made it even more rotten, more pitiful. He was stuck. She was stuck. But there was nothing to transform. He loved her. She loved him back. The love was there but was the bond? A connection beyond just the basics of love?
Everything was at stake.
And all either could do for now was deal with the theatrics of life.