My posts usually come out at 5 am EST. This post comes out at 10 am in order to publish as part of a group posting on Top in Fiction
The prompt that we are all following is “Heatwave”.
Heat Index
a short story
by Chip Kusdsmaul
My Nana Sadie grew up poor, and pretty much stayed that way. When she was seventeen, she married Grampa Ned, a man, she said, who had never been bound for success, but who she always knew she could count on through thick and thin. That meant more to her than money.
They lived in the middle of nowhere, in the woods, almost entirely self-sufficient. Mom was born there in the woods, in that old house. When she was old enough, Mom left for the big city, Indianapolis, about 250 miles from home. She met Dad there and married and had me, in pretty short order.
Summers, when I was a kid, we’d visit Nana and Grampa. It was a fun place to play and a great place to be spoiled by Nana and Grampa. But it was a place apart, sort of like an amusement park you visit once or twice year. You went there, played in the stream out back, went on adventures in the woods, and ate food Mom never served us at home.
And then back home to Indianapolis. I remember one summer, back when I was nineteen. It was August, and it was hot. The sun hit the asphalt and was converted to pure heat. You could see the heat waves rise off the pavement, and barely a shadow anywhere. Back then, there was air conditioning in some places, not in others. In some cars, not others.
Mom and Dad had AC. We were a bit ahead of our time. It was hard to leave the cool of the house in August, but hard to stay at home when you’re nineteen. I had a car, an old Chevy that predated air conditioning, so I drove with the windows open, and with the vent window blowing the hot air into my face. A hot breeze was better than no breeze. I was impatient at traffic lights, waiting for my chance to be moving again, to feel that hot breeze hit my face, not pleasant, yet a relief.
I’d been out most of the day, cruising with friends, and then came home. I pulled into our driveway at about 6:30, parking beside Dad’s Lincoln. I got out of the car, an uncomfortable feeling as my butt tore free from the vinyl upholstery. I went in the front door and felt the cool relief of AC. Mom and Dad were at the dining room table, eating dinner. The TV was on, playing some news program.
“Hi, son,” said Mom. “Looks like you’ve been through the wringer. Come sit down to dinner.”
“Thanks, Mom,”
Dad looked at me. “Do you know what time it is? It’s 6:30. What time do we eat? Every evening? 6:00 o’clock. We’re about finished here, and you’re just showing up. What have you been doing that’s so important that you can’t be here on time?”
“Now, Bill,” said Mom. “He’s got a life of his own now. It’s really not a problem.”
“The problem is that the boy needs to learn some respect.”
Mom was looking at Dad. Dad was looking at me. And I didn’t know where to look. It was getting to be a daily occurrence
Dad went on. “I was working by the time I was fifteen. And still found time to go to college in the evenings. I did all that so that I could provide a home. It’s what men do. And look at you. Just driving around with your friends doing God knows what, and treating your mother like she’s your maid.”
It hurt, Dad saying how I thought about Mom. It hurt, because it was largely true.
“Bill,” said Mom, “We’ve had this conversation before. I don’t see where it gets us anywhere…Son, sit and eat. We’ll let things cool off a bit, and we can talk later.”
“Talk later,” Dad mimicked. “It’s always ‘talk later.’ Never mind talking later; it’s time to DO, NOW. What are you waiting for?” Dad was momentarily distracted by something on TV. “Do you know what they’re showing right now? A bunch of punks tearing things down because they feel offended by something. They tear things down, like that will make anything better. They don’t show the people doing their jobs and doing them well. They show the punks. Look at you. I don’t know what, if anything, you will ever amount to. Are you going to be like them, or are you going to make something of yourself?”
“Bill, this can keep while he eats.”
Dad didn’t respond. He fixated on the images on the TV, absorbed in his contempt for those who did not see things his way. I ate quietly and, with no one talking, also watched TV. There was a riot at the Soldiers and Sailor’s monument. Not too big of a riot as riots go, but a riot all the same.
“You’re watching this live, son. They’ve got technology developed to the point where we can watch the punks destroy our town in real time. What will they think of next, huh, son? What will they think of next?”
A response was certainly not called for, but I responded anyway. “They’re saying cops beat a guy for nothing and they’re saying they aren’t going to put up with it anymore. What are they supposed to do, just sit there and take it.”
Oops. I had never spoken back to Dad. Nor had Mom. We always just let him rant, and deflected as best we could. “Sit there and take it?! Sit there and take whatever they want, is more like it! Bunch of thieves. Look at those punks! Do you think they ever worked for anything? Whatever the cops did to them, they probably had it coming.”
Dad turned his head from the TV to me. “And look at you. You’re going nowhere, just like them. Your Mom and I have provided this home, and everything you need, and this is what you do with it. Nothing. Don’t think it’s going to keep on like this. I won’t have it. Hear me?” His eyes narrowed. “I won’t have it.” And he turned his gaze to Mom to make sure she understood. She looked away.
“Well, I won’t have you!” I heard myself shout. “Sorry I can’t be just what you want me to be, and do just what you want me to do. Sorry I’m such a big disappointment. I didn’t ask for any of this, so don’t blame me!”
I left, stomped out of the house and into the heatwave. It was, in fact, more comfortable out there.
It’s not as if I had a plan, but I drove by the Soldier and Sailor’s monument for a first-hand look. Somehow it seemed relevant to my situation. The violence was over by the time I got there, but it was a sorry sight. There was an odd sense of the place, peaceful, but clearly an aftermath. People milled around, some cops and some protestors, coexisting now in an uneasy truce. They had their sweat in common. The place was strewn with debris, as if a tornado had hit. It was always a beautiful monument. I hated seeing it treated it that way.
I didn’t know what else to do, so I kept driving. It was a little after midnight when I got to Nana and Grampa’s, the first time I had pulled up on my own, without Mom and Dad. And it was cooler. It was midnight, which helps, but the trees, the lack of asphalt, combined to make things cooler. It was strikingly quiet, with only murmurs of night animals and crickets, and the stream running out back.
Nana and Grampa had been waiting for me.
“Come on in,” she said. “We thought we might see you tonight. Cathy called.”
I was a bit confused. “But I didn’t decide I was coming until I was halfway here. What made her think that?”
“Where else would you go?”
We hugged. Grampa and I shook hands.
Where else would I go? I quickly realized how limited my options had really been. I thought I was exerting my independence, which is what you do when you’re nineteen. But independence isn’t worth a damn if you’ve got no place to go.
“You need to call home, and let them know you’re all right,” said Grampa.
“Could you,” I asked?
“Of course I could. But it’s for you to make the call.” Grampa gestured to the old black landline phone. I called. Dad saw no need to talk to me, but Mom was relieved that I was OK. We didn’t talk too long, but we left things in reasonable order.
“OK, it’s late,” Grampa said. “Let’s all get to bed. We can start sorting things out in the morning. They say it will be cooler tomorrow.”
Yes, it would be cooler. Here in the woods, there was little concern for the heat of tomorrow.
I hope you’ll got to Top in Fiction to see all the stories written on the prompt, Heatwave.
Well done, Chip. I think the thread here is family and how a young man might find himself at odds with the Alpha as he begins the process of finding his own identity. It's hot and everyone need to calm down. Grandparents can certainly play a helpful role.
I hope to see you in TIF. You deserve it!