Thirst Satyrday for Eros (in fiction)

Portrait of the author
by Susan C. Price

The facts of life (a short story)

By W.M. Dean

At dinner Joey didn’t eat. He moved his peas around on his place with his fork and picked at the hamburger loaf. Mostly, he looked down at his plate, but now and then he glanced up at his parents, usually looking first at his mother for a few seconds, thinking how beautiful she was, then at his father, wondering why don’t they talk?
    His mother turned to Joe while he was looking at her. “What is it? Why aren’t you eating?”
    Her words made him feel even less like eating.
    “He didn’t eat last night either,” she said to his father. “And he hardly touched his breakfast.”
    She didn’t know – because he hadn’t told her – that he gave away most of his lunch that day.
    His father looked up from his food. “No appetite, Joey? I thought you liked hamburger loaf.”
    “There’ll be no dessert,” said his mother.
    Gallantly – for he couldn’t eat dessert either – Joey took a bite of the meat. It tasted dry. He chewed it and chewed it, but could swallow it only by washing it down with milk.
    “That’s better.”
    Mom is so beautiful, thought Joey. Her hair was shiny like corn silk. Sometimes, when he came home from school, she would let him help her prepare dinner – let him peel carrots or potatoes, or remove the corn husks.
    Her face was broad and clear, her skin golden like butter, her blue-grey eyes like a late spring sky. But sometimes they were too deep for him to see her in them – she was hiding inside herself. Or maybe she wasn’t there; maybe she was far away and that was why he couldn’t see her in her eyes.
    “How was school today?” his father asked. “You’re borrowing and carrying in third grade now, aren’t you?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “He brought some work home for us to see,” said his mother.
    Joey had purposely removed today’s work from his folder, so they couldn’t see what a mess he’d made of it.
    After dinner he continued to watch his parents. His father went to the living room to read the newspaper. He worked hard all day – he put roofs on new houses and sometimes took extra jobs repairing old roofs.
    His mother was already clearing the table – usually she did it later.
    Joey stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, watching them, wondering whether he should go to talk to his father now, or wait.
    “Do you want to help, Joey?” his mother asked.
    He carried the remaining dishes from the table to the counter for his mother to rinse and put in the dishwasher.
    “Brush your teeth before you go to bed.”
    “It’s not bedtime,” he said.
    “I probably won’t be back before you’re in bed – I’m going out to look for something to wear.”
    Something to wear. She had plenty of clothes. He couldn’t understand that.
    “Can I go, Mom?”
    “It’s ‘May I?’…No, Joey. There’s school tomorrow.”
    She finished loading the dishes and turned the dishwasher on. “Thanks for helping me.”
    Joey wandered into the living room and sat down on the sofa.
    His father looked up from the paper and smiled – he seemed to be willing to talk, but Joey just pressed his lips into a quick smile and waited. He looked at the framed pictures his mother had hung on the walls – the holiday scenes of people laughing and having fun, in city streets, at the beach, in long rooms lit by many round lamps of different colors.
    He glanced at the section of rug over in front of the fireplace, then quickly looked away. He didn’t feel like having fun.
    His mother stuck her head in the door. “I’m going shopping.”
    His father looked up. Joey could tell the shopping trip was news to him too. “Why couldn’t you go during the day?”
    “It’s been too hot to go out. I’ll see you later.” She didn’t wait around – her head disappeared from the doorway and she was gone.
    Joey heard the garage door open and the car start up. A minute later he heard the door close, and he strained to hear the car drive off, but he couldn’t be sure he heard it.
    Now he smelled a trace of the cologne or perfume his mother must have put on before she left. It smelled like a spring of daphne left in the bowl too long – heavy and sticky sweet.
    “Dad….”
    His father put down the paper and smiled at him.
    Joey looked down, but avoided looking toward the fireplace. “…What were you and Mom doing yesterday?”
    “‘Doing’? Where, son?”
    “Yesterday…in here – on the rug?” Joey shot a timid glance toward the fireplace.
    “I don’t get you, son? Yesterday was Monday – I was at work.”
    Joey’s voice was barely audible to himself: “It was yesterday.”
    “Well, if you say so…What were you wondering about?”
    Though Joey had been imagining this conversation with his dad, he had avoided thinking about how to word this part of it. Suddenly he blurted out: “Was it like what you told me about dogs and cats?”
    “Dogs and cats? What was it that I told you?”
    Joey swallowed – his mouth was full of chalk dust, like that first time at school he had to stand in front of the class and recite. “You told me it was the same way with people as with animals….”
    His father cocked his head to one side, expectantly. “Yes?”
    “Well—” Joey relived once more the darkest of his worst fantasies. “…Is Mom…going to…have a baby?”
    Joey looked up and saw confusion – possibly fear – in his father’s face.
    Then his father stood up and came over to the sofa and knelt down and took Joey’s hands in his. They were cold and sweaty to Joey, whose hands were hot.
    “Son…people…people aren’t exactly like animals…They don’t…just to have a baby—”
    “Then why do they do it? Why do they take off all their clothes?”
    His father’s voice was hoarse when he said: “Their clothes?”
    “Yeah, they— You took off all your clothes.” Joey felt it all awhirl in his head – who it was with his mom, wanting to believe…knowing it wasn’t his dad…having to tell him…not wanting to.
    All the blood was gone from his father’s face. “Yesterday.”
    “Yeah…I came home early from school.” Joey knew that it was yesterday, the day he lost his appetite – and his certainty.

