Compelling Losses

The longing for the day to end, left in the air as Nathan looked up tiredly to the teacher, across a classroom of subdued students, was the same confusing feeling when the day started. This morning, Nathan planned two distractions, as he had become aware of the slow routine after lunch: his math homework and his coloring book. Which his father, Daniel, bought at a bookstore on his 9th birthday; the themes were Superman and Batman, and a few DC villains on the last 4 pages. Trying his best to color in the lines, Nathan had since taken it to school, laying it out on his desk for others to see. Taking pride he noted it before being driven to school, in order not to be sleepy or confused in class halfway through the day.

However, even though he had worksheets to be completed, he couldn’t finish either his math homework or the one yesterday, and stuck to the coloring book. The two pages stapled and stuffed in his backpack untouched and no name written. He was anticipating some courage to pick up a pencil and at least fill in one answer. Unfortunately his focus was foggy, and uneasiness began to creep more closely than usual. He feared another assignment, at least hoping not a math one, was to pass his desk when the teacher stopped staring into space. Flattened by this corrupt nature but was curious. He concluded to be enough self-awareness for his age, and moved quietly, as did the rest of the students, but not as smoothly, out from his desk as the bell finally rang: three-fifteen, the time showed on his phone. Unfortunately, his grandfather instead of his dad was to pick him up after school.

He had asked his father while in the kitchen making sausages, while Nathan in front of the TV watching cartoons, if he could spend his weekend at his mother’s apartment. A slight “I’ll see what she says” thickness came, and the whole time after was fragile. He was sure to himself for annoying his dad about anything pertaining to his mother, especially when being dropped off at school later. He may have triggered an unfortunate fight to occur as Nathan imagined it: first, his father having the confidence to talk to his mother again, and, as if things were planned perfectly on either side, a fight would tear the whole thing down, and leave both sides defeated.

Although the school day was muffled, walking from one hall and following the river of students to the exit - mostly wondering if his dad would consider his mother taking him this weekend - he had an awareness every time when something adult hovered throughout his school day. Exiting through the east doors to reach the student pick-up, he knew he enjoyed the feeling of it, and waited on the bench where it was empty and shaded from the sun. The end of today meant Friday, and thus meant Saturday tomorrow, he thought dreamily.

Nathan observed his peers strolling and entering different cars, trucks, and family vans, imagining, finding it easy to see himself walking and holding hands with different adults, arriving at different homes on different streets. A few men in their high boots and strong blue jeans, Nathan noted, and women, sweatshirts and spaghetti straps, with a few figures attempting tradition, or ones in light blouses quickly instructing their child to come to them. In some poetic tenderness he didn’t know what to call, that at some point, he would probably see them later in life witness their parents old and ready to pass on. Because coming back to his own home, he cautiously compared the difference there is between his own peers, and began looking more carefully at the way parents and children would greet each other, and wondered if he was somewhat oblivious to this. Only to trash the whole thought away to remember it was the end of the school day, and to just be glad it was over for now. Tomorrow is Saturday, he thought, and heard a honk from one of the trucks driving up the sidewalk, in the line of other vehicles - his grandfather surprisingly on time.

But he looked down the bench and waited if any of the children would walk forward, to avoid mistaking another father or mother who had similar tastes in black trucks, with silver fronts and backs. In that moment another honk occurred. The only similarity to his grandfather was the look of the truck itself, even if the features of his face, the windows being tinted, were shaded from the outside. When a third honk happened he gathered his backpack and coloring book, shoving it inside while walking up to the passenger door. He opened and hopped inside. He anticipated the seat would be warm, and it was - the smell of his grandpa’s farm still tainting his presence even after he moved in - Nathan laid his backpack on his legs to put on his seatbelt, and comfortably wrapped his arms around it as they began driving away from the sidewalk. “How’s school?” he asked plainly. A sort of voice clearly having been used up by life.

