Air Fall in the Summer

Alan “Big Al” Compton shifted his brawny bulk in the lounge room arm chair. It creaked and protested under his weight. He held his mug of tea, engulfed in one hand – the handles were always too puny for his thick fingers – and took a slurp. Janice had made it just right; she oughta by now, after 25 years together.

The faux pendulum clock on the wall struck the half hour, one clear chime, then settled back to its loud, steady tick.

Tick…Tick…Tick.

“Damn thing’s slow,” he grumbled loudly, glancing at the watch that strained around his wrist.

Janice called from the kitchen, “I’ll fix it directly.”

“Ya better.” Al picked up his half-read paper.

Tick…Tick…Tick…

A quiet swish of the hallway door opening and the slight creak of aging hinges, and Al’s younger son, Tom, edged his way into the room followed by Ryan. Al sighed through his nose with a whistling sound; hard work and discipline had never done nothin’ for Tom. He was still weedy and about as tough as deep-fried water. Al looked back to the paper he was reading.

Tick…Tick…Tick…

“Uh, Pop… Ma… I, uh, I gotta…” Tom stammered.

Al looked up and locked his weathered blue eyes on Tom.

“What!?”

Tom half turned to go, but Ryan put a hand on his shoulder.

“Mr Compton,” he nodded to Al respectfully, “Tom’s got somewhat to say.”

The air whistled out of Al’s nose again.

“Izzat right?”

“Come on Tom,” murmured Ryan, “I’m here for you.”

Al snorted a sardonic laugh and turned his gaze back onto Tom.

Tick…Tick…Tick…

Tom stopped squirming and took a breath.

“Pop, Ma… remember I dated Sally Holdsworth? Well, we never really… we never really done nothing, see,” Tom paused, and then with a rush, “I weren’t really interested.”

Al stared unmoving and in the kitchen Janice stopped dead still and silent. In that moment Tom could smell the jasmine that wafted in the open window and lay over the room, sitting on the air like the heat of the summer day. Nobody moved; nobody spoke.

Tick…Tick…Tick…

“Pop… I…”

“Oh fer Christ’s sake, spit it out boy!”

“Pop, I don’t like girls.”

“And?”

“I…” Tom’s voice faded into a mutter.

“What? Speak up boy!”

“I like boys!” Tom shouted.

“So… what you’re tellin’ me is, that you’re a queer.”

Tom was breathing fast now, his face pale and his eyes wide. He nodded jerkily.

Tick…Tick…Tick…

“Well hell boy, that ain’t no secret,” Al shook his head, “what, you think your ole man’s blind?”

Tom gave a slight whimper of fear and protest but Al ignored him.

“I bin seein’ you gettin’ about with other boys and, well, frankly I don’t get it. But you were never gonna have no kids to speak of anyways, so why’d I care?”

Tom made a choking sound and fell back as though slapped, colliding with Ryan in the doorway. Al snorted again and looked back down at his paper, lifted his mug to his lips and took a slurp of hot tea. Pushing himself up again, Tom turned and stumbled away down the hall. Ryan turned to follow him.

“Wait!” said Al.

Ryan paused, eyeing Al warily.

“It’s Ryan ain’t it?”

“Yes sir, that’s my name.”

“Well Ryan, young Tom, he’s a queer and all, but he’s still my boy.”

Ryan nodded mutely as Al bunched up one fist, an enormous block of scarred, menacing tissue.

“You make sure nothin’ happens to my boy; he’s a useless streak a piss, but he’s my son, and I don’t wanna have to go sortin’ someone out on account of them forgetin’ it.”

Ryan nodded again, “Sir,” he said curtley, then turned back down the hallway after Tom, leaving behind him a sudden, heavy silence in the room.

Tick… Tick… Tick…

Janice peered around the doorframe from the kitchen,

“Are you… is everything… alright, Al?”

Al paused for a moment and looked up, his fierce eyes seeming to pierce his wife.

“Just one thing I wanna know from you…”

Janice shrank back fearfully.

“…any of them muffins left? They’d go right good with this tea.”

Tick.. Tick...