Dada: Chapter Eighteen

    I rush to the doorway, almost knocking into the man standing beside it.  I think he still had his pants on. I hope so, although if he didn't, that might actually be worse.  The hall isn't that much brighter than the room, but it is about twenty degrees cooler.  I guess they had the room heated because so many people were partially undressed.  I collapse against the wall a few yards away from the door.
    How could they show that to me?  No man wants to see his father, his dead father like that.  I don't care if it was a student art film, I should have been warned.  I'm just glad Sam wasn't in there.  No wonder they don't let kids in. I cover my face with my hands.  I don't know if I am going to cry or throw up.  Sweat is rolling down from, practically everywhere I guess.
   "Look, Chris is it.  There's nothing to be ashamed of."
    I look up.  There's that guy again.  Monroe, Madison?  Something presidential.  His shirt is unbuttoned so I can see his monstrously hairy chest and belly, but at least he has his pants on.  He must have finished early, although the fly on his pants is still down.
    "What do you mean by that?  'Nothing to be ashamed of.'  How should I feel when I saw my father naked on film while the rest of the audience was getting their jollies off?   What is going on?"
    Don't get me wrong.  I've seen my share of 'adult entertainment' over the years.  Possibly to effect a similar reaction.  Ever since I was fourteen, in fact. Most of the time, it was by myself, but I won't go into that.  But never with complete strangers, and rarely then.  If they want to do that with either themselves or others, okay, but not in front of me and definitely with my father.
   "Look son," I practically want to slap him.  But then I would have to stand up.  "What we do is perfectly natural.  There's no harm in what we do."
    "What about my dad?  What's to say that isn't harming him.  Wait.  You asked me about any other films.  Are you saying that there are . . ."
     "Your father made many movies when he was in art school.  Each of them has a certain 'quality' about them that turns some people on.  People like us."  I assume he doesn't include me in that.  "We see the, how can I say this, passion in these films, and it brings out the passions in us.  It happens to quite a few whenever they see one of your father's works.  To be honest, this is the only one that has full frontal nudity it in.  At least the ones that we know of.   All the others are more like the first part of this one.  Suggestions only, but strong suggestions.  Both men and women."
    He's practically groaning, as if he is remembering certain scenes.  I think he might be getting turned on, again.  I have to try and stop him.
    "So, this is the only one with him naked?  The only one with anyone completely naked."
    He seems to be coming back around.
   "Sorry.  Your father's films just bring on certain 'feelings' in almost everyone who sees them.  Their are dozens of us, and more join all the time.  There is just something that your father can capture in film that no one else can match."
    "The rest of his work doesn't look like that.  Pretty mild in fact."  I try not to let anger creep into my voice.
     "Well, yeah.  His professors were wanting to challenge him.  Get him out of that stupid folksy look of his.  They thought they were letting him explore, but they unleashed a passionate monster instead.  One that everyone can enjoy the way nature intended."
     I finally stand up.
     "Look, I don't care about what you think and what your little society does behind closed doors, but I do care about myself.  You should never have let me go in there, especially without some kind of warning.  Sure, the majority of the movie is strange, but I almost could have handled that.  But the ending.  Having me watch my father doing that.  It's just, I don't know."
    "He wasn't doing anything.  The film ends almost immediately after the point you left.  It's left to the viewer's imagination.  And, well, we have a lot of imagination."
    "What are you taking me for?  What makes you think seeing my father like that could turn me on, or something?"
     "Your mouth is saying one thing, but that fairly big dew drop on your pants suggests otherwise."
      A wet spot.  On my pants.  Just slightly left of my right front pocket.  Around a half inch diameter.  Could be sweat that dropped from my head.  Probably not.  Too wet for that.  Too big.  I didn't know others used the same term.  I thought that my friends and I coined it in high school.
     "I'm getting Sam and leaving."
      I turn on my heels and walk away.

Overview--Dada: Chapter 17

Chris is watching his father's art school movie.  It starts out with three men (including his father) waking up in a certain state common to men.  They get through their morning routine all but oblivious to their states.  They then go to their jobs (doctor, businessman, and art history instructor for Chris's dad).  All the people they meet are also oblivious to their continued state of "excitement."  Strangely enough, all the other people in the movie are women.  While the other two men just have a regular work day, Chris's father is conducting a lesson on the art movement known as Dada.  Chris is more familiar with the movement's literary side.  The combination of the familiarity to the subject and the intensive heat in the room cause Chris to fall asleep.  He wakes up a few minutes later, near the end of the movie.  He sees his father give a rousing finale to his speech, when the screen goes black.  A second later, a new scene starts at the apartment of the doctor.  He is giving a party with a large number of women, and the other two men.  All three are still in the same state.  Chris notices some strange sounds around him, a humming as well as familiar thrumming movements.  In the film, the party ends but the three men stay behind.  They begin disrobing, and their states are clearly evident.  As each man gets naked, a woman enters holding a ruler to measure him.  The woman for Chris's father is his mother, who looks uncomfortable being there.  Chris's father is the winner.  The men then look at each other and begin to mimic a certain action.  Chris suddenly looks away and discovers that most of the audience is in a state of nudity themselves.  All, both men and women, are performing actions similar actions to those on screen.  Chris can't take it anymore.  He yells "Stop!" and quickly leaves the room

Lost in the Jungles of Appalachia: Chapter 1, Part 2

So, here I am, nine Saturday morning, thirty minutes into the three or more hour drive to my grandparents’ house.  I should be heading the other way, west, towards Frankfort and the state track tournament, supporting my team.  But dad couldn’t stand to tell mom that I needed to stay home and not spend the first month of summer vacation stuck in the wilds.  At least dad hasn’t brought up the llama story again, like he usually does when we hit the Mountain Parkway.

