A Short Short Story

“Confrontation at Home”
By
Robert Beebe
rbeebe52@yahoo.com

Mike looked up from his plate and gazed into the kitchen at the black-and-white cock-shaped clock about the stove. Seven o’clock. The dinner of meat loaf, mashed potatoes and peas had just been consumed and Mike’s younger brother and sister were clearing the table. Mike picked at the last few scraps of food on his plate. Only his mother, wearing a stained flowery apron, had remained at the table with him. His father had just retired to the living room and flicked on the TV. A gentle snoring was already emanating from his favorite polyester-fibered easy chair.

It had been two tortuous days at home.

For two days Mike had been trying to get up the courage to tell his parents about his recent his decision. He recalled vividly his long conversation with Nancy back at the university, up in her dorm room into the early morning hours, and his resolve at the end of it to leave school. Nancy understood. At times she seemed to be the only person in the world who did.

“Why don’t you finish up the meat loaf, Mike? There’s only that little bit left.”

Mike took the black rectangular pan from his mother and scraped the remaining corner piece onto his plate. From her seat at the end of the table, she began issuing her usual directives to her son and daughter concerning after-dinner clean-up. Mike watched her, glancing down at his plate on occasion to avoid being conspicuous in his attention of her.

Here was another opportunity. The minutes passed. The familiar pressure built dully within him. As he glanced at her, the graying hair pulled back from her low forehead, the deep-set brown eyes, a still-taut face that betrayed the beauty of her youth, her active mind focused on the details of her household. A sudden shiver swept Mike. He nibbled again at the meat loaf, closely scrutinizing the morsel on his fork before bringing it to his mouth. He lifted his eyes just as his mother was getting up from the table.

“Let’s go, Mike, so we can get these dishes done.”

Mike muttered a meek “okay” and sighed. But the relief was only momentary. A rush of frustration filled him as he rose from his chair, nearly causing him to drop his plate. He made his way half-consciously toward the kitchen. His mother was just then emerging, the weekly TV listings in hand. Speaking in a near-monotone, Mike was surprised at his own words.

“There’s something I want to tell you and Dad. I’ll be in the living room in a minute.” He shuffled quickly past, barely looking at his mother.

He stacked his plate unsteadily atop the existing pile, then rushed into the bathroom off the kitchen. Lingering there several minutes, he practiced his pronouncement and tried to calm himself.

He walked deliberately through the kitchen and toward the living room. As Mike approached he could see the TV set flickering in the far corner. A game show was on. He entered the room gingerly and promptly sat in the center of the couch against the near wall. Aside from the TV, the only other light in the room glowed from the corner where his mother was sitting. She looked up from her TV listings.

“Frank, Mike’s here,” she said in her soft voice, leaning leftward across her chair and shaking her husband’s arm.

“Wha…?” he murmured irritably as he awoke from the contentment of his nap. Puzzled, he lifted his head up.

“Mike’s here,” she repeated. “He said he has something to tell us.” She sat back in her chair and turned to Mike earnestly. “Go ahead, Mike.”

Mike was fumbling with one of the small orange couch pillows. He sat up and looked into his mother’s tender eyes, which were waiting patiently for Mike to begin. He glanced towards his father, who had also sat up and was alternately looking at him and the TV. He was in his usual home clothes: a yellowing undershirt that barely covered his large belly, gray work pants and slippers.

Mike had never felt so distant from his parents as he did at that moment. To them, he was still the boy who always did well in school, rarely went out with girls and helped with the dishes after dinner. How could they understand?

He slumped back on the couch. This was it. In a low, almost apathetic, tone, he droned, “I’ve been thinking about this for quite a while and I’ve finally decided to quit school.”

He looked up at his mother. She was leaning forward, her eyes fixed penetratingly on Mike. With the noise of the TV, she wasn’t quite sure that she had caught what he had said.

“What did you say/” You’re quitting school?” she inquired, her eyebrows knitting and her voice a decibel above its previous level. Her husband shifted in his chair, but said nothing.

Mike held his mother’s gaze. He must not falter. He was determined not to.

“Yes,” he affirmed.

“But…but why?” his mother asked, stunned.

Mike lowered his head. He hadn’t been prepared for that kind of reaction. He had been sure that first off he’d have to contend with his father’s anger, which had always intimidated him. But his father remained silent, his eyes fixed on the TV screen.

“Well…uh,” Mike began uneasily, “I’ve actually been thinking about it since last year. I don’t know. I just don’t think I’m getting much out of college.” He sat up, ready to do battle. “I can’t seem to get interested in my courses, and if I stay in school, I’m gonna have to decide in a few months on my major. I’m not ready for that.”

His mother looked over to her husband. His eyes remained fastened to the TV. She looked back at Mike.

“But Mike, you’ve always done so well in school. You’re the only one in our family who’s gone to college. Don’t throw away this opportunity.” Her hands gripped the arms of the chair tightly.

“That’s just it, Ma. I feel like I’m throwing away an opportunity just by being in college. I want to be out living and learning in the real world!”

His mother screwed up her eyes. His father sat back again in his chair, still watching the TV.

“Listen,” his mother returned, “this world is rough, and you’ve got to take every advantage if you’re ever going to get anywhere. Do you realize how important a college degree is? Once you’ve got that, a lot of places start taking an interest in you.”

Mike shook his head. She didn’t understand.

“But what if I’m not interested in them? I really don’t relish the thought of being a cog in some corporate machine.”

“Now don’t go talking like that,” his mother’s voice quavered. “I can see that some of your school friends have been putting ideas into your head. Kids who’ve probably never worked a stitch in their lives. They’ll find out some day. They’ll end up with nothing.” She wrenched her right hand from its grip to point a finger at her son. “Don’t make the same mistake, Mike. You’re more sensible than that.”

“I can’t…,” Mike murmured. The constant drone of the TV was interrupting his train of thought. “Can’t we shut that off?” he pleaded, waving his arm in the direction of the electronic box.

“No! I’m watching it!” darted back his little sister, who had slipped into the room unnoticed some moments before and plopped herself on the floor directly in front of the set.

Mike felt a rising sense of frustration and fatigue enveloping him. He stared at the floor.

“What would you do if you quit?” his mother asked, now quite agitated.

Mike looked up at his mother. Her face was reddened, eyes blinking. She was noticeably on the verge of tears. He responded with hesitation.

“Well, I was thinking of going out to Montana. Do you remember Steve? Well, he’s working on a ranch out there now and says he can get me a job.”

Mike knew that was not the sort of thing she wanted to hear, and it elicited the expected reaction. His mother leaped from her chair and, holding back tears, walked briskly out of the room. A few seconds later, sobs could be heard emanating from her bedroom.

His sister whirled her head around and stared at Mike wide-eyed. Mike returned the stare, then looked over at his father. Head cocked to one side against the back of the chair, he was snoring peacefully.

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