Finding John
Chapter Four
Walking home, I realized that this would be the first day I would come home and my mother would not be there waiting for me. She always had a smile on her face, like even though she had seen me 8 hours earlier, it had been a week in her mind. Sometimes she would have freshly baked pastries or desserts that she would make me try, just for a second opinion. But now, the only thing waiting for me at home would be my father. It’s not that I don’t like him, but he’s severely depressed over the loss of his wife and he won’t stop babbling on and on about how ‘it’s not fair’ and ‘why couldn’t He have taken me?’.
As I walked into the door, the aroma of a lilac scented candle hit me. “Dad?” I asked, looking around for him.
“I’m in the kitchen!” he called out.
I proceeded to walk into the kitchen, all the energy I usually had after school not present. As soon as I saw him, sitting at the wooden table, staring into space, I walked over and hugged him. No words needed to be said. We both knew what the other was thinking.
After a moment, he said to me, “It was your mom’s favorite flower.”
“I know, dad. I know.”
“Sit down, John.” I did as he said. “How are you holding up?” He managed to give me a small smile, a gesture that, even though it was small, made a big difference in my life. Just knowing that someone cared for me and was there for me--it really helped.
“I’m doing…okay, I guess. But I’m really worried about you, dad.” I took in his disheveled appearance; his hair was uncombed and matted and his eyes were bloodshot. He had probably been crying. “Are you okay?”
“I’m doing just fine. Don’t you worry about me. How’s school?”
I didn’t like the abrupt change in subject, but I knew not to fight it. “School is alright, I guess. This guy named Alex told me that I had beautiful eyes today. It was odd, yet extremely comforting after what happened.” I didn’t say any more, not wanting my father to break down in tears again at the thought of last night.
But he didn’t. Instead, he grinned slightly, and said, “This Alex kid. Has he ever talked to you before today?”
“No. Why?”
“Just because. He seems like a very nice kid, but if the first words he says to you are comforting, then maybe he has an ulterior motive. Not necessarily a bad one, but one different than the rest of the kids at school.”
I didn’t say anything; I just went up to my bedroom, with that thought in my head.
---
The next day at school, word about my mother was dying down, even if it was slightly. More people came up to me and told me they were sorry, but no one else complimented me. Which made me think: maybe my dad was right. Alex was always a quiet boy, never really saying anything unless he felt it important. What made him decide to talk to me? And why did he say what he did? All of these thoughts were clouding up my mind when I was walking towards my table during lunch.
So, instead of sitting down at my table, and without thinking, I walked over to his table, set my tray down, and said, “Hey.”
As I walked into the door, the aroma of a lilac scented candle hit me. “Dad?” I asked, looking around for him.
“I’m in the kitchen!” he called out.
I proceeded to walk into the kitchen, all the energy I usually had after school not present. As soon as I saw him, sitting at the wooden table, staring into space, I walked over and hugged him. No words needed to be said. We both knew what the other was thinking.
After a moment, he said to me, “It was your mom’s favorite flower.”
“I know, dad. I know.”
“Sit down, John.” I did as he said. “How are you holding up?” He managed to give me a small smile, a gesture that, even though it was small, made a big difference in my life. Just knowing that someone cared for me and was there for me--it really helped.
“I’m doing…okay, I guess. But I’m really worried about you, dad.” I took in his disheveled appearance; his hair was uncombed and matted and his eyes were bloodshot. He had probably been crying. “Are you okay?”
“I’m doing just fine. Don’t you worry about me. How’s school?”
I didn’t like the abrupt change in subject, but I knew not to fight it. “School is alright, I guess. This guy named Alex told me that I had beautiful eyes today. It was odd, yet extremely comforting after what happened.” I didn’t say any more, not wanting my father to break down in tears again at the thought of last night.
But he didn’t. Instead, he grinned slightly, and said, “This Alex kid. Has he ever talked to you before today?”
“No. Why?”
“Just because. He seems like a very nice kid, but if the first words he says to you are comforting, then maybe he has an ulterior motive. Not necessarily a bad one, but one different than the rest of the kids at school.”
I didn’t say anything; I just went up to my bedroom, with that thought in my head.
---
The next day at school, word about my mother was dying down, even if it was slightly. More people came up to me and told me they were sorry, but no one else complimented me. Which made me think: maybe my dad was right. Alex was always a quiet boy, never really saying anything unless he felt it important. What made him decide to talk to me? And why did he say what he did? All of these thoughts were clouding up my mind when I was walking towards my table during lunch.
So, instead of sitting down at my table, and without thinking, I walked over to his table, set my tray down, and said, “Hey.”