“You know, somewhere around here, I once saw a small pack of llamas on one of these farms.  Can’t really remember which one, but it was in this stretch at the start of the Parkway.” Dad began.

Why does he always bring up the llamas?  It happened, like, ten years ago, when he was traveling back after some business meeting somewhere.  I forget where.  Maybe dad has too.  While I have seen cows and horses, and maybe a few goats, I have never seen anything even halfway resembling a llama, or even a pack.  Or should it be herd?

“You know, there was a news story on llama farming a few months ago.  It might have been connected to the ones around here.  Something about relocating after a farm hit on hard times.  Or was that about alpacas?  Well, it was one of those things.”  Dad had been droning on for at least a mile, while I was trying not to notice anything.

Suddenly, a brown blob crosses the road, right over the car.

“What was that?” I yell.  “Was it a bird?  Could it have hit us?”

“Tim, that was a turkey.  You’ve seen turkeys before.  They are fairly common.”

“Dad, turkeys aren’t brown.  They also don’t fly.  Besides, that was too big to …”

Before I could finish, even more birds were flying across the road.

“Told you.  Wild turkeys are brown, and they do fly.  Domestic ones are bred so that they really can’t fly.  Your uncle sees two or three different flocks most weeks on his way to work.  The restock program really took off.  In fact, I think Evan from the accounts saw a flock with over thirty birds last fall.  You would be surprised just how many things you can see along here now.”  Dad loves to get the last word in.

I have been traveling to my grandparents’ house at least twice a year, and I had never seen any wild animal that big ever.  Usually, it’s just crows.  Maybe the occasional squirrel or chipmunk.  Quite a few dead possum and deer, sadly.  But nothing like those turkeys.

The next twenty miles are boring.  Almost nothing is along this stretch of road, although I bet a lot of people would disagree.  Seriously, most of the action is off the road, down the regularly spaced exits.  I grab the last of my organic protein bars.  Unless dad brings in a care package, it’s probably the last one I’ll get until I get home.  No way I’ll find this things in the boonies.  I just wish my body would cycle out of the high energy mode.  It usually takes a week or two after the last meet to cool down, but my last meet was three weeks ago and I am still running hot.  

“Should you be eating that so soon,” my dad pops up.  “We’ve still got half the ride left.  You’ll get hungry before we reach the place, and I know how much you don’t like eating fast food unless there’s no other option.”

That’s my dad for you.  Doesn’t like stopping on long trips unless you absolutely need to.  The guy’s got an iron bladder; I don’t see how he can go for so long without a pit stop.  Me, I’ll probably will be fine until just before we get there.  But he’s right, I’ll probably be hungry again before then.

I should have eaten more last night at the party, such as it was.  Every year, my gang of friends would hold at school-end party.  While the seniors go on to graduation, we would hang out for much of the night, starting as soon as school lets out.  Sure, a few of us would have to participate in graduation now and then, but there would always be enough for some great fun.  However, with the state finals today, the party pretty much ended by six, to make sure the rest of the team was rested.  A party is no fun without friends, so I left.  That meant I had extra time for manual transmission lessons with my dad.

Technically, I don’t have my full license yet.  I still need a driver with me to go anywhere.  Since my mom can’t drive stick and she’ll need the SUV at grandpa’s, I will have to drive her most places.  Or I will be driving with my grandpa.  Oh, he can still drive.  It’s just not as easy now that he has the oxygen tank.  Some breathing problems from working in the mines when he was younger.  It just started a few years ago.  Can’t seem to remember when.  One visit he was fine, and on the next one a few months later, he had a tank.  No one mentioned why it happened, at least I don’t think mom mentioned it, but it was there.  That tank is the main reason why my mom has to help out.

I fold up the empty wrapper and put it in my jeans pocket when I finish eating.  Every few miles, my dad will try and give me another lesson on driving, but I barely listen.  Just enough to make sure I don’t ruin the transmission.  I mostly stare out the window, watching the fields pass by.  The occasional home or business.  The new construction zones.  Everything seems so dull and plain compared to Lexington.  So empty.  So dead.

Dad was right.  Just outside of Prestonsburg, I have to make a pit stop.  Dad and his iron bladder are quite fine.  There’s a convenience mart just a few miles past the exit that we usually stop at for mom when we go to visit.  We only make the trip about three or four times a year.  Once for the period from Thanksgiving and Christmas; we alternate which holiday when they come to Lexington.  Once for birthdays; again, we alternate which one, but since they are both in March, it usually doesn’t matter.  Once to see uncle Jack in late summer.  My mom couldn’t stand doing it more than that.  Sometimes we go one more time to see aunt Lydia, but that varies.  We were supposed to go last week for the graduation, but mom decided against it because of my finals and my broken toe.  Seriously, we could’ve gone.  My toe is really fine and I only had one overall final.  The rest were just unit tests, and the final project for my drawing elective, but we could’ve gone.  I think that’s why she went on her trip early, so that mom would be forced to stay with grandma.

