Father
and Son Version
“And Harvard’s left wing, number thirty-three, Nosedive
Featherburn blazes down the ice—”
From the net, the goalie watched through narrowed eyes the
blonde teen, dressed in a maroon and white jersey, cross his left leg over his
right and zip down the middle of the street. In his ears echoed the boy's
flamboyant narration.
“—He crosses the blue line—”
Under the teen's feet blurred the white lines that signaled
the upcoming stop sign.
“—He’s all alone! The Yale defense will never catch him!
It’s just he and the goalie!”
The teen lifted his head and met the goalie's ice-hard
glare, looking determined and unrelenting. Narrowing his eyes, just like the
goalie, flicking the puck from the left side of his stick to the right,
the blonde zoomed toward the holed and faded net that barely hung onto the
rusting crossbar. His eyes scrutinized the positioning, equipment, and almost
absurd mock-serious look upon the goalie’s face. Then, with a smirk, Nosedive
brought his arm back.
Stick flat on the blacktop, legs perfectly positioned in
butterfly style, the goalie left the five-hole wide open.
Or, so he wanted the boy to think...
For the love of Patrick—
“WAH!” The teen let the puck rip, his scream echoing in the
air—
—The goalie drew his leg pads close, squeezing them
together as the puck neared—
—But not nearly fast enough.
“OH!” The teen leapt on his rollerblades three feet into
the air at the sight of the puck in the back of the net. “You might not want to
opt for free agency, Kariya! Uh-huh, who’s the man?”
Wildwing Featherburn haggardly gathered himself on his
knees and pushed to his feet. Tearing off his mask, the white duck, at least
fifteen years older than his partying counterpart, stared at the puck in
the net. It couldn’t have gone in…unless…A
smug smile tugged onto his face.
The kid was getting good.
Nosedive fluttered about the net on his
skates, singing and dancing to what seemed like “Glory Days.”
Wildwing’s sharp blue eyes softened as he smiled at the teen and his own eyes
returned the gaze.
“No way that was legal, you know.”
“What!” Nosedive shouted
incredulously. His face immediately twisted into an incensed expression. “Are
you kidding? What game were you watching?”
“Your right wing crossed the blue
line way before the puck. Off-sides. Doesn’t count. Sorry.”
“Hold the puck, Pop.” Rotating on
his skates, the teen swept a hand over the empty street. “Okay, I got the puck
from the left defense behind the net, took it up the middle ice, where I passed
both my team’s center and right wing, then crossed the blue line, therefore
eliminating the possibility of off-sides.”
Wildwing sighed and shook his head.
“Wrong again, kiddo. You got the puck from the right defense, who was by the left side of the net, at which time,
you zoomed up the right side of the ice, while your right wing crossed over the
blue line on the left side.”
“No! That’s impossible!”
The teen studied the street for the moment as a
sprinkler from the lawn to the left of them sprtiz a few drips of water over
their heads, though both ignored the brief shower. The trees swayed from just
beyond the sidewalks of the suburban setting, while down the road a little girl
rode her bike.
Rubbing his chin, Nosedive finally elbowed the older man in
the stomach. “Ah ha! I’m the left wing! Why would I get the puck on the right
side and go up the right side of the ice? That makes no sense whatsoever! Not
to mention, my right wing would be screaming at me to get off his side, which
makes you completely and totally full of—”
“What your language.”
“I was going to say, 'Oscar Mayer,’
but if you want to adlib your own word, be my guest.”
*BEEP!*
*BEEP!*
*BEEEEEEP!*
The two swiveled on their skates,
and Nosedive gasped loudly at the sight of a car screeching toward them.
Frozen, beak agape and eyes huge, the teen was completely unhinged.
Wildwing vaulted from his position a few feet from the net and wrapped an arm
around the boy's waist, slamming Nosedive to the ground. His other arm
encircled the teen's chest, so his body safeguarded his son's as they rolled
just out of the path of the oncoming car. Scrapping to a halt by the side
of the road, Wildwing lifted his head and gave it a quick shake to
rid himself of the falling-off-the-edge-of-the-world feeling. Underneath him
shifted his son, groaning and wiggling in pain...and under the weight
and in the tight grip of his father.
"You all right, kiddo?" Wildwing asked,
lightly touching his son's head and tilting up his beak so their eyes met.
"You're not dead or anything because that would not look good on my
parenting record."
Nosedive hissed in pain, causing Wildwing to
immediately release his son. "Not for nothing, Dad, but lose a little
poundage there, huh?”
"Wildwing, you and Dive all right, Sugar?" A
hoarse, female voice interjected, echoing from a short distance.
Wildwing rolled his eyes toward the curly-haired,
elder female standing on the porch a house down. He waved
to her with a grimacing smile. "Nothing broken, cracked, fried, or seared,
Babette, but the day is young!”
"Hey, next time, honey," she added quickly in her
gruff voice, "make sure to teach your kid to stay out of the street, all
right? It’s dangerous playing in the middle like that."
Nosedive shifted again and let out a deep breath,
redirecting Wildwing’s attention toward the car. “You know, I think he just
killed our players.”
“Net stuck underneath his bumper.
Probably lots of damage to his radiator.”
“He’s going to blame us, isn’t he?”
“Well, we can’t play hockey with only two players,
anyway…so…”
At that, the car door opened, and a
man in a three-piece suit stepped out of the Mercedes. He eyed Wildwing, still
shielding Nosedive on the ground, then the net jammed under the front of his
car. As the man opened his mouth, his face scrunching in a perturbed manner,
Wildwing rolled off his son and hauled the younger duck to his feet.
"So, Dad,” Nosedive laughed,
“game cancelled, huh?"
Grabbing his son by the collar of
his shirt, Wildwing pushed Nosedive toward the white house behind them.
“RUN!”
"Featherburn Boys"
Where you lead, I will follow, anywhere that you tell me
to. If you need, if you need me to be with you, I will follow where you lead.
Nosedive finished his last geometry
problem, slammed shut his textbook, and quickly reached inside his backpack,
switching it for another book. Flipping through his notebook, he curled the
front cover to the back for a fresh sheet of paper and ripped open his history
book to the questions he had for homework.