After school the next day, Joey went over to his friend Bobby’s, who lived behind Joey and a little over, so that the two families shared about half a back fence, which the boys would climb to go from one yard to the other.
    “Hi, boys – how was school?” Bobby’s mother was a friendly woman who smiled a lot.
    “Fine, Ma,” said Bobby. “Come on, Joey.” He pulled Joey along toward his bedroom and closed the door. They sat down on the floor.
    “And then what did your pop say?” asked Bobby.
    “Then he said that sometimes people really were like dogs and cats…I guess they’re different from animals, but also the same—” Joey looked at Bobby with curiosity.
    Bobby sat up on his knees. “Pop put a lock on the bedroom door, but I’ve listened. I can hear the bed wiggle. One time they didn’t lock it, and I sneaked it open—”
    Joey’s eyes were big. “What happened?”
    “…I got a lickin’.”
    “Do…do your mom and dad…ever do it in the living room?” asked Joey cautiously.
    “…I don’t think so….There’s no door going to the living room.”
    “But couldn’t they do it anyway…on the rug?”
    “There isn’t any rug in the living room…we have bare floors.”
    “Oh, yeah, that’s right.” Joey traced a pattern in the wood beneath him. “…The time you sneaked open the door— Were they wearing any clothes?”
    “It was pretty dark…I think Ma was wearing her nightgown.”
    “My mom wasn’t wearing anything.”
    “Wow! And she was…doing it on the rug?” Bobby tried to imagine it. “Tell me again what happened.”
    “Mom was lying down on the rug and—”
    “Yeah?...And your dad was on top of her?”
    “…Mom was on the bottom.”
    “Did they move?”
    “Yes…they moved.”
    “What’s wrong, Joey?”
    “It’s— I’ve got to go home now. Mom doesn’t know I came over. I’ve got to go home.”
    Joey practically ran out of the room. He left the house by the back door and started towards the fence, but then he stopped and came back to the side of the house.
    “Aren’t you going over?”
    “Nah. I’ll go around the block.”
    Bobby scratched his head.

After dinner, Bobby followed his father out to the garage, where he was working on his car, out of commission since the weekend. Engine parts were lying all over the floor. The remote possibility of their ever being reassembled fascinated Bobby, who asked question after question and wanted to help, to get some of the oil and grease on his own clothes. He loved to go with his pop everywhere. He had been greatly disappointed when school had prevented him from going with his pop to the auto wrecker on Monday afternoon. It had been bad enough to have to go to school with his pop at home. His parents wouldn’t let him stay home if he wasn’t really sick, but he knew his father had only pretended to be sick so he could stay home and work on the car.
    “Where does this go, Pop?” He held out the oiliest piece of metal he could lay his hands on.
    “Just put it down, will you?” His father spoke sharply.
    Bobby obeyed, but he wondered if something was wrong. His father usually didn’t become cross until he had asked quite a few questions and came to the one his father said was one too many.
    “Didn’t they have the part you needed last night, Pop?” Bobby thought the reason for his father’s mood might lie in that direction. His pop didn’t like driving the other car to work, as he had done for two days now.
    His father ignored the question, so he kept quiet for a while, just watching. Anyway, finding out about the engine wasn’t topmost in Bobby’s mind this evening. He was thinking about his talk with Joey.
    “Pop?—”
    His father was bent over the fender, his head under the hood. “What do you want, Son?” He spoke less sharply than before, but still he sounded annoyed that Bobby was there.
    “Pop, you know those facts you told me?”
    “What facts, Son?”
    “You know…the facts of life. The birds and the bees, and all like that.”
    Yeah. What about it?” His father didn’t sound interested in that right now.
    “Well, Joey says his dad says…it’s like dogs and cats.”
    “So?”
    Bobby detected a slight increase in his pop’s interest. “Is it the same?” he asked.
    His father raised up a little and looked at him. He had grease on his cheek. “Same as what?”
    “As the birds and the bees.”
    “That’s right, Son.” His father bent back under the hood.
    “But…Joey’s dad says it’s not exactly like animals….It’s the same…and different.”
    His father’s head came out again, a little ways. “I don’t follow, Son.”
    “Well…how do people do it?”
    “Do what?”
    “Joey says his dad…Well, they do it without any clothes.”
    “Do what, Bobby? What are you talking about?” His father put his head back under the hood.
    It seemed to Bobby that his pop was acting a little too dumb. “Joey says that Monday afternoon—”
    His father raised up and bumped his head. “Monday afternoon—”
    “Yeah. Monday afternoon they were in the living room…without any clothes on.”
    “Joey saw—”
    “That’s right, Pop….I was wondering...What do you think? Is it like dogs and cats, or different?”
    “What did Joey tell you, Son?”
    Bobby noted with satisfaction that he had all of his pop’s attention now. “He said it was the same, but—”
    “No, no, I mean about Monday afternoon.”
    “Just that he saw them…on the rug in the living room…without any clothes—”
    “He said it was his mother and his father?”
    “Huh?”
    “His mother and his own father?”
    That was a puzzling remark. Bobby wondered what he meant by that. “Well…sure.”
    His father turned back to the engine.
    “Pop?”
    “Yeah?”
    “What did you mean by that?”
    “Never mind.”
    “…Aren’t you going to tell me?”
    “Tell you what?”
    “Is it more like dogs and cats, or more different?”
    His father raised up and looked at Bobby in that hard, unforgiving way he sometimes did. “It’s just the same, Son, the same damn thing.”

Copyright © 2014 by W.M. Dean