The last day of school for three best friends in the seventh grade is winding down on a dry, hot summer day in June. Smith is waiting patiently as his friends Lisa and Lawrence grab their backpacks and point their bodies towards the door in the back as the teacher continues to talk. They stare at the clock overhead and begin counting down the last fifteen seconds regardless of the teachers disapproving glare and soon the rest of the class joins in at eight seconds. Smith sits calmly despite the fact that his brain is racing and he is excited to get home and show his dad his report card. He had an A+ in every class but his metal shop class he only attained a normal A. He was sure this time would be when his dad embraced him in a loving hug and told him he was proud of him. There was something about this illusion that he clung to seeking his father's approval. He knew that it would be just like the many track meets he finished first in during the spring, or the Section Title he helped his team win in basketball during the winter. Smith had constantly and consistently exceeded and surpassed other kids his age in academic and athletic endeavors. He was stronger, faster and smarter than anyone else at his public school. His tests have been off the charts since he was six years old but despite the constant offers to send him to private schools that had better facilities and teachers for his talents his father always declined.
"Three...Two...One...Schools out!" Lawrence shouted as he sprung from his seat and leaped over several desks and fellow students on his way to the door. The teacher yelled for him to return to his seat but it was already too late and he was outside before most kids could get their papers and utensils together in their backpacks. Lisa would have been at Lawrence's side but lingered back to wait for Smith who slowly gathered his many reports and papers and organized them in chronological order to show to his father. Lisa watched him carefully line up the papers and stack them neatly in folders and gently place them inside his backpack before slinging it over one of his shoulders.
"Smith, why do you do that to yourself? Your dad isn't going to care about all the great things you have done this year. Every time you get your hopes up you fall into a deep sorrow for weeks, and that isn't going to be much fun at the beginning of the summer." Lisa said.
"I know Lisa, but he is my father I have to try. There is going to be something I do that will make him proud I just know it."
He was smarter than that. He knew that his dad never gave much attention to him his whole life, part of him assumed he still grieved for Smith's mother that died when he was a baby. He can remember a lot about what she looked liked, how she smelled and the sound of her voice. He could recall his earliest memory coming home from somewhere with his mother as a baby and seeing his dad being upset at her. They left him in the living room as they took their shouting conversation to the bedroom. They barely spoke for the next few months until she died. He hasn't even told Lisa that he could vividly remember that time in his life. He was able to accurately recall any event or moment of his life with stellar clarity rather easily. A feat he assumed others could do until he noticed kids struggling in school. However, he was unable to recall where he was with his mom prior to that night or why they were fighting. This is how he was able to breeze through Elementary School with flying colors remembering every sentence in every book like he just read it. His physical fitness also shined brighter than any of the other students, but he was often picked on and made fun of for his eagerness to raise his hand and answer any question asked in class. He also had a slight stutter so reading aloud, which he still loved to do, in class brought a chorus of laughter from other students before being shushed by the teacher.
"Don't go straight home, let's run over to the river and throw rocks or maybe jump off the bridge and have some fun."
"I can.. can't go now Lisa. I have to show my dad my report card and see if he needs help in the shop." Smith says with a small tinge of sadness in his voice.
Lisa knew why Smith craved his father's affection. She had been over to his house for years and could see how cold and removed his father was, not just towards Smith but with anyone he interacted with. Lisa herself had loving parents that wanted to move her to a better Jr. High School after her dad was promoted at the chemical plant but Lisa refused vehemently when she thought about leaving Smith alone. Kids didn't understand him the way she did. She felt bad for him with his mother dying when he was young and his father being so distant. She told herself she would fill that gap in his life and wasn't going to move when he was needing her more and more as the years went by.
"I appreciate what your trying to do Lisa. I really do, but I have to do this."
"What do you mean?" Lisa asked.
"You want me to come hang out so I don't get upset if my dad doesn't give me the reaction I want from him, but he's my dad. I am old enough to help him at the shop and I would like to spend my summer days doing that if he will let me."
"OK, well, come by later even if you're upset, OK?" She asked.
