Tuesday, September 28, 2021

Pop: Chapter 5a

    We really don't have too much to talk about, having just seen each other this weekend at Sam's party.  I updated Dad afterwards about the teens who were caught drinking.  He was relieved that Sam wasn't involved, but he was still somewhat worried.  Teenagers, after all.  To be honest, the only bit of news left was my interview this morning.
    "I still think they did you wrong.  Sure, you could tell that reporter had done her homework, probably even a fan, but they didn't bring up Addie and the wedding at all.  She will be furious that she was left out." Dad has always been on Addie's side even since they met, about three months after we started our long-distance dating.
    "Well, she does work for the competition, even if it is a smaller marker affiliate.  But I more than made up for it by having her on my second interview taped for Today." 
    "When were you going to mention a second interview?  When will it air?  I'm going to have to record it now if it's tomorrow."
    "Sorry, Dad.  Thad brought it to me just after I finished the first interview.  I didn't even know that they would be bringing her on via satellite until the interview was half over.  I was just as surprised as you two."  Sam stares at me as I mention Today.
    "Did you see her, the new one?  They just brought her one.  What's her name? I can never remember it,"
Sam stutters as he asks.
    "A little flustered, aren't ya Sam," Dad responds.  "Anyway, I told you that Thad was thorough.  That's why Kyle recommended him to you."
    Kyle has been Dad's personal manager for his art exhibits and promotions for over fifteen years.  He was the one who suggested that Thad would be the best fit for me when I started this whirlwind path into publishing.  While I don't doubt his success, Thad could use a little break from some of his excesses.
    Before I can answer Sam's question, a small ding erupts from the kitchen.
    "Oh.  Lunch is ready.  I got the lasagna out of the oven just before you two arrived.  It should be set and cooled down enough to eat by now.
    "Lasagna.  What type?"  I ask
    "Pure vegetarian.  Trust me, you haven't seen one like this before."  Dad quickly stands, but with a slight wobble.  Sam and I know better than to get up to help him unless it starts looking bad.  He waves us off and proceeds steadily into the kitchen.  Sam and I trail a few steps behind him, ready if he needs our help, but today, he doesn't.
    Dad places the tray in the center of the dinette table, with Sam and I opposite each other.  The plates were already placed, with a slightly smaller one in front of Dad's wheelchair in the spot between us.  He always starts with a smaller portion, but he often has a second serving.
    "Dig in while I get the water," Dad says as he steps back to the sink.
    As the older offspring, I use flipper to scoop out a decent sized slab onto Sam's offered plate.  When Dad called this "vegetarian," he wasn't kidding.  There is no meat, nor noodles.  Instead of pasta, it looks like Dad used eggplant and squash for the layers.  Instead of meat, it looks like there's a mix of carrot, cauliflower, and broccoli.  There is the traditional tomato sauce binding the veggies together, along with the usual cheeses--ricotta, mozzarella, and a touch of Parmesan. Personally, I would't put broccoli and tomatoes anywhere near each other, but that's just me.
    Dad's been on an understandable health kick these last few years.  Anything to stay in remission.  I just wish there was actual meat in this dish.  At least it isn't that faux stuff.  The first time he tried a meat substitute, both Sam and I were in the bathrobe for most of the rest of the day.  Even when we weren't, we were smelling up the house as the contents rumbled through our guts.  Dad had it a little easier, having been eating that stuff for a few weeks before trying it us, but even he had some trumpeting going on too.
    We continue to eat after Dad returned with our water.  I need a few sips to get rid of the extra tang from the fresh oregano and rosemary he added.  The pinch of nutmeg was a surprise as well, even if it is common.  Dad was barely a third of the way through his helping when I hear a chiming from back in the living room.
    "Sorry about this.  I have been expecting a big call, and this is probably it.  Please excuse me."  At first, it looks like Dad is going to stand, but he suddenly changes his mind and uses the wheelchair instead.  
    We stop eating until Dad rolls back in.  I have a bad feeling about this, or it could be a negative reaction to the mix of broccoli and tomato.
    "Have I got great news!  It looks like I will be going back to teaching this fall.  You guys can't know how long I've been waiting for this."
    "Wow, great Dad.  Do you think it's too late to ask for a transfer?  I mean, I haven't participated yet.  Haven't even started classes.  If I sit out this year, I should be able to play next season without having any wait period.  What do you think?"  Sam rambles through questions.  I really have a bad feeling about this now.
    "Sam, I'm not going back to the old school.  I'll be an artist-in-residence at Berea, down in Kentucky.  I'm selling the manor.  And I'll be close to the both of you."