I manage to use the restroom in under a minute (would have been even less, but I always wash my hands) and buy a few non-organic protein bars on the way out.  As I walk back to the car, I see dad standing by the passenger door, waving my in to the driver’s side.

“I think you should get some practice in before we reach the homestead.  It’ll be mostly two lane after a few miles, so it should be easy for you the drive the last twenty or so miles in.” He had the nerve to say.

I just stand there.  Normally, I would jump at the chance to drive, in my mom’s car.  I have barely even been behind the wheel of dad’s car.  It’s too big and unfriendly.  I can’t see why he would ever drive such a thing.  Also, I barely know these roads.  Three or four times a year, barely watching where we are going.  

“Dad, I think you should drive.  You really are better, and I…”

“No buts.  I want to see you handle her before we get there, so I can correct your mistakes before they get too bad.  The highway isn’t that bad, and you’ve driven on the interstate a few times, and that is a lot worse than this.”

“But I know that road.  I don’t know …”

“I said no buts.  Now, get in and I’ll hand you the keys.”  He’s shaking them at me as if they are a shiny toy to distract a baby.

I resign myself to the fact that I’m screwed.  I don’t show it, though.  Neither of parents allow me to show such immature behavior.  At least since I turned twelve.  And I sometimes get my way with mom, but only if dad isn’t around.

I get behind the wheel, making sure I go through all the prep.  Seat belt, adjustable seat, mirrors, nearby cars and people.  Only after, do I start the car.  Dad barely leers at me when I almost forget the clutch.  One last look for incoming traffic and pedestrians, and I back up and turn the car around, slowly pulling out and onto the highway.

It’s not like I haven’t driven the SUV before.  I’ve taken it to school, and the store, a few times.  I’ve even taken it on the interstate, for a few miles.  Nothing like these last twenty miles.   So, I am not being thrown into the deep end.  At least dad isn’t the type to talk a lot about what to do.  Just the occasional direction.  “Straight at the light.”  “Take the left at the next intersection.”  Things like that.  He just looks or fake coughs at me before I do anything wrong enough that will wreck the car.  Not that I wouldn’t mind not being able to stay at my grandparents for a month, or longer.  No, not longer.  Hopefully shorter.

I only packed enough clothes for a week or so.  I figure that I can talk mom into letting me stay with dad for the month, now that I will have her to myself.  Dad just can’t talk to her like I can.  He always lets her get her way, I guess.  He doesn’t like to fight, even when it’s just words.  Me, I can compete with the best of them.  I almost tried for the debate team, but it usually met at the same time as the track team, so it was a lot causes.  If I have to stay longer, I can always get dad to bring more stuff down.  Or, I could always have them washed.  Mom doesn’t let me near the washer any more.  That detergent flood last January ended that for now.

“You know,” dad begins, “I learned how to drive in one of my dad’s old trucks.  By the time I got my first car, prompts were fairly well standard.  I all but had to learn all over again, step by step, to get used to them, when most of my friends had already mastered them.  You have got it lucky, Tim.”

Dad rarely talks about his father.  I don’t feel the need to add anything when he stops talking after the last sentence.  His death had hit dad hard.  I’m even kind of named after him, my middle name anyway.  Timothy Martin Johnson, son of Thomas Perry Johnson, son of Theodore Martin Johnson.  My grandfather was the second of five brothers, and the shortest.  The youngest, Phillip, is barely twelve years older than my father.  He’s also the tallest of the remaining four, at nearly six foot five.  He living in Australia with his second wife and two girls, both younger than me.  Yep, my branch of the male line didn’t get the height gene.  Five brothers, all but one one six feet tall.

My mom wanted to name me “Tyler.”  However, there are four other Tylers in my grade, but only one other Tim, and he just graduated.  Dad pushed for “Theodore,” and “Timothy” was the compromise.  At least it suits me.  I don’t think I would ever feel comfortable as a “Ted” or “Teddy.”  

I stop drifting off, and I keep my mind on driving, as I get onto the two lane section, one without shoulders.  I just treat them like they’re streets.  They are narrow enough.  More houses, if still grouped fairly far apart.  Technically, my grandparents live in a town, but they are well on the outskirts, unlike my aunt whose house is on an actual “street,” even if I would still call it a road.  Trees crowd the roadsides, with branches hanging closer than I would like.  I feel any one could scratch the roof.  Still, better than the times the road borders on a creek.  Cracks seem to pop up on a regular basis, just waiting for me to shift too close and drag the SUV to the slowly slushing water.  The crash would be worse than the chance of drowning, as there is barely a few inches of dirty water trickling along. At least the road isn’t over any very large hills.  The thought of shifting up and down a mountain would be beyond my skills.  At least with dad watching.

Hardly any traffic now.  In fact, no cars for a mile or two.  Then, with just a few miles to go, I see something on the road up ahead, in the other lane.  Dad nods at me to slow down to avoid whatever it is.  Three men are in the road, looking down at a big, dark blob on the pavement.  Their trucks and cars are parked on the unpaved lot in front of the closed store to the left.  I only take a quick glance as we pass them.  One may have looked up, but he quickly turned back to the blob in the road.