He idly noticed the person to his
left, a girl painting her fingernails, turn to the redhead in front of him.
“Slambook?”
Another student, cladded in varsity gear, whispered, “Love
note?”
In front of him, the red-haired girl peeked over her
shoulder and stared at his paper. “Homework,” she murmured incredulously. “He’s
doing homework!”
Well, he was trying to, at least.
The only problem was he couldn’t get that darn song out of his head.
I
wish that I had Jesse’s girl…
!!!
"I hate the off season," Wildwing sighed, walking
behind the front desk. He plopped his binder down next to a dark-feathered duck
and loosened his tie from around his neck. "Five rooms empty, and worse is
that it’s so quiet that I have an Eighties’ song stuck in my head!”
Duke L’Orange, dressed in a sharply pressed suit, turned
his glare from the computer screen to the manager. “Which one?”
“Jesse’s Girl.
It’s reminds me of Canard’s nephew, Jess.”
“What? You fantasize about Canard’s nephew?”
“No, but thanks for getting that vision in my head,”
Wildwing scowled, getting up from the seat and checking the phone to make sure
it was working. “I’d just rather have U2
or at least Bon Jovi stuck in my head.”
“So much leather. Mullets.” Duke nodded knowingly. “Those
were the days.”
“Thank you, Archie Bunker,” Wildwing smirked and pushed
open the swinging door to the kitchen.
"Oh, by the way," Duke called facetiously,
"the mail arrived earlier."
The door swung back open, and Wildwing stormed out with a
hard look upon his face. "I told you I wanted to be informed the minute it
arrived."
"There were no carrier pigeons available when Kirk
came."
Striding up the desk, Wildwing put his palm out. "Hand
it over."
"Now, is that any way to talk to your employees?"
Duke reached under the desk, pulling out a batch of envelopes.
Wildwing glowered at Duke. "Don’t make me hire a new
concierge."
"You'll have to do better than idle threats."
"Give me the mail or else I'll go all
Dog-the-Bounty-Hunter on you."
"Wear leather often, huh?"
"Only when I’m hunting outlaws, renegades, and crazed
concierges." Wildwing snatched the envelopes from Duke's hands and riffled
through them quickly. He stopped short at a particular letter, though no bigger
or smaller than the others. His eyes widened considerably. His heart skipped a beat.
“It’s here…”
“That’s it?” Duke inquired skeptically. “That’s what you’ve
been waiting a month to receive? A simple letter?”
“This is no simple
letter, my friend,” Wildwing admonished, walking backwards toward the kitchen.
“This is the Lost Ark, the ala mode on the cake. This is the Wal-Mart of
letters, Duke.”
“Ah. You got Nosedive’s Chilton acceptance letter, I take
it.”
“Right here,” Wildwing breathed in awe as he held the
letter up to the light and studied its contents. “For my son’s dreams to be
honored and full-filled…”
“Or to be crushed like a suspected warlock in
“SHH!” He covered the letter with his jacket and eyed Duke
bitterly. “It can hear you.” Pushing the door open with his butt, Wildwing
entered the kitchen. “Sookie!”
A myriad of kitchen aides and chefs hustled and bustled
about the area, chopping vegetables on the island, baking in the oven at the
far right corner, and sautéing something that Wildwing didn’t even know what.
It smelled like a mixture of macaroni and cheese and guacamole. He made a
bee-line toward the stove, his nose-holes leading him blindly—
—when a hand caught his elbow by the refrigerator. A
heavy-set woman with her hair tied in a bandana peeked out from behind the
door.
"What? Are we out of coffee again?” Sookie St. James
asked as she dropped a hunk of carrots on the kitchen table and wiped her hands
with a rag. “I’m telling you, Wildwing. I know that it might seem like it, but
no coffee is not the Apocalypse.”
Wildwing simply held up the letter in front of her face.
Wide-eyed, she gasped. “It’s here?” She seized it and
surveyed it.
“It’s here,” Wildwing confirmed.
“So…wow, it’s
here,” She emphasized, downcast.
“I think we established that,” Wildwing commented coolly,
then grabbed the letter back.
Sookie nodded indecisively, then cringed. “Would it be
wrong to…”
“Maybe if I suggested it, since I am his father, but if you
did…”
“Wildwing, do you think we should open it?” Sookie said
concernedly, her voice full of mirth. “What happens if he didn’t get in? I
think we should be the ones to tell him, not those Legal Blonde admission officers who only admit blondes in bikinis.”
“Dive’s blonde,” Wildwing pointed out.
“But doesn’t look that great in bikini.”
“Good point. So, it
would be much easier coming from me if he didn’t get in, right? So, really, I’m a good father by doing
this,” Wildwing replied instantly.
“I think we have sufficiently rationalized it. Yes.”
“Good enough for me.” Wildwing took the knife Sookie handed
him and used it as an envelope opener, slicing through the paper swiftly. He
snatched the letter from the envelope and unfolded it with vigor. His hands
shaking, he didn’t glance up as his eyes darted back and forth on the page.
“Is it one of those ‘little envelopes’ good or ‘little
envelopes’ bad?”
Wildwing’s eyes glistened as he raised them from the paper.
“One of those little envelopes to frame!”
“He’s in?”
“He’s in!” Wildwing repeated, latching onto Sookie and
jumping up and down. Their euphoric laughter echoed throughout the kitchen. The
crew stopped in their tracks and observed the frenetic friends with
bewilderment. Why were they so happy?
Sookie released her boss and smiled. “Coffee?”
“To hell with coffee!” Wildwing dismissed. “Get a beer! Get
Dive a beer!”
“Huh. I wonder if Harry Potter started his private school
adventure the same way.”
As Sookie clipped off the top of a Budweiser and handed it
to Wildwing, Duke slipped through the
swinging door. “Oh, drinking on the job? What are we, the Bush Administration?”
Wildwing peered over his shoulder and glared at Duke. “I’m
sorry. Monster.com called. They said your resumé needed to be posted again.”
“I posted it yesterday to get away from my eccentric boss.”
“How’s that coming?” Wildwing picked up Duke’s empty hand.
“I don’t see a letter of resignation. Was it typed by the Invisible Man?”