Tuesday, September 21, 2021

Pop: Chapter Five

     "It doesn't mean anything.  Sam's old enough now."  My Dad playfully punches me in the shoulder with one arm while reaching up to rub Sam's head with the other. It's harder for him now that Sam's a head taller than him, but he's done this since Sam was a toddler. Even after all of what he's been through, he's still a inch or two taller than me, standing straight and tall.  Sure, his thinning hair is more gray than brown, but the swath of stubble on his cheeks is still full of color.  He slowly walks over to the chair opposite the couch as Sam and I sit back down.
    I smile a little back at him, while Sam still shows the slight redness from his minor embarrassment. I can't believe I have my Dad in my life.  Jonathon Alexander Burton.  My Dad.  It's a miracle he's still here on earth.
    I never knew him.  My mom divorced him and fled with me a few days after I was born.  For the next few years, father and grandfather searched for us, while my mother kept one step ahead, changing her name and appearance with every new town and marriage.  Finally, the searching ended when my grandfather died and his nurse convinced my father to stop.  And to marry him.  They then had a daughter, and years later, Sam, via in vitro and a surrogate.
    Dad never forgot, though.  When he was diagnosed with a rare type of leukemia, he started over, looking for both me and his runaway collegiate daughter as possible marrow donors.  Sam was passed over, as there was always the slightest chance he wasn't Dad's son, and my father didn't want another heartbreak from losing another son.
    The search almost ended too late.  I was located a few weeks after Dad became bedridden, and then hospitalized.  Unfortunately, his wife and daughter died in a car accident a few days before I was found.  Dad gave up, and he began to set up plans for me to become Sam's guardian.  He had given up, but I found out his plan and took the tests to see if I was a compatible donor.  I was, and so was Sam.
    The transplant, combine with other treatments, cured him.  He's been in remission for over three years now.  Unfortunately, the treatments, combined with such a long period of bedrest, severely weakened his leg muscles, as well as leaving partial damage to the nerves to them.  Even with years of weekly physical therapy, he still finds it hard to walk or even stand for more than a few minutes at a time.  What's worse is that he is also now prone to blood clots if he sits down for too long.  Lying down is usually okay, but he definitely tries not to sit for much more than twenty to thirty minutes.
    All this means is that he couldn't stay at the manor.  The stairs were out, completely, and no way to make the climb easier.  He first tried to stay in one of the old servants' quarters downstairs, the one where he stayed in when he got too weak to go upstairs.  However, most of the doors to the back hallway were to narrow for the times when he needed a wheelchair.  On his third night back, he got stuck in the downstairs bathroom and Sam and I had to lift him through the connector back to his wheelchair in the hallway. 
    After that humiliation, he decided to move out, leaving Sam and me at the manor.  His new place is only a few streets over, a one-level ranch with wide doors and halls.  He has his physical therapist, Luis, come over a few times a week for help.  Luis was taking one of Dad's studio classes at the college as an elective for his minor when Dad had to take his sabbatical.  When Luis found out about Dad's need, he applied immediately for the job once he graduate a year later.  Dad has another assistant, Mitch, who lives nearby and sometimes spends the night for emergencies.
    Sam and I phone Dad daily and visit him at least once a week, usually on Wednesdays.  However, because of my schedule this week, we visiting a day early.  Dad usually fixes lunch for us.  A real hodge-lodge of cuisines.  Not all that favorable to my diet regiment, hence my protein bar contraband.  Dad did most of the cooking for the family before his illness, and he continues his experiments in world fusion recipes.  Just another outlet for his artistic explorations.  He still paints, draws, and even sculpts in clay, sometimes.  It's hard for him, with his multiple ailments, but he can't stop being the artist.  And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Tuesday, September 14, 2021