“Dad, was that a bear?” I finally get the nerve to ask a few seconds later.

“I think it was.  It was the right size and color for a black bear.  I’ver never seen one in the wild, myself, but it’s possible.”

“Should was call the police?   I mean, if it was a bear, some sort of report has to be filed.”  I feel that was the responsible thing to say.

“No, we can’t.  We don’t know if that was a bear, at all.  Besides, this is two small of a town to have its own police.  We’d be lucky if we got a state trooper to come in, and I seriously doubt one would take the thirty minutes to drive here and ask questions.”

“What do you think happened?  It didn’t look like it had been hit.  Could they have shot it?  Isn’t that illegal?  Bears can’t be shot all willy-nilly like that.”  Even bears needed a chance to live.  That’s the type of thing my mom always says, and in this case she would be right.

“Who knows?  Regardless, it is out of our hands, so it’s best to forget about it.  Take the next left; you should remember the way.” Dad was finished with the bear, and made sure I was too.

The lines of houses thinned out again, as the road started to slowly slope upwards.  There, a few dozen yards ahead was the dirt driveway up to my grandparents house, halfway up a small hillside hollow.  I could just see it ahead.  The house where I’ll be spending part of the next few weeks.  The other half was in a another house a mile and a half away further down.   Let my dismal summer away from everything begin.

Lost in the Jungles of Appalachia: Chapter 1, Part 1

I am sitting in the warm, late spring sun, watching the rest of the track team take in one last practice before this weekend’s state championships.   Not many of us made it.  I should be out there, but I didn’t make it.  In fact, I couldn’t even go to the regionals.  If I had, I would definitely made it to state.  But no, I had to go and break my toe.  Otherwise, I would have been out there.  So, here I am, sitting in the bleachers with my girlfriend, watching the rest of my teammates egg each other on.  Even the ones who didn’t qualify.  But not me.  I’m just sitting here.

It’s stupid, really.  I was taking a bath, and wham.  I hit my foot against the side of the tub while getting out, with a loud metallic clang.  It goes without saying that I don’t race the hurdles.  Long distances is my thing.  Anyway, it hurt, but not too bad.  I barely screeched.  Definitely didn’t swear, although I would have if I did.  I should have, though, considering.  Mom had heard me through the door and demanded to know what happened.  At least she waited until I finished drying and put some clothes on.  I almost think she would have burst in, if she could have.  Anyway, she saw my bruised toe, already turning purple, and demanded we go to the hospital.  There, I found out that the toe was broken, but there was nothing the doctors could do.  It was only a hairline fracture, but it was enough  to keep me from competing.

So, I sit out.  Can’t even help the other guys practice.  My mom would kill me if I ran anywhere, unless it was a very short distance or my like was in danger, maybe.  This was going to be my best year yet.  Stupid toe.  I barely notice Rosa slowly rubbing my arms and shoulders, brushing my plain brown hair out from my eyes.  

“What’s so bad?  Wish you were out there,”  Rosa asks, still trying to rub her hands across my back.

“Yeah, I should be out there,” I say.  “This is the worse meet I’ve ever been in, and I can’t even practice.”

“At least you’ve got me.”  Rosa leans it as if to kiss me, but she stops short when I put out my hand.

“Sorry Rosa.  I just don’t feel up to it right now.” I turn around to face her before finishing.  “But later, I will.”  I pat her on her right hand before watching the twenty or so other guys finish their warm up stretches and prepare the start running.  The girls are currently lining up across the field from the guys.  They did much better than the guys at the regionals, smoked it really.  They’ll do great this weekend

“Well, I’ll be waiting for that, just don’t take too long.  I’ve got to leave soon to go to my sister’s recital.”  Rosa playfully smirks at me.

“Wait.  That’s today?  I thought it was tomorrow.” I respond.

“It was, but they had to move it up due to some scheduling conflicts with the music hall.  It was in the text I sent you last period.  It was just announced this afternoon.”

“Let me check.”  I patted around all my pockets but I couldn’t find my phone.  Mom would kill me if she found out I lost it.  She said I was still too young for a phone like that at seventeen, but I pleaded with her for months until she got me one.  And now, this!

“Wait, I remember.   I put it in my pack so it wouldn’t go off during presentations for art.”  I scramble down to my backpack under the seat.  I quickly search through the few books and papers I have for the end of the year.

“Why do a silly thing like that?” Rosa asks of me.

“Mrs. Lawton asked everyone to put the phones away, to help prevent anyone from interrupting the presentations of everyone’s artwork.”  I reach the bottom of the pack, and find my phone, wedged between two notebooks.

“At least it doesn’t look broken.” I add before turning it on.

There was Rosa’s message at the top of the queue, but what really caught my eye was the one right  beneath it.  “COME HOME DIRECTLY AFTER SCHOOL.  WE NEED TO TALK.”