Duke accepted a bottle from Sookie. “So, to what are we
toasting? World Peace?”
“To Dive, “ Sookie boasted, waving the letter in the air.
“He got into Chilton!”
“Ah. Teenage pregnancy.”
Wildwing glowered at the concierge, then clicked his bottle
with Duke’s. “Works for me. God bless my little fluke and no one else.”
“Amen,” Sookie giggled, and the three swigged their beers.
“Oh!” Duke put down his glass and thumbed over his
shoulder. “Fearless manager, there’s an irate business man who has a Donald
Trump complex at the front desk. He says he made a reservation, but I can’t
find it.”
“The job of manager is never done,” Wildwing commented as
he tightened his tie and handed his bottle to Sookie. Walking back into the
main room, he froze at the sight of the man standing at the reservation desk.
Dressed completely in a three-piece suit, his face still red from shouting, the
man looked oddly familiar.
It clicked almost audibly, and Wildwing glanced out the
front window. Sure enough, parked in the first space was a dented Mercedes.
“Sorry,” Wildwing said as he walked about the desk and
grinned professionally at the man, “we’re all booked up.”
!!!
Staring at the coffee stagnating in his cup, Wildwing
swished it around, then brought it up to his nose. After a tentative inhale,
his fears were affirmed. Conspiratorially, he looked left, then right. The
owner of the establishment was in the kitchen, leaving the coffee pot open for
the taking. Getting up on his stool, Wildwing strategically placed one knee on
the counter and reached over the small walkway in between the counter and the
wall. Grasping the black-handled pot on the heater, he leapt at the sudden
interruption and almost dropped the pot.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Wildwing didn’t move. “I’m sitting
safely in my seat, drinking my freshly brewed caffeinated coffee.” Creeping backwards, he once more plopped onto
his stool. He pushed his filled cup down the countertop to the tan mallard
standing a few feet away and pored the coffee into his new empty cup.
Taking a sip, he savored the flavor.
“See?”
Canard Bronzeplume shook his head,
his backwards blue baseball cap mimicking his disapproval. “This side of the
counter is for the owner and employees only, Wildwing.”
“Employees? Plural? You only have Caesar,” Wildwing felt compelled to point
out.
“You know what I meant,” his best
friend vexed. “You cannot walk, amble, dance, or frolic on this side of the
counter.” Canard motioned with his hands where he stood.
“I rarely frolic, and I wasn’t doing
any of those. I was leaning. There is
a difference.”
The bell hanging on the door to the
diner dangled, and Wildwing whirled on his stool. An instinctive smile
enveloped his beak as a particular blonde teenager bustled into the corner
diner.
“Hey Dad!” Nosedive greeted as he plopped on the stool next
to his father. He looked briefly to the owner and spurted, “Hey Canard!” before
once more focusing on the white drake. His voice bubbled with excitement. “You
will never guess—” His voice faded to silence as his mind processed the
exasperated look on Canard’s face and the crossed arms. “What did you do? I was
only a minute late!” Nosedive accused, pointing a finger at his father.
“He gave me decaf! Decaf!”
Wildwing directed blame.
“Shoot me for trying
to get you healthy,” Canard offhanded, then pulled out his notebook. “So, what
can I get you guys?”
Nosedive looked to his father. “What’s today?”
“Tuesday.”
“Oh, then our Tuesday usual,” he proclaimed with a gleeful
smile.
Canard tipped his pencil at Nosedive and scolded Wildwing,
“See? This is what happens when you don’t nourish your son.”
“What are you talking about? He asked for our Tuesday
usual,” Wildwing objected.
“You don’t have a Tuesday usual. Remember? You have a
Monday usual, a Wednesday usual, even a Saturday every-other-week-usual, but
Tuesday is the day—”
“Without usuals,” Wildwing and Nosedive finished in unison.
“Oh, that’s right. Then, a burger,” the teen returned.
“But didn’t you get a burger last Tuesday?” Wildwing asked.
“Then, the burger would be like a
usual, and you can’t have that.”
“You want a dead cow, too, or no?” Canard seethed at the
older Featherburn.
Wildwing shrugged. “Is there mad cow in it? I really would
like to catch that before the Avian flu. ”
Canard sighed exasperatingly. “Dead cow it is!”
Shaking his head, the diner owner took off toward the
kitchen.
Watching his
retreating back, Nosedive dropped his book bag to the floor and thumbed, “Is he
okay? He seems more angry than usual.”
“I leaned,”
Wildwing admitted sheepishly.
“Aw, Dad, you know how he hates that.”
Wildwing shrugged. “It’s his fault, anyway. So, you were
saying something about something…”
Nosedive blinked, then pondered with a scrunched face,
“About what?”
“Something.”
Taking his father’s cup of coffee
and sipping, Nosedive shrugged noncommittally. “I forget.”
“Well, if you don’t have anything…”
Wildwing opened his jacket and handed Nosedive an envelope. “It came.”
“It?” Nosedive echoed, riveted. “As
in it it?”
“Unless there’s another it.”
Nosedive flipped the envelope over
and slumped. “DAD! It’s been opened!”
“No, it hasn’t,” Wildwing defended
indignantly.
Sending his father his usual
mock-angered glare, Nosedive spat, “Then what’s with the tape?”
“Uh…It came that way.”
“Right,”
Nosedive threw the envelope on the counter and refused to relinquish his
father’s life force when Wildwing beckoned for it with his hand. “So, am I in?”
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
Wildwing inquired.
“Why?” Nosedive shifted on his
stool. “You know. Just tell me.”
“Come on. Where’s the fun in that?”
“It’s better from Daddy-O than a
stupid letter anyway. So,” Nosedive asked earnestly, “am I in?”
A contented smile furled onto
Wildwing’s beak. “Yeah, kiddo. You’re in!”
“How?” Nosedive blinked, though a
tiny smirk etched itself onto the corner of his beak.
“Your 4.0 might have something to do
with it,” Wildwing supplied.
Nosedive looked suspiciously at his father, asking
pointedly, “You didn’t sleep with the principal, did you?”
“What? NO! Kiddo, that was just a
joke. I don’t swing that way, hence you.”