Pop: Chapter 4b

     I decide to get one of the chocolate-chip ones instead.  Sure, they are a little crunchy for my taste, but they are easy-to-find.  I stick one into my tote and take a quick look into the kitchen.  No dishes were left out, so I guess Sam wasn't lying about not spoiling lunch.  I am not that confident.  With my training regimen, I can't be too careful to make sure I'm eating right.
    I go back to the mudroom and into the hall.  The window is almost fully drawn.  No one would've been able to look in to see Sam's naked running through the hall, unless they were really high up.  I don't see why Sam does these kind of things.  I was never that silly at eighteen.  It can't be my influence on him.  I mean, I would never run naked through the house.  Okay, there was that time when Sam was on that field trip to Washington DC last fall and Addie managed to come over for a few days, but... Better not go into that right now.
    Instead of taking the back stairs, I take the last door on the left and enter the sunroom.  It used to be Sam's "mother's" office before she died.  She did much of her work for her clinic here.  Now, the room is mostly empty.  The desk and a few chairs remain.  Sam sometimes came down here for his homework when he needed more room for a project.  The personal affects were stored away.  The clinic records were sent back.  Most of them.  The forensic accountants should be sending the rest now that their job is done.  The final results should be in next week.
    I go on into the library so I can check on my research.  When I first arrived at the manor, I immediately fell in love with the room.  It's still my favorite place in the house.  A lot had to be rearranged though.  The first editions and other rarities were put into special storage, as were most of the kid's books.  The rest got shoved into one side to make room for my books, specifically my "World of Darkness" collection.  Over ninety-two percent of every book and supplement published.  They all but overflow the shelves nearest the central desk area.  I could have every book, if I wanted to.  However, some supplements were reprinted in collections, so I tried to only get one copy of each whenever possible.  Therefore, I have some gaps, but only in books and not the information.  Why Jim and Rick's uncle decided to give young teenagers some of this stuff is beyond me, but I'm glad he did.
    Before I sit down, I plug in my laptop to recharge.  I didn't use it too much this morning, but I always like to make sure I top it off, even when I won't be using it much.  I boot up my main Mac on the desk.  It is not the one Dad used, but it is still an upgrade from my old one.  I can afford it, and more.  I still have the extra-large printer though.  Anything that could duplicate works of art at near full-size is always an asset. At the least, I can print off some of my PODs at twice the size.  Some of those charts are hard on the eyes.
    After the computer warms up, I do a quick search for my draft of The Second City and scroll to a chapter near the end.  "Old Vic" is bobbing in the currents, trying to keep his head over water.  His vampire master is nowhere to be seen.  In fact, he can barely see anything.  Suddenly, a large object bumps into him and almost takes him down.  It is the sarcophagus that the "Twenty-Fifth" Childe was place in when she refused to awaken from her Embrace.  Since it is wooden, it is floating on the waves.  Vic manages to climb atop it, saving him.  He dozes off, and he has a telepathic conversation with the casket's occupant.  She reveals some damning information to him.  Now, I just need to make sure that some of these revelations start coming true in the new book.
    I cross-reference my notes from other books to make sure I don't miss any details.  I decide not to ask anyone on my forums.  Don't want any hints coming out too soon, but I do lurk for a moment to see if I can spot any new ideas.
    "Chris!  It's after twelve-thirty!"
    I turn around to see Sam standing at the front entrance to the library.  Fortunately, he is dressed.  Khakis and a blue/white windowpane dress shirt, no tie.  Are his pants a little higher over his ankles? I think I see more of his socks than I used to, white.  Kids and their fashion sense.  Maybe his shirt looks a little tight, too.  No, he is not having another growth spurt.  Just keep telling yourself that.
    "Sorry Sam.  I guess I got a little wrapped up in my work."  I take a look at my watch as I turn off the computer and unplug my MacBook. "We will be on time.  Just let me go upstairs to finish getting ready myself."
    "You better hurry," Sam dejectedly moans as I start racing up the stairs as best as I can in dress shoes.  Sam was wearing loafers, slightly easier to navigate.  They don't match his outfit thought.  Kids.
    As soon as I reach my room. I whip my wallet and phone out of my jacket so I can place it on the dressing rack.  Pretentious, but useful.  My tie goes on top of it.  I dash to the bathroom to relieve myself (forty-two seconds) and to check my hair in the mirror.  I almost trip over my already packed travel bag as I grab the Beretta's keys from the nightstand.  I know, they should probably be kept downstairs, but I feel safer if they were nearer me. I pick up my phone and wallet.  One last look in the dressing mirror, and I am out in under two minutes.
    As I slowly walk down the last flight of stairs, Sam sniffles a laugh.
    "What is it?"
    "Wet spot," Sam laughs as he points to my left leg.  I was in such a rush, I forgot to shake.  Or I shook too much.
    I ignore him as I head back into the library to pick up my protein bar. 
    "It'll be dry by the time we get there.  Let's go"
    "You know, there will be food there."
    "Yeah, but you know my regimen.  It's not easy to maintain my physique at my age.  Just wait a decade or so and you will know too."  I reply as I set the security while we walk out the door.  "Stay here while I get the car."
    "Not the Beretta!  It's horrible.  You know how old that thing is?"
    I let him rant as I get the car.  I roll on out to meet him by the door.
    "Hurry up and get it.'
    "This car is so small, and it uses too much gas as well." Sam adjusts his seat farther back before he puts on his seatbelt.  He was the last one in the passenger seat, so he's just showing off for the effect on me.
    "At least it has more legroom than your car."
    We pull out on the street, taking a right instead of the left from this morning.  Traffic's light, so we get to the location in under five minutes. I almost leave my bar in the car, but it might melt if I leave it.  It's a little wrong to take it in, but it's safer.  I make a show of my now dry pants as we walk to the door.  
    "Hey there.  I thought I would catch you off-guard, but you two are early again.  I don't see how you do it."  A voice comes out through the door as it opens.
    "Hi Luis.  After all this time, you know I am usually early.  I hope everything is ready for us."
    "Don't worry Mr. Burton.  He is finishing up right now.  Just take a seat in the front, and he will see you in a second."
    "Thank you, Luis."
    Sam and I walk into the room and sit down at opposite ends of a couch.  We only have to wait a moment before he walks into the room from the far door.
    "Well hello you two.  How's it hanging?"  Sam tries to stifle a giggle.  We rise to greet him.
    "Definitely not appropriate, Dad," I say as Sam and I hug him.