“I need to leave, like twenty minutes ago.”  It was almost three thirty.  How was I going to get home, fast?  Rosa only lives a few blocks from here, so she usually walks home.  While I got my license soon after I turned seventeen last month, I still don’t have a car.  Mom and dad, mostly mom, don’t think I need one yet.  I was planning on getting a ride with one of the guys, but they will be out there for another hour, at least.  It wouldn’t hurt to ask early.  Otherwise, I will have to walk the few streets down to my home.  I could run that distance in under ten minutes, but I would get in trouble with my mom.  I could walk it in twenty, even though my mom told me not to walk more than absolutely necessary.  

I dash down to the field.  “Hey, can anyone give me a ride, like now?  I really need to get home, and fast.

“I’ve got ya Tim.  They don’t need my here anymore anyway.”  

Mitch Starling stepped out, my best friend on the team.  He was the one who I was planning on going with after practice, so everything was going right.

“Thanks Mitch.  You don’t know what this means to me.  I missed a text last period, and now I’m going to be late.   I really need to get there, like ten minutes ago.” I grab my pack as Mitch grabs his as we quickly walk to lot to get his car.   He keeps his silence so we can go faster.  Thank goodness for small favors.

I can’t really explain how the  two of us got to be friends, as just about the only thing in common is a love of track and field.  He’s listed as 6’ 2”, although he’s really about a half inch shorter, six taller than me.  He has long blond hair, the length my mom says is always to long for a man to have.  He is all muscle, suited for the field events more than running.  He would have made the state, too, it he hadn’t strained his shoulder a little the day before regionals. As is, he wound up being the sub in many of my events.  He didn’t do anywhere as good as I would, so the team wound up sending fewer onto state than last year.

He stays quiet even after we get into the car.  Another difference we have is that he’s a slow on the uptake. Not that much.  Most of it is for show, playing into type of the “muscle-bound jock” mostly so that people don’t talk to him.  He’s actually pretty smart, just not on my level.  He waits until we are on the street before asking me.

“So, what are you in trouble for?”  He laughs as he says it, though.  He knows I am not the trouble type, but he can’t help but rub it in.

“Nothing.  Honest.”  At least I can’t think of anything.

“Maybe your mom just wants you to stay at home more,” he jokes, even though he has a point.  My mom does get clingy, but it isn’t as bad as he lets on.  It’s probably because he’s older, and already somewhat independent.  He turns eighteen in August, just ready to be the star of the team for our senior year.  Man, I need to be as cool as him next year.

“Besides, the text isn’t from her, “ I add as I look at it again.  “It’s from my dad.”

“Weird.  What would he be texting you in class for?   It might not be very good,” Mitch muses as we wait at a stop light.  “Be prepared, Timothy, my friend.”

Mitch has a point.  My dad is a middle-manager or something at a bank, the main office not one of the branches, not since his promotion.  He likes to say that he has just enough power to get the better perks, but not enough power that he has to stay longer to make sure everything gets done.   While this meant that he would usually get home earlier than most other dads, he still would be later than me, most days.  For him to be back by three was not a great sign.  For him to need my back immediately was definitely not a great sign.

We finally arrive at the house, only ten minutes after leaving, but still over thirty minutes late.  With a quick “Thanks” and an even faster nod, I leave and Mitch takes off.  I briskly walk down the drive, just it case mom is watching.  I notice that dad’s SUV is there, but mom’s car isn’t.  She is always home by now.  It’s kind of her thing to watch out for me.  

“Hey!   Sorry I’m late.  I didn’t get your text until a few minutes ago.”  I brush into the kitchen, past the table where my dad is standing, and head straight to the fridge for some food.  Even though I’m not competing this week, I still have the metabolism of a track runner.  I have the need to load up every few hours.  In fact, I’ve been eating a little more than normal these last few weeks to prep for regionals and state, but my body has yet to slow down.

“Tim, please sit down.  We need to talk, now,” my dad states plainly.  He’s still standing there, all imposing, still in his dress shirt and tie.  His jacket is already off.  For some reason, he makes me feel like a kid again, even without yelling or threats, like some other dads would use.  Even after my last whimper of a growth spurt last winter, he’s still an inch taller than me.  It shouldn’t make too much of a difference, but it does.  He loosens his tie a bit more as I sit down across from him.  I have no idea what he’ll say next, but his nervousness is contagious.

“Tim, your mother got a call from your grandpa an hour or so after you left this morning.” He says this in a monotone, never quavering or hinting at what will come next.  He doesn’t have to explain who called.  His parents are both dead; his dad died a few weeks before I was born and his mother died when I was two.  I don’t really remember either much about either one.

“Sometime in the middle of the night, your grandma got up, but she had an. . . accident,” dad continues, with a short pause.

“What happened?”

“Grandpa wasn’t really sure.  She just fell down, somewhere at the bottom of the stairs.  She must have laid there for one an hour before your grandpa found her.”

Before I can ask the big question, dad answers it for me.  “She’s going to be alright, all things considered. She had some cuts and bruises, a sprained hip and ankle, and a partial break of her left tibia.”

I breathe again.  Mom is so close to her parents, I absolutely have no idea what she would have done.  Well, maybe I do.  

“Your mother left immediately to be with them.  To make sure everything’s okay.”

Well, that explains where mom is.  It takes about three hours, based on the way she drives, to get from Lexington to her parent’s home back east.  She probably left while she was still on the phone, barely remembering to turn everything off and lock up.  She wouldn’t have called dad until she was over halfway there.