“Oh.” Nosedive blinked again,
unhinged, then vaulted into his father’s arms. “Thank you!” He exclaimed. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”
“Why are you thanking me?” Wildwing
smiled fondly, trailing his fingers through his son’s hair. “You’re the one who
did it.”
“Yeah, but you’re paying for it.”
Wildwing froze. Oh, Stars…
Nosedive shot up and grabbed the
letter off the counter. “Can I go tell Lane?”
“Uh, why don’t you leave it here?”
Wildwing disputed, taking it from his son’s hands. “I was thinking of framing
it.”
Nosedive sent his father a sideways
glance. “The last thing you framed was my last place ribbon in the fifty-yard
dash.”
“At least you placed,” smirked
Wildwing, then pushed his son toward the door. “Go now before the food comes
‘cause you know I don’t like eating without my offspring.”
Sending his father a unconvinced
glare, Nosedive hurried out the door.
As soon as he left, Wildwing ripped
open the letter with a butter knife, then unfolded the acceptance letter.
Placing the letter behind the second page, Wildwing read with a horrified
vigor. His sight flew over a certain number, and he gagged.
“You okay?” Canard inquired, as he
wiped his rag down the counter. He halted, noticing the wild look in his best
friend’s eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Coff—ee,” Wildwing croaked. He thrust his cup into Canard’s hand. “Need
coffee—now!”
!!!
“Hi, yes, I’m Wildwing Featherburn,”
Wildwing started as he sat down on his couch. He sighed awkwardly, as if the
weight of the world was pressing down upon his shoulders. “I…uh…my son just got
into your school…Thank you, but see, that’s why I’m calling.”
Pausing for a moment, he summoned up
his resolve, and a pang of embarrassment fluttered in his gut at what he had to
divulge. He hesitated, then surveyed the paper in front of him. “Does your school offer any scholarships or
financial aid? I took a peek at your tuition bill and enrollment fee, and wow,
there’s an awful lot of zeroes behind that five...No, I understand that
He shot to his feet, not being able
to sit any longer. “No! I don’t want you to give away his spot. He worked
really hard to…When does it have to be paid?...When he starts? But that’s
Monday!” He shook his head and grimaced. “That doesn’t give me a whole lot of
time to knock over banks. How many do you think it’ll take to paid this?”
Pacing, he stifled a dry laugh. “I
meant to steal for…never mind. Just don’t give up Nosedive’s spot. I’ll get the
money…somehow…Yeah, it was great talking to you, too. A treat.”
He scowled and threw the phone to
couch. Appalled, he gathered his bearings and looked to the fireplace mantle.
Pictures adorned the edge, all of them of he and his son. One of Nosedive and
he after fishing, though they caught nothing because it was cruelty to animals;
another of Nosedive at two, and Wildwing helping him to walk. Nosedive wore a
shirt that had once been Wildwing’s, which the father had sown to be his son’s
size. Money had been tight back then. In order to make ends meet, Wildwing had
to make his son’s clothes from his old ones after a fellow “housekeeper” taught
him how to sew.
He had found a way to make a living
for he and his son out of almost nothing. There was a solution to this. He just
how to find it.
“I don’t think you have a choice,” Sookie said twenty
minutes later. Sitting down on the porch swing outside of the house, she rocked
slowly back and forth.
Wildwing sipped his beer indignantly and savored the bland
taste in his beak. Swallowing, he spat, “No. I’m not going to them.” He shifted
uncomfortablly upon the porch’s railing. “I escaped from that
“Sure, in between running the Independence Inn, going for
your Associate’s Degree, and raising your son completely by yourself, there’s
time to wait tables,” Sookie agreed sardonically. “Of course, the latter of
that will probably go out the window because you’ll never see Dive.”
Wildwing rubbed his thumb along the bottle’s opening and
let out one, scoffing laugh. He slumped against the pole. “Going to my parents
is not an option, Sookie. It’s not.”
Raising from her seat and laying a comforting hand on his
shoulder, the older woman perked up suddenly. “How about Tanya? Why don’t you
give her a call?”
The answer was instantaneous and bitter. “No. I promised
her I would never ask her for anything when she agreed not to have the
abortion. I’m not going back on that now.” His free hand curled into a fist and
shook fervently.
“Then, honey, I don’t see another option.”
“So what do I say when they answer the door?” Wildwing
grumbled. “ ‘Hey, Mom, Dad. It’s been sixteen years. How are you? I’m good.
Need some money, though.’ ”
A clatter behind them drew their curiosity, and out of the
front door Nosedive leapt. Hanging from his shoulders was an absurdly big, blue
blazer with a yellow monogram on the left breast. The sleeves completely
concealed his hands, the material at least three inches past the tips of his
fingers.
“So, what do you think?” Nosedive asked, turning around for
effect. “So! So!”
Sookie simply giggled, while Wildwing smiled but suppressed
a laugh. “You look good, kiddo, but I think you’re too much like Jim Carrey at
the end of Batman Forever. I’m going
to have to hem it a little.”
Nosedive flipped the excessive long sleeve around. “Well,
if you thinks so…”
“You’re okay here, Wildwing?” asked Sookie as she grabbed
her jacket and headed toward the stairs.
“Yeah, I’ll…figure something out. Thanks for stopping,
Sookie.”
“Not a problem.” She
tasseled Nosedive’s hair on the way out. “You might want to get a haircut,
Dive.”
“I’m going to a private school, not an army academy,” he
seethed, albeit facetiously.
As soon as Sookie was out of an earshot, Nosedive cocked
his head to side. “You’ll ‘figure something out’? Is everything okay, Dad?”
Wildwing draped a hand about his son’s shoulders and led
him inside the house. “Everything’s peachy keen, Dive.” Then he added for his
own comfort, “Everything’s peachy keen.”
!!!
Wildwing sipped his coffee cup as he
sat on the footstep of his jeep. He peered up at the house—no, the American Taj
Mahal—in front of him. Brown brick adorned the front, while the windows were
made with the crossing metal that was only of the highest society. In the middle
of the cobblestone driveway was a fountain, where water coursed down the
concrete dolphins in the middle of the sea of sparkling, clear liquid, despite
the overcast sky. Ivan Ilyich would be proud.
