he could have had with me. A life where he observes my paintings in the garage with a smile. Where he pushes me to join Art clubs, then raises hell up at the school when the mayor and the school board cut funding to the Arts. He sees a less angry version of himself, a version who visits my shed more than once a year, who invests time in getting to know me, who wants to know who I’m seeing at school.
A version of Carl who could have been here for me, even now, when my heart is at its weakest.
Then he shatters the vision the very next instant with a smirk of disgust. “My eyes are wide open, boy. And I see now why your own deadbeat dad couldn’t bother to stick around long enough for your sixth birthday. Twelve years haven’t made you a man. They made you a wimpy, friendless loser with unfulfilled dreams.”
“And what if YOU’RE the friendless loser with unfulfilled dreams, DAD?”
I turn to the unexpected source of the question in shock. Lee, my stepbrother, has come fully into the kitchen now, and his dull eyes aren’t dull at all: they’re fuming. Carl, still gripping my wrist, turns his stunned face to his son, baffled and speechless.
My stepbrother shakes his head. “You never wanted to be a mechanic. Everyone at the shop hates you. All your old drinking buddies can’t stand you. YOU’RE the friendless loser, stuck in a life you don’t want, with no drive anymore to chase your own dreams. That’s why you drink yourself to sleep every night.”
“Boy …” Carl is visibly wounded by his son’s words. “The hell this comin’ from?”
Tears fill Lee’s eyes, tears in a set of eyes I have never seen express any emotion my whole life. “I suck at football. I’m clumsy. I’m big and … uncoordinated. Everyone knows it, too. Even Coach Strong, despite all the chances he keeps givin’ me.” Carl starts to say something, but Lee talks over him. “Why’s it always up to you what everyone does with their lives, Dad? Who put you in charge like that? Why ain’t you ever listenin’ to me about what I want?”
“Son …” Carl, genuinely struck, finally lets go of my wrist to face his son completely. “What are you talkin’ about? I never—”
“I went to Toby’s play.”
Now that even has me staring at Lee in shock, my qualms with Carl momentarily forgotten.
“It’s where I went that Sunday of that weekend,” he explains. “I didn’t go to Doug’s house like I said I was. I … went to the play.” His foot starts fidgeting in place. It isn’t easy for him to admit this for some reason. “And I … I actually liked it. A lot. I thought … I-I thought Toby was really good in it. I’d never seen him like that. He was so good that … that I forgot who he was. I forgot he was Toby.” Lee drags his eyes off the floor and meets his father’s. “It even got me wondering if I should do something like that, too. I used to play make-believe in the backyard. Remember that, Dad? I used to play make-believe. Maybe football isn’t my—”
“Don’t you dare say it,” Carl cuts him off, his lips quivering as he holds back a new fit of anger.
After a moment, Lee glares at him. “So it’s like that with me, too, huh? I can’t say what I want? I can’t tell you the truth? Here’s another truth, Dad: That garage is … is b-beautiful.” He can barely get the word out, his fear of his dad strangling his throat. “Toby is gifted. I wish I was h-h-half as gifted as he is.”
“I swear, boy …”
“Swear all you want,” growls Lee. “It don’t change the truth.”
A stinging silence fills the air. When it becomes clear that the two of them have a whole other conversation that needs to take place, I abandon my position by the counter and head for the back door. “Where you think you’re goin’, boy?” my stepdad asks in an oddly soft, listless tone.
With a foot out the back door, I turn to him. “This is me giving you space to have time with your son … and also giving you what you ultimately wanted all along: me, gone.”
Something sad flickers in Carl’s eyes. It’s like victory, but with a note of bitter defeat.
That’s how I leave the two of them. I go into my shed, stuff