“So, when will she be back?” I ask.

“Well, that’s the hard part.  Your grandma will be in the hospital a few more days, and, when she gets back home, she will need some help and rehab.  Your mother will be staying there for the next few weeks to help as needed.  We’ll be taking her some things this weekend.”

“So, it will just be us guys for awhile.  Okay.” Don’t get me wrong, I love my dad.  It’s just that I’ve been having a tough time connecting with him lately.  Just a part of becoming my own man, I guess.  I’ve always been closer to mom.  She just seems to be everywhere I need her to be.  But I don’t mind be away from her for a few weeks.

“Actually, here’s the thing,” dad interrupts herself. “Your mother would like you to stay with her and her parents while she’s there.  She thinks you will help her out, especially with her father.”

“Wait, what?  NO!  Why do I need to be with her?  I’m seventeen.  I can take care of myself, mostly.  Especially with you here.  Why can’t she get aunt Lydia to help?  She live right there.”

“Lydia is taking Maddie on a Caribbean cruise as her graduation present.  That will take about ten days.  Then they are staying in Orlando for another week or so.  Lydia knows what happened, but she won’t be able to return until the vacation’s over.”

Maddie had just graduated high school last week.  How they got out before us with all of the days off they had to take is beyond me.  Now, Lydia was taking Maddie and her older sister Carrie, along with Lydia’s current boyfriend I bet, on a big trip, and missing out on taking care of her father.  Just like them.

“But what about the state finals, and my job.  I can’t miss either of them.” I all but scream at him.

“I’m sure your team can get by with one last spectator to cheer them on.  As for your ‘job,’ it’s only volunteer work at the youth center.  Your mother overbooked this summer, so they already had enough help.  You only got the post because she works there.  You’ll be back in plenty of time to work for Mr.  Peterson, for actual money.”  Mr. Peterson is one of dad’s friends as well as a big depositor at the bank.

 “Dad, it’s not just money.  I would be helping actual people out, not just be a gofer for an office.”  I take a break before laying down my offer.  “Can’t you get her to change her mind?  I need to stay here, not stay there for a few weeks.”  

“Sorry, sport, but you know how your mother gets when she has a big idea.  Furthermore, you won’t be able to stay in main house.  The two of you will be staying at your aunt’s.”

“Wait, what?  Why Lydia’s?  Grandpa’s house has enough room.”

“Your grandma will need a bed all to herself, so your grandpa will be staying in another room.  There will be some sort of part-time nurse or therapist there some nights, so they will get the other bedroom.  There won’t be any room for you and your mother.  Lydia’s house will be good enough, as well as close enough, so it won’t be much of a problem.” Dad can get awfully wordy.

“But what about me and my friends and, and,” I can barely speak.   The crush of ideas starts to overwhelm me.

“I want you to stay here, too, but your mother has the final say.   We’ll take the SUV down Saturday, where I’ll drop you off and take back the Prius.  You’ll be using it to get around.”

“You mean I’ll have to drive the SUV?  I don’t know how to drive manual.  Can’t we keep…”. Dad cuts me off with a wave of his hand before I can finish.

“Your mother doesn’t think there will be any place to charge it up.  Both of the houses are so old, there probably won’t be any outdoor power sources.  I’ll give you pointers on the way down.  Your uncle Jack will try to stop by when he gets the time, and he said you can do some odd jobs at his office, if you get the time.  It will work out.”  Dad definitely let out a sigh at the end.  He never sighs.

“You should start calling anyone to say where you’ll be and why you won’t be here.  And start packing too.  You know it takes you awhile.  Pack for at least two weeks.”  Dad has to yell at the end, as I already had stood up and started walking out of the room.

I take the stairs by two, and crash through the door to my room.  I shut it with a slight bang, no need to make any more trouble.  With a flop, I land on my bed.  How could they do this to me?  I had my whole summer planned, and then they do this to me.  Don’t get me wrong, I love my grandparents; they just live so far away from everything.  An occasional visit is one thing, but a few weeks.  No.  Mom and dad might as well dump me into the middle of the Amazon rain forest, I’ll be so far away.  Wandering around, without any sign of civilization, in the boondocks and mountains of eastern Kentucky.  Alone, apart.  Why does he do this to me?  Even a few weeks with just him would be better than staying there.  This summer is going to hurt.