Wildwing scowled. There had to be
another way. He just had to figure it out. Too bad he didn’t have the time.
Someone up there just didn’t like,
he finally resigned. Someone had it out for him. Either that, or He/She were
just laughing Himself/Herself sick watching him squirm.
Lifting his beak vertical, Wildwing put his cup to his beak
and allowed the life-sustaining coffee to trickle down his throat. When the
liquid failed to fill his beak again, he closed one eye to focus the other on
the mouth hole of the cup. Empty. Wonderful. Now he had no excuse to procrastinate
any longer.
How about not wanting to do this?
He needed the money by Monday—It
wasn’t a valid reason.
Doggy-doody.
In fact, he would rather step in
doggy-doody every day for the rest of his entire life rather than go in the
house. However, that was impossible. Taking a deep breath, Wildwing heaved
himself to his feet and threw his coffee cup absentmindedly through the jeep’s
open window. Step by step, he closed the distance between his jeep and the
door.
As he reached the door, he knocked
quickly so as not to lose his nerve. Bracing himself, he shifted his weight
apprehensively from one foot to another. Tumult ravaged his stomach, and all he
wanted to do was run away like Toby Tyler. If this was for anyone but his son,
he would have kept his last statement to his parents true.
“I don’t need your money, Daddy and Mommy Warbucks. Go to
Hell!”
Man, why did he have to love his kid?
Finishing his count to one, he shrugged and swiveled to
leave. No one was home. Not his fault. He tried. Of course, as his luck would
happen, the door opened, and an elderly woman with curly, dyed red hair stood
in the doorway. She wore a shiny gold shirt that cut at her chest, while the
ends of it tucked into her brown dress pants. Her tense chin lifted superiorly
high, she stared at Wildwing through two narrowed and venomous eyes. Her glare
was almost tense enough to burn a hole through his head, though he had longed
become immune to its effects.
“Wild…wing?” She
asked suddenly. For a split second, Wildwing thought he might have heard euphoria or at least shock, and the same emotions
flashed through her features. As quickly as it came, though, the glimpse he got
of the stoic women was lost. Her defense mechanism reconstructed itself faster
than the Flash.
It had been sixteen years, and still, nothing had changed.
“Hey, Mom,” Wildwing greeted with a forced smile. “How have
you been?”
The Hilary Clinton of
“Better than you have faired,” she
commented grimly. “Where have you been? Greek housing?”
Wildwing sighed. Hell had not
frozen over currently. Good thing to note. “Nice to see you, too, Mom.”
“Well, you might as well come in. I
hear there is a storm coming, and you wouldn’t want to be in it.”
And
heading directly into another one, he thought dryly, then stepped into the
house. Blizzard 2005.
Remembering tradition, he took off
his dress coat and handed it to the maid that serendipitously entered at the
precise moment she was needed. Of course, Emily Gilmore wasn’t pleased.
“Sheryl, where were you? The
doorball rang, and you answer it. How hard is that?” the mistress of the house
snapped.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I was working on
lunch—”
“I didn’t realize that simple task
took your whole entire brain capacity. Next time we might as well ask our guest
not to come when you’re busy,” Emily scowled. She once more directed her gaze
to Wildwing, who rubbed his neck idly.
“Is there something wrong with your neck?” Emily asked
sharply.
Wildwing immediately dropped his hand. “Yeah, Mom. I got
whiplash by being in your line of fire.”
“Then would you like ice? Possibly a shower? A pressed suit
might also do the trick.” With that, she turned on her heel and strode off, her
high heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She halted just before the living
room and peered back at Wildwing. “Well, are you coming or staying in the
foyer? I’m sure your father would fancy shouting through a megaphone from the
living room to alert the neighbors of your return to
Why did he come again? Wait…wait…oh, yeah. Nosedive. He had
to keep his son in mind.
As he followed his mother into the living room, Wildwing
realized not much had changed. Antiques were still used for furniture, even
though people were allowed to sit on them. Of course, no feet on the furniture
or else Earth would implode. To the left were the stairs, mimicking Rhett and
Scarlett’s home, while a liquor cabinet adorned the bottom. Behind the
furniture and to the right were the patio doors which led to the pool house,
and directly facing Wildwing was the fireplace. Above it was a painting of the
family. The master and mistress of the house stood in the background, while
Wildwing sat in between them in the front. He wore a smile that resembled more
of a smirk. It said, “This picture isn’t really what the family is like.”
However, unexpectedly, a pain seared through his chest. It was familiar, yet
forgotten, dulled by time. It was the same pain he received every time he
thought of his parents. He wanted them to be supportive of him, to accept him,
to love him. While he knew the latter was in part true, he wanted them to
accept him for whom he was, not the “major disappointment” they deemed him.
“Richard, look who’s here,” Emily instructed as she took a
seat next to her husband.
Wildwing blinked and redirected his gaze. Richard Gilmore,
reading the newspaper intently, looked up. His legs were crossed in the
gentlemanly way, while his reading glasses were perched on the bridge of his
nose. Like Wildwing had always known him, he was dressed in a sharply pressed
suit, so much more so than Wildwing’s, making the son seem almost untidy.
Instead of a tie, the elderly man wore a bow-tie.
His father gasped in surprise, “Wildwing?”
Well, at least he was more animated than his mother. “Hey,
Dad. Time flies, huh?” spoke Wildwing with a lopsided grin as he took a seat on
the smaller couch across from his parents.
Folding up his paper and placing it upon the coffee table,
the elder man simply stared at Wildwing, much like his mother had only a minute
ago.
Wildwing rubbed his hands together and suffered the visual
examination in silence. Eventually, the two would get around to talking again,
and he could play the silent game as long as they could. In the meantime, maybe
he could pray for divine intervention.
Finally, after about another minute of awkward silence,
Richard cleared his throat. “You’re tall. Isn’t he tall, Emily?” He stated with
some sort of pride.
“I can see that he is. I’m not blind.” Shifting her legs,
she asked, “Would you like a drink, Wildwing? It’s been sixteen years. I
surmise you must be old enough now.”
“A beer,” Wildwing sighed thankfully, ignoring her sarcasm.
He might as well ride the liquor horse. If he was lucky, he’d pass out.