Tuesday, September 7, 2021

Pop: Chapter 4a

     I walk around the Beretta, and it seems to be okay.  More than enough room to get it around Sam's car, small as it is.  I continue past the garage to the back yard.  I look at the covered deck and swimming pool.  I can barely see the new crack at the rear of the pool.  It may have gotten bigger since last week.  Well, it isn't really my problem right now, is it?
    The security system was still on as I unlock the back door.  At least Sam always remembers to check on the alarm.  I will have to contact the security company to set up extra help this week.  I really shouldn't have told everyone on national television that I'd be out of town.  Still, how can I promote without mentioning that.  
    I notice Sam's trunks on the rack in the laundry room on my right as I walk through the sunroom.  I'm about to enter the pantry on the left, when Sam literally pops up from behind a cabinet.  Right next to the hidden stash of blueberry bars.
    "Hi Chris.  I didn't hear you arrive.  Aren't you a little early?  Or is it late?" Sam paused sheepishly, probably trying to hide my bar behind his back.  Not going to help, as he's wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist and his usual flip flops.  The towel is a little lower than decorum allows, even among brothers.  Sam quickly hikes it up another inch.
    "Actually, I'm about on time.  On the other hand, why are you in the pantry, practically naked?"
    "Just grabbing an extra snack, just in case."  He hikes up the towel another inch.  "I'm naked because I took a shower after my morning swim.  I'm just air-drying before I finish getting ready."
    "Please tell me you didn't walk through the house that wet."  Water damages the wood stairs, as well as stains the carpeting.
    "Nope.  I used the downstairs. shower."  Up another inch.
    "At least you weren't running around the house naked.  Still, you should go now and finish getting ready.  Just make sure that you put the towel where it can dry."
    "Whatever."  Sam carefully scuttles past me, always facing me, until he gets to the sunroom.  "I'll be done soon."  And he walks away.
    I go to check on my bars when  a burst of white flies through the sunroom.  I rush out to the hall to see Sam's bare backside running to the rear stairs.  He must have tried a hook shot to aim the towel at the laundry room and missed, horribly.  For someone so tall, he has barely any skills at basketball.  Better than me though.  
    I go to pick up the towel and put in the hamper before checking on the bars.  Yep, two more are missing.  At least I have a second secret stash in the wine cellar downstairs.  There's also temperature-controlled storage units for the artwork, as well as Dad's old sculpture studio and a half bath.  The painting studio was upstairs, in his old bedroom from when he was a kid.  Not sure why there's a half bath though.  All the studio needed was a sink, really.  Most men I know would use the sink if they really needed to though.  Not me, usually.  Uses less water, at least.

Pop: Chapter 23b

    Of course, we called Dad immediately.  He didn't sound too concerned over the phone, but with him, one can never be that sure.  He w...