Iced coffee spilled into the cup holder as the car bounced along the dirt road, up to the house. The house he’d grown up in, but mostly forgotten. The memories began to appear in his mind, but he wasn’t nostalgic. He simply acknowledged them and filed them away with all the others.
The car reached the front of the house and stopped. There was nothing in his rear view but the dust that had been disturbed for the first time in weeks, maybe more. It was around 9 in the morning so the old man would’ve been up for a few hours now. He sighed, stepped out of the vehicle and made his way up to the porch.
He was about to knock when the door opened. The old man stood in the doorway shirtless and beckoned his son to come in.
“Wasn’t sure you’d still be here,” the son said as he walked in, leaving the door open.
The old man grunted but remained silent as he went into the kitchen. The son followed while looking around and seeing everything still in it’s place. He pulled an old pocket watch out and checked the time. It was nothing fancy. Short hand on the 9, big hand near the 3 on top of a faded picture of a buffalo grazing in a field. His dad had given it to him when he was younger. He’d gotten it at some antique store for next to nothing. He always liked old shit.
“I can send someone to help you pack if you want,” the son said awkwardly, “I’m sure there’s plenty here you’ll want to keep.”
The old man took the coffee pot and filled his mug.
“Coffee?” he asked.
The son shook his head, gesturing with his paper cup.
The old man sat at the kitchen table and sipped.
“Not sure where I’m goin’.”
“We’re making you a rich man, dad. You can go where you want.”
“Maybe I’ll stay right here then.”
The son set the pocket watch down on the counter. He leaned against the stove and sighed.
“You’re really gonna make this difficult?”
The old man squinted at his son.
“Difficult?” He sat in silence for several moments.
“Difficult,” he repeated and began to chuckle. “You’re really somethin’ else, kid.”
“You don’t have to see me again after this, I promise.”
“You promise,” the old man said, not asking. “Funny thing comin’ from you.”
“I’m serious.”
“And you think it’s what I want?”
“I think it’s what you want.”
“And when has what I want been any concern of yours?” the old man asked. “It’s what you want. Always has been.”
The son set his coffee down hard, getting frustrated. “You know for an old man who’s supposed to be wise you sure can be dumb as shit. To not see what’s right in front of you. They’re coming, dad. Next week.” He gestured to their surroundings, “None of this is yours anymore.”
The old man stood. “That’s right it’s not mine. It’s yours ‘cause I gave it to you. ‘Cause in spite of everything you’re my blood. My shit stain of an ungrateful son, the life that I made with your mother.”
“I didn’t ask to be born, dad, but I was. And here I am, the man you made me. I have to navigate this world same as you did. Only difference is the world itself.”
The old man shook his head slowly and frowned. “The world doesn’t change, kid.”
The son rolled his eyes, “That’s all it does. Never stops. Certainly not for you.”
The old man put a hand on his son’s shoulder, and looked at him with love in his eyes.
“I guess time’ll tell who’s right. You’re gettin’ rid of me now, and I guess that’s fine. Maybe it was always gonna happen. But you will need me again some day. And when that day comes, son, I’m not gonna be here.”
He kissed his son on the forehead and turned away. He noticed the pocket watch on the table and picked it up. He opened it and studied it for several seconds. He smiled gently and put it in his own pocket, then turned to go into the next room.
“I’ll be gone when they show up,” he called. “You can see yourself out.”
The son lingered in the kitchen for several moments, feeling relieved that it would all be over soon. He drained the rest of his coffee and tossed it in the kitchen trash. He walked outside, started his car, and began the drive back up the long dirt road. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was forgetting something.
About the Creator
Dakota Smothers
Lover of all stories, regardless of genre! Doing my best to tell a few of my own.
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