“A…beer?” She
questioned incredulously. “You want…a beer?”
“One nitwit juice is good, Mom. Thanks.”
“We don’t have beer,”
she clipped.
Figures. “Then whatever you’ve got that has liquor is fine. If
not, just get me the mouthwash.”
Her tense face was a dead giveaway of her dislike of his
rebellion, but what else was knew? She stood instantly and walked behind
Wildwing to the liquor cabinet.
“So, Wildwing,” Richard scooted to the edge of his seat,
“where have you been? The last thing I remember is a note saying you were
leaving.”
Wildwing gritted his teeth. Direct to the point. No idle
babble, huh? “After I left here, I went to Star’s Hallow.”
“That’s a half an hour away,” his mother interjected
bitterly, practically shoving the drink into his hand. It looked like vodka
tonic, and he suddenly wished for something stronger.
“You don’t say? I hadn’t noticed.” Shaking his head,
Wildwing recollected his thoughts. As he opened his beak, his mother cut him
off.
“You aren’t a gigolo, are you?”
He snorted in his drink. “W—What? Are you serious?”
“Well, there aren’t many options for a young male in
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom,” Wildwing snapped.
“No. I’m actually working toward my Associate’s Degree, so I’m not Deuce
Bigolo. I’m the executive manger of an inn in Stars’ Hallow.”
Both Emily and Richard choked on their drinks, and Wildwing
found himself finishing his off in one swig. He gave his head one, rough shake.
A zinger of a drink. Actually whisky. Not bad.
“You work at an inn?” His father scowled.
“I run the inn,”
Wildwing retorted.
“So, I can see you’re not married,” his mother rejoined
bitterly.
Wildwing looked down at his left hand and began to rub his
ring finger absently. “No, Mom. I’m not, but thanks for bringing that up.”
Emily wiped off her shirt with a napkin. “What do you want,
Wildwing? Why did you come back now?”
“Can’t I just come and visit my parents?” Wildwing asked,
feigning innocence.
His mother stared with masked malevolence and piqued
bewilderment. She suddenly gasped and spurted, “You need money, don’t you?”
Wildwing grimaced and waited.
“Well, do you?”
Putting up a finger, Wildwing looked about the room. “Hold
on. I figure I’m due for divine intervention. I prayed about five minutes ago,
so...”
“Wildwing,” his father provoked.
A heavy sigh resounded from Wildwing’s beak, and his body
slouched. “Yes, I need money.”
“For what?” Emily challenged.
He rubbed his temples, attempting to elevate the pressure
mounting. “See, Nosedive got into Chilton, and there’re more zeroes in the
tuition than my monthly paycheck.”
“Nosedive? Who’s
Nosedive?” Richard asked. A dark expression contorted his face. “You didn’t
have another illegitimate child, did you?”
Wildwing rolled his eyes and chose
to ignore the accusation. “I…uh…don’t call ‘Little Wing’ ‘Little Wing’ anymore.
He has the nickname…Nosedive.”
“How did he get that nickname? How am I supposed to tell my friends at the club my
grandson is nicknamed a type of crash?”
“The same way you tell them your son
is named ‘Wildwing,’ ” The white mallard pierced, then laid his hands on his
knees. “Look, Dive has dreamed about going to Harvard since he could talk. I
think his first word wasn’t ‘Da-Da’ but ‘Ha-vad,’ and if you could just pay the
bill, which I will definitely pay back in full, it would mean the world to him.
He’s worked so hard for this, and
he’s such a great kid.”
“Not Yale?” Emily questioned
quizzically. “Your father went to Yale.”
“It was Dive’s choice, Mom. Not
mine.”
Emily sat back on the couch and
crossed her arms. A conniving smirk curled upon her mouth. “Well, then, this
certainly a different predicament, isn’t it?”
Wildwing didn’t at all like the look on her face. “Mom—”
“We’ll pay for
Leaned closer, Wildwing stammered,
“W—W—What was that?”
“Wildwing, I want to be a part of
your life again. No, a part of yours and…Nosedive’s
lives again. Therefore, we’ll see you on Friday, I’ll give you another call
about a mid-week, and we’ll pay for Chilton.”
“But—But—”
She cocked her head to the side. “Is
seven good for you?”
The white mallard scowled, his mind
reeling for a way out of this. He thought it was bad enough having to borrow
money from his parents, but now an every week assault on what a disappointment
he was?
“Look, I’d just really appreciate it
if you didn’t tell Dive about this,” Wildwing broached.
Richard rose from his seat, to which
Wildwing followed. “Fair enough.” He shook his son’s hand. “See you Friday then, Wildwing. Now, if you’d
excuse me, I have a conference call.”
“I’m sure you know the way out,” his
mother said starkly, “in case you need me to draw you a map.” She took off up
the stairs.
Shaking his head and lugging himself
toward the door, Wildwing halted in the foyer. He smirked sadly and was
suddenly filled with morose. In sixteen years, nothing had changed.
!!!
“I can’t believe it!” Nosedive
screeched as he slammed shut his locker. “My last day of ever having this
locker!”
“Last day of the moldy smell of the
hallways,” an Asian girl with black glasses celebrated with him.
“Last day of shit on a shingle!”
“Last day of Old Mrs. Bondicle!”
Nosedive’s face fell slightly. “Last
day of being in school with you.”
Lane Kim blinked, then sighed. “That
means I’ll be all alone in her class. How could you do that to me?”
“What if I think about you every
time I have math class?” Nosedive presented with a smile.
“As long as you stay my best friend,
I’m good,” Lane smirked, then thumbed behind her. “I have to run while I can
before Mrs. Kim’s time clock notices I’m five minutes late. It’s better than
the official time at
“What’s tonight?” Nosedive asked. He
bent down to the floor and picked up the box next to his locker filled with its
contents—a few books, pictures, a fuzzy pink thing he didn’t remember dropping
in his locker.
“Oh, I’m meeting another potential mate. A premed student.”
Her voice was tainted with disdain, together, she and Nosedive headed toward
the exit.
Nosedive pushed the door open with
his back and headed outside. “Oh, man. Why don’t you just tell her you’ll marry
me? Then you won’t have any problems.”