Dada: Chapter 16b

     What was this guy thinking?  Does he really mean that?
    "Look, you are currently in charge.  Burton did some really great films, back when he was in school.  Sure, he later turned to that folksy stuff, but we are sure he never completely gave up on his films either.  Once he got started, he couldn't stop.  He just decided not to show them anymore."  Nate continues.  "Come one, Chris was it? If his newer stuff is anything like the one we're showing tonight."
      "You really want me to go searching around for films my father made, just because I'll be in his house.  What do you take me for?  I just found out about him and Sam a few days ago.  I didn't ever know about his art or films, really, until this afternoon.   I don't want to be like some ghoul lurking around."
     "Chris, it's not like he's d..." Nate stutters.
     "Nate, we need to get everyone in for the show."
     From down the hall, another man quickly sauntered to us.  Same nondescript features as Dil and Nate.  Maybe a little shorter, a little younger.  Why does all of dad's fans seem to be forty-somethings who wear Dockers?  You would never catch me in one of those.  Levi's yes, Dockers no.
     "Hey, Charlie.  This is Chris.  He's here for the first time."  Nate starts, but Charlie cuts him off to shake my hand, vigorously.
      "Hi, Chris!  Charlie Madison.  You're going to love it tonight.  The film is the hallmark of Burton's graduate thesis.  Some people think it is earlier work," with this he takes a sidelong glance at Nate, "but most agree that is definitely from his grad school days.  It just segues right into his doctorate film, even if that one is nowhere near as exciting.  No, this is the highlight."
       "Where are the rest rooms?  I think I need to freshen up a bit before everything starts." I cut him off.  I don't need to get into a philosophical debate on my father's "periods."  Just how important, or at least widespread, was he?
       "Yeah, that is usually what we tell all first-timers to do.  Just take a right at the end of the hall.  Can't miss it.  The film room is the one with the double doors.  Just get there before everything starts. Once we start the film, we usually don't allow anyone else in, you know.  The way things go in there, well, we don't need interruptions." Charlie all but winks at me.  What is going on?
      "Thanks."  I slowly walk away from them so they can continue their discussions.  I pass by the double doors on my way to the men's room.  They are still closed, so I can't tell what it looks like, but I'm fairly sure I saw at least one woman going in.  At least Charlie was right with his directions.  I go straight to the sink, no need to empty my bladder, yet.  I wouldn't be able to any way if there were anyone here, but fortunately I'm only one in here.
       I splash some water on my face, only to wipe it off with a paper towel as I look into the mirror above the sink.   Nothing is making sense.  Here, I though I would be going to a charitable art show, but here I am at some weird movie theatre presentation my dad did as a student.  They actually want me to sneak through his stuff to find any more?  He's been dead, what, a week.  Maybe less.  He was only buried on, Tuesday?  No, Wednesday morning.  I wish I hadn't taken Sam in, just left him with someone else.  I won't be able to handle him; I can't handle the rest of this life my dad left behind.  Sure, there will be perks, but this downside.  I was just kidding myself that I could do this.  Calm down.  Just get through the film, and then see what will be next.
       I comb my fingers through my hair.  My face is dry.  Shirt and pants fairly straight.  No need to check the zipper, or if there's a wet spot.  That's happened to me a few times in the last few months.  One last deep breathe, and I head back to the hall.
      The doors are still closed, but Charlie and another man are standing outside.  They spot me in a second, mostly because I'm the only one there.
      "Just made it.  Boris here is on guard duty tonight." Charlie points his chin at the slightly younger and shorter man beside him.  Boris nods at me, but says nothing.  "Yeah, he got the short straw tonight.  Maybe next time.  I left you a seat near the back, just in case you needed a little more privacy.  First time and all.  We better get in so they can start."
      Charlie all but drags me through the door as Boris holds it open.  I can barely see anything, as the room is already fairly dark for the movie.  Charlie is whispering me along to a chair nearby.  We pass by two or three men, as I take me seat.  The floor is making a crinkling sound as if covered in plastic. even louder as Charlie rushes away after I sit down.  Everyone is quiet.  A woman is sitting on my right, but the chairs are spaced about a yard or so apart, so we can't talk to one another.  In the front, a screen, or maybe a large monitor, is starting to glow.  The light gray typical of movies starting out.  Numbers begin to flash in reverse order.  The movie begins.