"I will, I promise." He said as they embraced for a few seconds that both of them wanted to be longer. They both had a deep connection to each other that they couldn't quite put their finger on and had always assumed other kids shared the same feelings. He started a strong jog from his school towards his house. He lived 6.25 miles away and was able to maintain a steady enough pace to arrive at his house 35 minutes later sweating heavily but breathing in a smooth rhythm. His house was a rundown three bedroom with no garage. It had a large amount of land on the outskirts of Sacramento, CA in one of the most impoverished suburbs in the state. Directly next to it on the corner was a once profitable auto repair shop that lost many of its customers, and its decent appearance, when Smith's mom had died. The siding covering the house use to be a pearly white wooden slats with big clear windows and a double door at the front. There were also flowers that would have run around the house surrounded by luscious green grass. However, now there was nothing but light brown grass with patches of dirt scattered about. The once flourishing flower beds have all since died off leaving leafless stubs waiting to be put out of their misery. Barely anything inside the house worked as it originally did, the hot water was non-existent and there was several electrical wires sticking out from walls and ceilings where a fixture of some type no longer hung. As Smith made it to his front yard he tried to wipe the sweat from his brow and walked along the broken cement path parallel to the driveway. He stepped over one of the broken doors that had been kicked in and left laying down just inside the house. The glass from both front doors was still spread around the tattered rug that ran long ways down the hallway. The living room was to his left and the kitchen was down the hallway on the right. He called out that he was home and upon hearing no reply had assumed his dad was at the shop. Smith quickly dashed to his room to replace his sweat filled t-shirt with a white undershirt followed by one of his dads old shop shirts that he gave up trying to iron and clean. He also replaced his tennis shoes with some old boots and headed out of the house towards the shop on the corner with his report card in his hand and a slight smile on his face.
"Hey dad, school's out for the summer and I got my report card."
"Mhmm." His dad replied as he fumbled around with an old carburetor that once belonged to the run down Chevy in the first of three bays. The other two bays, as usual, were empty with parts and trash taking up their places.
"Here is my report card." He tries to hand it to his father, he tries to make eye contact, hand contact, any contact.
"What were your grades?"
"All A's"
"Then I don't need to see it. If you want to help, tidy up the shop, I have to call Mr. Baker and tell him this Chevy is never gonna run again and he needs to get it towed."
His dad was always that distant and cold, Smith wasn't going to give up he knew his dad was depressed, the best part of him was his wife and after she died a piece of him died with her. He began to clean up the trash that was thrown about the shop and found a manual for the Chevy 7 his dad was working on. He could imagine that his father got frustrated and threw the book across the room. Smith started flipping through the pages when he got to the carburetor that he saw his dad playing with earlier. After reading for a minute or two he walked over to the car and began piecing the engine together until he got to needing the carburetor and glancing at it he could see what his dad had missed and finished repairing the rest of the pieces. By the time his dad walked back into the shop he was tightening one last bolt and wiped his hands clean with a nearby rag.
"What the hell are you doing?" His dad asked.
"Sorry..I..I.. found the manual and fixed the rest of the engine." He stutters and panics after seeing the anger in his dad's face.
"Get the hell away from it, I don't need your dumb-ass breaking anything that we can't afford to replace. Look just go away and leave the shop alone you obviously aren't old enough yet."
"But dad." Smith tries to defend his actions but is silenced by his dad raising his hand in the air in an intimidating gesture. Instead of storming off like he usually did at this point in their interactions he grabs the keys off the desk and jumps into the car with his dad yelling at him.
"I said get the f..." His sentence is drowned out by the loud vroom of the engine as it roars to life. He is awestruck staring at the running engine. "OK, I'll Call Mr. Baker and tell him we got it fixed."
Smith thought his dad would be more thankful but he was just no longer as irate as he was, but was no more thankful then he had ever been. His dad didn't make eye contact with him again and went into his office and began drinking warm beer he kept in there. Smith stood still for a while before the moment to scream at the top of his lungs faded and he lowered his head and continued to clean the shop working late into the night until it was done. Exhausted he locked up and headed home, he glanced at his dad passed out on the couch and let out a sigh on his way to his room and fell like a ton of bricks onto his bed and slept.