“I would, but you’re missing one of
Mrs. Kim’s prime aspects of my mate. Korean, you’re not.” She dropped the book
she was holding into the box. “Call me later. I’ll tell you all about tonight’s
communal suffering.”
“So this is what I get for leaving
school, huh?” He yelled at her retreating back.
“Watch out!”
Startled, he pivoted on his heel,
wide-eyed at the sight of vulcanized rubber speeding toward him. Lifting up his
box, Nosedive caught the puck on the edge, and it ricocheted into his package.
“Creamed by my own team? I’ll sue
myself for damages,” Nosedive muttered as he dropped his box to the ground and
plucked the puck from its contains.
“The
Mighty Ducks, right?”
He craned his neck and spotted the
redhead looking down at him. Blinking, he slowly rose from his crouching
position, unsure if she was talking to him. He glanced behind him, seeing no
one there. He gazed at her and saw the tight fitting sweater than cut right at
the buckle of her waist, but that wasn’t what mesmerized him. Her emerald green
shone back at him, amused and twinkling, as her flame hair seemed to whisk like
embers floating off a fire into the night sky.
She was beautiful.
“Wh-huh?”
“Very astute,” she laughed and took
the puck from his hands. Turning sharply, she threw it to the hockey players
skating on the basketball court. “The
Mighty Ducks, right? The animated series, not the movies. The movies were
actually cornier than the TV show.”
Nosedive blinked, finally realizing
she was talking to him. To him! “You know that series?”
“Totally.” She put out her hand.
“I’m Mallory, by the way. Mallory McMallard.”
He wiped his sweaty hand on his
jeans and clasped hers. “Dive—”
“Nosedive Featherburn, I know,” she
returned with a grin.
“Well, it’s actually Wildwing Featherburn, without the
junior. My dad actually toyed with the idea of naming me ‘Tanya’ after my
mother, since why can’t women have children named after them? But in the end,
he thought that was a little weird,” he rambled nervously. Why was he telling
her this? “So, he named me after him, but didn’t like the junior after it.
‘Nosedive’ is just my nickname because my father dropped me on my head once,
and his best friend, Canard, thought I did a ‘nosedive.’ The name kinda stuck…uh…yeah.”
He shook his head. “Anyway, how did you know my name?”
She smiled sheepishly. “I’ve been watching you. Not in a
creepy-stalker-type way,” she assured with a roll of her gorgeous eyes. “We
were playing hockey the other day, and I noticed you were sitting in the park
reading a book.”
It was then Nosedive discerned the rollerblades on her
feet. A beautiful girl who played hockey was talking to him? Divine
intervention without a doubt!
“Anyway,” she continued, “Grin got creamed in the beak.
There was blood everywhere, and the ambulance came, but there you were, reading
your book. You didn’t look up once! I just said, ‘I had to meet that guy.’ ”
Nosedive’s face darkened to a deep
crimson as he rubbed the back of his head apprehensively. “I could just be
incredibly self-centered.”
“Nah, just oblivious.”
“So, are you going back to play
hockey?” Nosedive asked. Oh, please no!
She shrugged. “Where are you going? Looks like you could
use a hand.”
“Actually, I was heading to the
library, but…”
Bending down, Mallory lifted out
three books from the box. “Well, I’ll accompany you there, but then I need to
go find a job. My dad’s a military general and was transferred here from
“You know who could help you with
that?” Nosedive posed as he heaved the box off the ground. “Miss Patty.”
Mallory sent him a sideways glance.
“Who?”
“Miss Patty. She runs a dance studio
in town,” Nosedive elaborated as he headed toward the park. “She used to dance
on Broadway and everything. Now, though, she knows the beat of the town better
than Sally Field in Without Malice. If
there’s a job in town, she’ll know about it.”
“So, pit stop at Miss Patty’s then?”
Mallory asked, skating next to him at a mundane pace.
Nosedive snorted. “I thought you
liked hockey, not NASCAR.”
“Same diff.”
Well, the teen thought as he
grinned, she wasn’t perfect, but she was damn close.
“So, a Melville, huh?” She posed as
she studied the books in her hand, stealing his attention.
A shrug. “I know Moby Dick is a little clichéd for my
first Melville, but hey…”
!!!
Nosedive picked at his mash
potatoes, twirling them about his fork.
Wildwing watched him from the
opposite side of the table at Canard’s, taking a bite of his hamburger. “So,
you were home late today. Where’d you go?”
Nosedive shrugged. “The library.”
Nodding absently, the father wiped
his beak with his napkin. Shifting uncomfortably, he spouted, “Look, we’re
having dinner at your grandparents’ this Friday.”
“Who?” Nosedive asked, and Wildwing
found himself on the receiving end of a perplexed glare.
“Your grandparents. You know, the
people who took your father in after the spaceship left me on Earth.”
It wasn’t something they spoke of
often. In fact, it was something society hardly mentioned. Besides a paragraph
in the recent textbooks, it was a subject avoided like brussel spouts and
Wildwing let his thoughts wane when
Nosedive replied dryly, “I thought I didn’t have any grandparents. Remember
when I asked you about them for my second grade family tree. You said ‘Stalin’
and ‘Darth Vader.’ Still trying to figure out how that occurred.”
“You’ll
find out on Friday. Trust me,” Wildwing answered cryptically.
“You know, you should have told me.
I could’ve had something planned,” Nosedive rejoined, dropping his fork to the
plate with a clatter.
“I would have known.”
“I don’t tell you everything, you
know. I have my own things.”
Wildwing stuffed the remainder of
his sandwich in his beak. “Like what?” he mumbled.
“You know…things. Like…” He looked away and confided softly, “Maybe I don’t
want to go to Chilton.”
“What!” Wildwing barked. “What do
you mean, you don’t want to go?”
“Well, maybe I’m not good enough—”
“Son, you know that isn’t true.”
“And we don’t know I won’t get into
Harvard staying here.”
Wildwing shook his head. Images of
the torture session with his parents that the Geneva Convention would not
sanction flashed through his mind, and he couldn’t hold back the seethe that
sounded from his beak. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”
“And let’s not forget that you want
to start your own inn!” Nosedive added vigorously. “I know this has to be
costing you a lot.”