Dada: Chapter 16a

     We walk up the steps into the hall.  It's typical of other such community spaces that I've been in.  Maybe a little older, but then New York has been around a lot longer than most of those places.  The glass doors look new, as does the metal detectors just beyond.  They're blocked off tonight, though.  I guess this private showing doesn't need that much security.  I don't see any people, considering how many cars were outside.  I am just about ready to turn to Sam to ask him about what should happen, when I see the Dylon Tyler, or is it Taylor, down the hall talking to another man.  Neither one is as dressed up as we are.  I guess that I may have misjudged what this is all about.
      Tyler sees us and waves us over to talk to the other man.
      "This is Chris, the one I told you about.  Chris, meet Nathan Robertson.  He is the local president of the Burton Appreciation Society." Tyler gets us to shaking hands all around.  I hate the practice, myself.  I'm always afraid I'll catch something.  I usually try and wash my hands off as soon as I can, but in this case, I might not be able.
       "Hello, Nathan.  This is Sam, my half-brother.  I hope it's not a problem that he's here."
      "Actually, it might," Nathan starts off.  "Tonight's film really isn't for someone so young.  I don't think you're over eighteen, are you?" He's staring right at Sam, while Sam is basically trying not to look at anyone.
       "He just turned fourteen last month," I answer for him.
        "Yeah, fourteen," Sam stammers out, his voice cracking again.
        "We have a few other kids in the break room.   He's a little older than the others, so he can join and help out. Why don't you come with me, while Nate here explains a few things."  Tyler grabs Sam by the shoulders, and he all but drags Sam away, down the hall and to a room on the right.
        "Sorry about that.  Sam has been awkward lately, due to recent events.  Puberty isn't helping him out just now."
        "Don't worry.  We all go through it and usually turn out right.  Dil mentioned most of your situation, so I didn't bring most of it up.  First time?"  Nate asks.
         "First time for what?"
         "To see one of Burton's films.  Most people are astounded when they see them.  Tonight, we have the first one.  It is amazing, but not really fro younger viewers.  What do you know about your, father, wasn't it?" Nate all but mumbles there.  I guess it can't be easy for him either.
          "I'ver just found out about him.  I have only seen a few of his works.  I think most of them are kind of folksy, right?"
           "Please.  When he first started out, most of his professors thought he was just another rich kid trying to find a major where he wouldn't have to work too hard.  But then they saw his talent.  He had the eye for such things, but so much of his of his work did border on folk art and Americana.  When he went to grad school, his professors wanted to challenge him.  They made him explore different avenues to art.  Take chances and all that.  He made a series of films that forced him to go all out and break the molds.
           "Tonight, we are showing his first great film.  It's part of a thesis on Modern art.  It's pure performance art on a grand, beautiful scale.  He made six or seven, the society has never asked him for an exact count.  We are pretty sure that he may have destroyed at least one of them.  It's too bad he ultimately decided to go back to that folksy stuff.  The films are the best things he has ever made.  Really inspiring." Nate is practically jumping up and down with excitement by the time he finishes his spiel.
          "So, you don't have any of his other works on display tonight?"
        "Oh, no.  The society is strictly concerned with Burton's film work.  Most of his paintings an such are rather pedestrian compared to his films.  No offense," Nate quickly added.
         "Uh, non taken.  When I first found out about my father, and, uh, what happened," I couch my words carefully.  "I think I might have seen your society mentioned online.  I first thought it was about someone else, since I didn't know about his films, but could it possibly been..."
          Nate interrupts me before I can finish the thought.  "Oh yes.  That was not assuredly about us.  There are actually a few branches of our society, mostly around New York, of course.  While Burton made a few films, and almost all for his classes, they are all greatly admired by his staunchest supporters.  Each one has been a great inspiration to us chosen few.  Unfortunately, he preferred to stay away from his films.  Almost as if he was embarrassed by them.  Rumor has it that he never did give up filming, and that there is a stockpile of unreleased footage somewhere, just waiting to be discovered and brought into the light."
            This guy was getting weird on me.  In fact, all of this seemed out of hand.  A society about the student art films of my father?  And now, Nate was hinting about more of them.
            "Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

Dada: Chapter Sixteen

     Sam wanted to go to a pizza place just a block or so away from the hall.  Don't get me wrong, I like pizza, but I really didn't feel like having it tonight.  Still, he knows the place, and he was going to be facing something that could be weird for him, so I let him choose.
     Fortunately, the place seems to have a good Stromboli, even if they got a little miffed when I asked for no peppers.  Seriously, hot peppers do not go on this type of sandwich.  Beef, mozzarella, sauce, lettuce, tomato, mushrooms, onions, maybe a touch of mayo or Italian dressing, that's it.   No peppers are necessary.  Sam, however, gets a small, single size pie for himself.  It's going to be too much for him.  Especially since we got a few garlic rolls with dipping sauce as well.  Yes, he's a teenage boy going through a growth spurt, but this is too much.
      We eat in silence, mostly because Sam keeps shoving food in his face.  Maybe he doesn't want to talk.  At least he isn't eating fast enough to get choked.  He sips some pop every few bites.  He had ordered a cheese, mushroom, and hamburger pizza.  An unusual combo, but I've had it myself a few times, mostly with the guys back in college.  For some strange reason, none of us liked pepperoni or sausage.  Just another thing that we had in common.
      "Here, let me have a bite of a slice.  We'll take the last few back with us."
      I hadn't been paying close enough attention.  Sam was a few bites into the last slice.  At least my sandwich was done, and I had one last roll to tide me over.
       "What happened to the rolls?"
       "I was hungry," Sam manages to get out before tackling the crust.   I almost expected him to belch after all that food.  He's going to be two inches taller than me by the time we get to the hall.
        "Finish up.  You might want to head to the restroom, too.  I'm not sure what to expect at the event, and you might not get another chance to clean up, or anything else."
         I'm sure I heard Sam muffle a laugh, under the pretense of chewing.
         I pay for the meal while Sam is away.  I resist the temptation to ask any of the staff about his parents.  That would be prying.  Besides, no one had mentioned Sam when we came in.  The place was starting to fill up, being almost seven.  I walk to the head myself to catch up with Sam.  I can probably wait an hour or two, but my nerves are acting up.  Bladders can be so fickle.
         Sam is waiting for me by the door after I finish.  I didn't even see him leave.
         "Come on.  You can help me figure out where to park.  There is a place near the hall.  I don't think I should leave the car here at the restaurant."
          "There's a lot a street down.  I think it's free on the weekends, but you might have to pay something." Sam responds.
          "We better get going then."
            We walk back to the car.  I feel like I should say something, anything, but the silence is just to great to break.  We don't talk the short drive to the lot, either.  He must be dreading this, attending an event to honor his, our, father.  At least he was right about the parking.  The lot is over halfway full by the time we get there with more cars coming fast behind.  I hope I get to talk to someone about this before it starts.  I want to make sure no one mentions the accident to Sam.  I'm not sure how he will take it.
      "We're here.  Time to go in."  I look at Sam, and I have no idea what he is thinking.