The Essay A Novel by The Essay (retail) (epub)

Author:The Essay (retail) (epub)
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Arcade Publishing
Published: 2012-10-15T16:00:00+00:00

There were two late plates on top of the stove—blue ceramic plates covered with aluminum foil. During football season, I ate most of my dinners cold—tepid at best. I peeled off the foil and found two pork chops, a mound of mashed potatoes covered with congealed gravy, and succotash, the green beans beginning to wilt. “Want me to throw that in a skillet and warm it up?” my mother asked, appearing from the living room with a wicker basket of dirty laundry.

“No, this is fine. Thanks. Where’s Edgel?”

“He’s off to Columbus with a truckload of parts for the Farnsworth boys. They said they’ve got enough work to keep him busy for a couple of weeks. That’ll be good for him.” She pulled a jug of milk from the refrigerator and poured me a glass, setting it and the jug in front of my plate, then snagged the loaf of Wonder Bread from the stainless steel bread box on the counter and dropped it on the table. “We’re out of butter.”

The other late plate was for my dad. I didn’t bother to ask his whereabouts. I didn’t really care as I preferred to eat my dinner in peace rather than listen to another of his drunken tirades. And if he wasn’t home for dinner, it was a foregone conclusion that he was leaning against one of the bars between home and McArthur, running up his bar tab and railing against Mr. Morgan. Drunk and freshly unemployed, there was no morsel of gossip too insignificant about his former employer that it couldn’t be repeated ad nauseam to anyone who would listen. I wondered how Dad was paying his bar bills now that he was unemployed, as I assumed all of my mother’s money was going to keep the house running. He didn’t seem overly concerned about finding work. Jobs were a scarce commodity in southeast Ohio, particularly if you were a drunk and a known troublemaker with the last name of Hickam. But as long as the barkeepers were giving him credit, I didn’t anticipate that Dad would be launching his employment search anytime soon.

Before Mom scooped up the basket, I added my sweaty practice togs to the pile. Her mouth puckered and she headed to the basement. I ate in silence and was still hungry after cleaning up the last of the potatoes and gravy with a slice of bread. The old man’s late plate looked tempting, but I instead went to the cupboard and retrieved a jar of peanut butter. I made myself a sandwich and poured another glass of milk. No sooner had I screwed the cap on the milk than my dad entered the kitchen from the front door and my mother from the basement. “Hungry?” she asked.

He grunted an affirmative and sat down without washing his hands. She put the plate in front of him and he promptly put an index finger in the mashed potatoes. “It’s cold, goddammit. Heat it up,” he said.

I could smell the beer on his breath from across the table.

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