Sometimes it’s fun to make sense of your dreams. This dream involved a family, their fridge and a bad relationship. I call this story “Dad”.
Holding a warm-soaked cloth in his right hand, Winston gently wipes off the last remaining layer of scum off the refrigerator. It was a cool spring afternoon. The skies were clear enough to see the universe, the trees were beginning to bud, the air was refreshing and the sun was making everybody squint. Winston wasn’t lucky enough to experience any of nature’s gestures today. Instead he’s handing dirt-covered cloths to his mother to rinse off in the sink. It was a Saturday, and what better way to spend it than doing chores?
“I hate this,” Winston proclaimed. “Mom, why didn’t we clean this last week when I actually had time?”
“Oh shut up,” Sharon retorted as she ran the cloth under the sink. “You don’t have any plans today anyway.”
Grinding his teeth and muttering under his breath, he continued wiping the grease and dirt out of every nook and indent, making sure not to miss a single spot. The worst part of any chore is having to redo it again, and Winston didn’t take too kindly at the idea of returning to this cold trap any time soon. He’d rather be outside lounging around with a girlfriend he doesn’t have, he’d rather be sitting at a patio drinking with friends who aren’t in town, he’d rather be driving to a beach with a car that isn’t in repair- anywhere but in front of this heartless fridge.
Sharon walks into the adjacent room to turn on the television; it was too quiet in the house. All Sharon could hear was her son whining, the birds chirping, and the fridge humming. It was making her nervous. The newscast radiating from the television screen rung throughout the house as Sharon returned to the kitchen. Winston was cradling a can of soda in his hands, transferring the cold moisture from his hand to his forehead. He sets the can on the table and kneels back down to wipe the bottom shelf.
“Better pack your umbrella, folks. We’re looking at a rainy evening coming your way with a whopping 75 percent chance of a thunderstorm brewing. Soak in the sun now because we’ve got some rough weather ahead of us…” The television blared.
“See, son? At least you wont get soaked in rain tonight,” Sharon pompously declared.
“At least I’ll be out,” Winston responded, head-deep in the fridge.
“Winnie, if your father were here he would help me out, but he isn’t. I only have you right now and you know I can’t do this alone.”
“I know, sorry mom. I just hate doing this. Let’s be honest though, I’m sure dad wouldn’t be much help either. At least I’m wiping. He probably would be in front of that tv instead whining over the fridge,” continued Winston. “At least I’m in front of the fridge whining.”
There had always been a discord between Winston and his father. At a young age his father had never played a role in being a figure. He never attended Winston’s graduation, missing during the days, and spent the nights arguing with Sharon. In Winston’s eyes, he never had a father and every mention of him raises the blood pressure to his face. Winston hated his father.
Sharon kneels down next to Winston and hands him his can of soda. Winston smiles and takes a sip. The cold fluid rushes down his throat, coating the insides with a refreshing taste of childhood freedom and lack of responsibility.
“There’s a tiny bit left on this bottom shelf,” said Sharon. “I can finish this.”
Winston cracks open a second can of soda and passes it to Sharon. She smiles and accepts the can, gesturing towards her son a thank you. This had been the closest Winston had ever gotten to bonding with his mother since his father leaving. He always knew he had to protect her and become the strength of the house but never knew how. This was how- to keep her happy and to keep her healthy. The first day of Winston’s life began, staring into the empty and now-clean refrigerator. This home appliance was meant to preserve everything that goes in, so it was interesting for Winston to know that cleaning it had triggered an expiry date on his old attitude towards family. This refrigerator was the catalyst.
The front door opens and startles Winston. Sharon peeks out from behind the fridge door to see her husband walking in.
“Speaking of the devil,” she mutters to herself.
Winston’s father makes his way into the kitchen, not once attempting to take off his shoes. His clothes covered in oil stains and his hairline receding. He helps himself to a can of soda while smiling at his son and wife, hoping for a smile back.
“How is everybody?” he asks.
“What do you want?” Winston retorts.
Winston’s stance changes from leaning on the countertop to having his arms crossed and back straight, standing in front of Sharon. Sharon stands up and gently leans on the closed fridge.
“I just want to see how my son is doing”
He finishes his soda and sets it down.
“We’re doing fine, dad. We’ve been the best ever since you ditched mom.”
Winston explodes. “Do you know how it feels to grow up not knowing how to take care of somebody who’s supposed to take of you? She raised me, not you. Don’t ever call me your son.”
Sharon puts her hand on Winston’s shoulder in hopes of calming him down. Winston shrugs his shoulders away from Sharon’s touch. He continues:
“All you do is come back and waste our time. Every time you step into this house you expect hospitality. You expect us to spend some time with you, to talk to you. You expect this and that, and for what? You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve a place to come home to. You’re nothing. I hate you and everything you’ve been a part of ever since I was born. You are a good-for-nothing father and an ungrateful husband. Look what you’ve done to mom. You left her,” Winston leans in closer. “You abandoned her and forced her to raise me on her own. You put her in a financial burden. You destroyed her hopes and ambition in true love. You made her feel unloved. She didn’t escape to war and move to this country to be in another battle, you piece of shit.”
Winston’s father raises his hand.
“You little…”
Winston’s fist scrapes across his father’s face. It was the first right hook he had ever done, and he landed it as if Winston had been waiting for this moment all his life. His father tumbles over and falls to the ground. Sharon gasps. Winston’s vision blurred, and all he could hear was the blood rushing to his head. His hands clenched tighter than he had ever done before and his father was on the ground tending his wound. Sharon was in shock. Her hands covering her mouth, but she didn’t want to help her husband. It started to rain.
“Get out,” Winston said with clear conviction. “Get out and never come back. Leave us alone and never come back. I will fucking kill you next time I see you.”
The man on the ground stood up and smiled. He staggered his way towards the door and looked back to see the two in the kitchen.
“You’re a man now, Winston.”
The door closes and the rain intensifies. Sharon approached Winston and asks if he is okay. Winston turned around to face his mother, his eyes glossy and his chin scrunched up. He was crying.
“I’m sorry mom. I just hate him so much,” Winston barely forming a sentence.
Sharon holds Winston tightly as the newscast fades out in the background. There are no birds chirping outside, no fridge humming, not even a can of soda fizzing. The only sound ringing throughout the house was a grown man crying in his mother’s arms.
