Pickled Beets: A Short Story
Paul was an older man, around seventy. He wasn't a dirty man, yet he wasn't a clean man either. He kept his clothes and bedding washed and wrinkle free; He seldom had dirty dishes. He was always clean shaven and had spotless lenses in his glasses. But, his shower was always amuk, his floors never vacuumed, and he always kept his old tshirts that he used as "snot rags" next to his recliner.
He lived alone, yet always had company from women in their thirties who were down on their luck. He was also a very self involved man. He loved: "his women", his television, his smokes, his beer, and his son. He didn't have a lot of friends, probably at best three, counting his son.
His son, Paul Jr., was in his early forties. He lived like a bachelor despite his long term girlfriend who pitifully begged for more. He was a self proclaimed hippie with no friends besides his father. He was narcissistic and had enough rage for five people. He loved: being intoxicated and under the influence of acid, watching porn, flirting with women, and picking up random hobbies that he would quickly quit.
The most recent hobby Paul Jr. had taken an interest in was canning. He successfully made superb pickled beets and excitedly brought it to his father’s house, which was less than a mile from his one bedroom apartment, on his day off. He handed it to Paul and without hesitation, Paul opened the jar. Paul’s nose began to run so he quickly grabbed his old t-shirt he used as a snot rag and blew his nose loudly. Then, with the same hand that held the rag, dug his finger deep in the jar and took out some pickled beets. It was delicious.
Paul Jr. snatched the jar out of his Father hand with pure disgust. He stomped out of the house and into the backyard. He dumped out the pickled beets, stormed back into the house, letting the screen door slam shut. He threw the jar into the kitchen sink and stomped back into the living room. He plopped onto the couch and glared at the television, refusing to look at his father.
They sat in silence for the rest of the night until his son, still in a huff, drove away in a reckless fashion. Paul shrugged. He knew his son would be back tomorrow.