“Fine. Glad it’s Friday,” Nathan said; adding he was glad it was Friday felt mature, and wished his dad was the one that heard it.

“That’s swell,” he said feverishly, turning the wheel to direct the truck to the main road. Then, wait… Nathan thought. He looked at his grandfather to ask if they were planning to take him to his mom since the direction he picked wasn’t heading towards the house. However, what occurred was a shock to his eyes when the man that was sitting in the driver seat wasn’t his grandfather. Instead, a man with shades with a black button up shirt and standard black jeans, and a silver watch. Nathan was gonna say, ‘I’m in the wrong truck!’ but what came instead was, “where are we going?”

The man didn’t look. His eyes droopy and dry. “To your dad’s funeral. Remember, your mother thought we would head over after you were done with school?” The man checked his rearview mirror and adjusted the AC. He seemed shaky, and with the sun contrasting his face through the windows, Nathan can tell he’s been crying. Counting he’s seen his own father face after a fight.

Nathan, unsure, hesitant even, to say something; he gathered the man hadn’t noticed the slightest difference that his grandson was not in the truck and wondered what the true boy was doing right now.

He wasn't expecting anything to come out when he asked, “How did dad die, again?”

“Um, well -,” the man began, but ignored saying annoyingly ‘you know how,’ and assumed he just asked just for the curiousness of things. “Gun shot - he took a gun and shot himself. Remember what your mom told you?”

“Yeah, of course,” Nathan said quickly. “I just thought I would ask again, just to be sure.” The man nodded. He came to a stop sign and looked to his left, keeping his right arm on the wheel. He sighed and a strong grapple of his throat gargled.

Looking out the window, it was funny to see this street since Nathan hadn’t been on this side of the neighborhood. The many times he heard his mother wanting to move here, with nice front yards and neat little trees with rocks that surrounded them perfectly in a circle, and freshly built fences around the backyard with a neat entry way of surrounding bushes - perfect for hide-n-seek, Nathan thought. A provoking sight, he pictured his path home along the street, and wondered how cool it would be to walk up the driveway and enter the doors pass those wooden pillars. It was a pain however, to know how much his mother wanted them to be happy, and thought brightly when he got older he would buy a big house here. And when his mother is old, he would move her here, and they could play hide-n-seek, make a pool in the backyard, and have nice dinner parties with neighborhood friends every Saturday.

He took out his coloring book and decided he would throw it away, and ask his dad for a more detailed collection of pictures to color. And, to make sure of it, he ripped one page off and stuffed the whole book back in his backpack to remain sure he couldn’t color it again in it.

A few minutes later, awkwardly silent, Nathan swore he heard a sniffle that indicated the man was gonna cry or his voice was gonna drain, but what came, when the man finally turned his head towards Nathan, was, “Hey! Who? -.” He quickly stopped the truck and made a U-turn to go back towards the school. Nearly avoiding a collision with another black truck, going in the opposite direction. “I’m gonna take you back, okay,” the man said calmly as he can, and said to himself, “How can I be so stupid.”

As they returned Nathan can see his actual grandfather talking with his teacher on the sidewalk, near the bench he sat at. They both had faces of confusion. Once the man parked the truck he quickly hopped out and came around to open the door for Nathan to climb out. Most of the students had gone home already and only a few sat still waiting to be picked up. He walked him to the teacher and told her he was looking for his grandson, and was embarrassed to admit he accidentally took the wrong boy. “Nathan?” His grandfather realized, “who is this man?” Nathan looked at all three adults staring down at him as he conjured what to say.

“I’m terribly sorry, mister,” the man said to his grandfather. “You know at this age things aren’t easy-going as usual.”

“It’s fine. I’m just glad Nathan is safe,” his grandfather said without looking at him, before Nathan finally responded, “is mom taking me this weekend?”

His grandfather looked at the teacher, thanked her, and grabbed his hand to take him home. “We’ll see,” he said impatiently, and Nathan felt guilty all over again.