The peering sun shined into his bedroom like the brightest flashlight ever experienced. The bright light snapped him out of his dream, that he often had, about his mother and how she held him lovingly as she walked into the house that he lives in now. Smith cleans up in the bathroom and gets dressed in some running shorts and a cutoff sleeve t-shirt. He stretches out and laces up some rather impressive running shoes he had received as a prize in a statewide track meet that previous spring. Of all his belongings and attire the best constructed and valued were won from athletic events and competitions. His dad still slumbered on the couch and snored violently in such a manner that seemed unhealthy. After walking to the street out of his house and off his property he started his usual Saturday morning jog downtown around the capitol building and along the river. He always loved seeing the many statues and memorials he read about in grade school that were scattered about the capitol city of the Western United States. The calmness of their solid metal attributes reflect the coldness and rigidity of warfare. It was in this city that Black Christmas was launched one hundred years ago that ushered in the WUS and its stand for liberty and freedom. Winding around the many monuments and state buildings he reaches the riverfront that was lined with a jogging/biking path and beautiful trees and sculptures. This whole new look to the river took place sometime after his birth in an effort to revitalize the dying downtown atmosphere and it managed to breathe new life into it once again.
Smith stopped jogging and calmed his breathing with his eyes closed and his hands clasped atop his head. He is standing at an isolated part along the river with a small patch of beach among the rocks. This was where his jog always ended up, there was something soothing about the running water and the feel of nature and life rushing by. He could get lost in thought for hours on end, but he wasn't alerted to a presence coming up to the tree line. He waited silently listening to the movements of what was likely a female figure, based on her light foot contact and the gingerly taken steps.
"You lied to me again Smith." Lisa said as she traversed the sharp rocks on her way to where Smith sat at.
"I'm sorry Lisa, I was helping my dad and had a lot of cleaning to do at the shop."
"It's OK, I'm just messing with ya. I knew you wouldn't come by, how are things with your dad?" She asked leaving her voice to trail off because she has asked this question hundreds of times and always received the same disappointed answer.
"It went better than normal."
"He looked at your report card and stuff?"
"No, I managed to fix a car he was working on. He was content, I'll take that"
The two sit in the sandy beach along the river, as their bodies lean up against each other in a comforting embrace as the wild river runs on by. They don't utter any more words for the next few hours as each of them get satisfaction in the others' company. Getting closer to noon Lisa separates herself and stands up as she dusts off the sand covering her bottom. Smith still lingers on the ground, unsure of what to do next to build on his father's minor improvement in attitude towards him. Lisa not so gently knees Smith in his shoulder as she could tell his focus wasn't on her.
"Sorry was lost in thought for a minute there." He responds.
"It's ok. Want to go meet up with Lawrence at the football field at 3? I know a lot of other kids will be there so we can play some football or mess around."
Smith nods his head in agreement and snaps to his feet to give Lisa a hug. They hold each other tightly, as if he is off to war and their next meeting is uncertain. After they let go of one another, Lisa navigates her way back through the sharp rock to the tree line and jogging path on the other side. Smith brushes sand off his clothes and uses his shirt to wipe away excess sweat that was on his head and makes his way back through the same route that brought him here. He estimates it is around 14 miles each direction and is able to keep a brisk pace throughout regardless of the several hills in-between. His breathing is tuned in to each movement and his heartbeat is very strong and rhythmic.
When he reaches his neighborhood he slows down and eventually stops running altogether at a brisk walk. The house is quiet, too quiet. He is alarmed when he can't hear the vicious snoring coming from the living room. He bounds through the door and out of the corner of his eye he knows that his dad is not on the couch anymore. This is very unusual for a Saturday morning he thinks to himself. There have been years of these weekend runs and he had always returned well before his father slept off the drunkenness. Quickly, and silently, he travels up the stairs and peers around the unlit upper part of the house. He senses no one, friend or foe, and comes back downstairs still very alarmed. Smith is put to ease quickly when he hears the faint sound of a car starting up coming from the shop. His dad must have had to get to the shop early to meet the much relieved Mr. Baker. The cold shower is soothing and relaxing, there is no shower curtain so he only turns the water on past a fast trickle, so as not to make a mess in the already messy bathroom. After toweling off with a shirt that is hung on a nail protruding the wall he gets dressed in his normal shop work wear.
The rest of the summer continued much the same way, Smith would do his morning runs and calisthenics and return in time to help his dad open the shop up. After Mr. Baker spread the word that the once very respectable shop, was ready to churn out cars again people from all around the city came with their own unique car woes. Charles was eager to get his business up and running properly again, and although he never told Smith thank you, there was a glimmer of hope and satisfaction in him as he and his father spent more and more time together. Father and son for the first time doing something together, Smith thought to himself "It doesn't get much better than this."