Page 41 of Ancient History

There was Throw a Wrench In It, the hardware store where I stocked up on tools for DIY projects with Pop. Also where I made out with Amos in the back corner amid paint supplies.

Fuck, I was gonna have to find a new town.

I pulled into the driveway, and a light glowed from the living room.

“It’s past your bedtime,” I announced once I came inside. Pop lay across the couch channel-surfing, the TV giving him a washed-out look.

I had cleaned up the kitchen from dinner, but it looked like Pop had gotten hungry again. Clumps of plastic wrap which formerly held leftover mushroom pizza and beer caps sat on the kitchen table.

“You’re home early,” he said from the living room.

I cleaned off the kitchen table and counters. I joined him and handed over his night time pills.

“You thought I’d forget? When you don’t take all your pills, the Bat signal turns on.”

He reluctantly took the tablets from my hand, then the glass of water I offered. He rolled his eyes just like a teenager as he swallowed them. He showed me his tongue as a slight FU.

“Excuse me for trying to keep you healthy.”

“I’m already healthy.”

“Let’s stay that way.” Ever since I got the call from the hospital, there would always be a piece of me constantly on edge, waiting for the next phone call.

I sat at the opposite end of the couch, lowering his feet on me as if they were the safety bar on a roller coaster.

A sitcom laugh track echoed from the TV.

“What are you watching?”

“The Golden Girls. Did you know that some people call the MacArthur Center the Bea Arthur Center?”

“They do? Who’s that?”

He pointed at the tall woman with a football player-like build on screen.

“Huh. Interesting.”

“It’s catchy. I may start calling it that.” He smiled to himself, pleased with learning something new. “I watched this show when I was your age. Now I’m the same age as these broads.”

“They seem to be having a ball.” His wrinkled skin crinkled with a smile. When had Pop gotten this old? I knew plenty of people his age who were spry and active. This was a temporary setback. He’d be back to his old, strong self in no time.

“Did you really come home early because of my pills?” His eyes found me from the far end of the couch.

“I wanted to. I didn’t like thinking of you here all alone.”

“Bullshit.” He cocked an eyebrow. “You struck out.”

“I didn’t strike out.” What happened with Amos defied all sports metaphors. I was still wrapping my head around the fallout.

“Then how come you’re home early? It’s just midnight.”

“Do you want me to go out all night and come home with random men? Remember when you used to give me a curfew?”

“Yeah, and you beat it tonight.”

Even when he was recovering, Pop loved to bust my balls.

“I’m going to respect my elders and let that one slide.” I drew circles with my finger on his ankle, like I’d done as a boy. “I went to a bar, and Amos and his friends were there.”

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