“Oh,
kiddo, you have no idea,” Wildwing bit.
“Then really I shouldn’t be going,
and we can just—”
Wildwing pushed his chair back
swiftly and stood. “I’m not doing this here. I’m not!” He began to storm from
the diner when Nosedive shouted, “We have to pay!”
Ripping out his wallet, Wildwing
flicked a few bills onto the table. “Come on,” he ordered.
Even though he couldn’t see his
son’s reaction, Wildwing knew Nosedive was sending him daggers as he trailed
just a step behind him. The father pulled his coat tighter about him when the
cold autumn air blew through the town.
“I don’t understand,” he mused, his
hot breath forming clouds in front of his beak. “I don’t understand where this
is coming from.”
“It’s nothing, okay?” Nosedive
spurted. “Maybe I just don’t want to go to Chilton. Did you ever think of
that?”
Wildwing halted in his footsteps and
turned swiftly. A harsh glower enveloped his face. “You were the one who wanted
to go there! I was the one who tried to talk you out of it, remember? ‘Teachers
worse than Stepford!’ ‘Food that resembles my cooking!’ ”
“Dive, honey!” an elderly lady’s
voice cut through Wildwing’s shouts.
On the entranceway of the boxcar
dance studio stood Miss Patty, her purplish hair accenting her dark make-up and
her puffing cigarette. She watched the little girls inside practicing ballet,
while speaking to Nosedive at the same time. “I think I found that girl friend
of yours a job. Taylor Doose is looking for a checker/shelfer/box person.
Susie!” She screamed at the top of her lungs. “Do you have to tinkle? If not,
uncross your legs, dear.” Turning back to Nosedive, she winked. “Good taste, by
the way. She compliments you.”
Stuffing his hands in his pockets,
Nosedive huffed past his father and walked at a hasty pace toward their house.
“Oh, you are going to have walk
faster than that,” Wildwing called after him.
!!!
Storming into the house, Nosedive
slammed shut the door. A split second later, Wildwing opened it.
“Why didn’t I see it before? You’re me! It’s like looking
in a mirror!”
“If the mirror has a completely different complexion,”
Nosedive snapped as he turned toward the kitchen and subsequently, his room.
“Does she have a nice bod? If you’re going to throw your
life away for a girl, she better be a looker.”
“This isn’t about her!” Nosedive whirled. “This isn’t about
you, either! If you just cared about someone other than yourself for a
millisecond, you’d realize I’m not you! I’m sixteen and don’t have a pregnant
girlfriend!” Nosedive shouted madly. “In fact, I’ve never had a girlfriend!” He
disappeared into his room and slammed shut the door.
Wildwing took a deep breath, holding back the smoldering
anger in his chest. No. He had to push it down. He never screamed all-out at
his son before, and he wouldn’t now. This should be a happy event. Nosedive’s
first love…aw…shit. He remembered his first love. Nosedive’s mother.
He wasn’t his parents. He wasn’t his parents. He was not his parents.
He opened the door, finding Nosedive on his bed taking off
his sneakers.
“Hey! Didn’t you ever hear of knocking?”
“Okay, let’s start over,” Wildwing broached thoughtfully.
“You tell me about her—what she looks like, who is she, for that matter. Then
we’ll discuss this Chilton thing. Sound good?”
Nosedive kicked his sneakers off his bed and plopped down
on his pillow, his back now facing his father. “I’m not going! There’s nothing
to discuss!”
Wildwing nodded. Okay, that’s the way he wanted it. “Look,
you know we’ve always been a democracy here. We’ve never made a decision
without the other, and I’ve never forced you to do something you didn’t want
to. However, today I’m pulling the Dad card. Monday, you’re going to Chilton,
whether you like it or not.” He turned sharply on his heel and headed out the
door.
“We’ll see!” Nosedive spat at him.
“Uh-uh, we will!” Wildwing slammed the door and angrily
treaded into the living room. Sighing deeply, he ran hands through his hair and
let out his pent-up frustration. He hit on the stereo.
As he flopped onto the couch, “Boulevard of Broken Dreams”
blared through the speakers.
!!!
Nosedive rolled over on his bed. He
needed to just relax. His father never commanded him. Never. Why was he so ticked
over this?
Laying stomach-down on his bed,
clutching his pillow under his head, Nosedive smacked on his stereo, and his
thoughts intermingled with “Boulevard of Broken Dreams.”
!!!
“It was about the girl. No doubt
about it,” Wildwing proclaimed as he chewed on a piece of chocolate. He watched
indolently as Sookie cut celery and shook his head. “He’s always told me these
things. When he had a crush on J.K. Rowling, he told me. He loves her books.”
“Well, he’s sixteen now. Girls he
can actually talk to might make him just a little less like Harry Potter and a
little more Ron Wesley, you know?” The female replied simply. “Did you talk
about your parents about girls when you were sixteen?”
“Tanya was already pregnant, so any
talking I did to them centered around, ‘Why aren’t you two getting married?’.
“But Nosedive and I have never
fought. Not like this.” He reached into the jar and pulled out another piece of
chocolate. “And when he woke up today, he didn’t make me a Pop-Tart or start
the coffee pot. The Pop-Tart is debatable, but he knows I can’t function
without caffeine.”
“You’ll work it out,” Sookie
encouraged. “After all, it’s not like you’re Angelina Jolie and Jon Voget.”
“You won’t see me playing the Pope.”
The door behind him opened, and
Wildwing craned his neck. Trotting into the room, Duke aimed an acerbic glare at his boss. “Your offspring is here, and he’s
sitting in my chair. MY CHAIR!”
Wildwing shook his head and took an
extra piece of chocolate out of the jar. Winking at Sookie, he headed out the
door.
“Hey, kiddo!” He greeted brightly as
he spotted Nosedive on the stool behind the front desk. Hitting his cross-armed
son on the knee, he slipped the chocolate into the teen’s hand. “I was thinking
you might want to make a few extra bucks working for me today.”
Nosedive averted his eyes and
nibbled on his chocolate. “Whatever.”
“Don’t want to make any money?”
Wildwing asked as he flipped open the reservation book and counted the number
of room occupied.
“I’ll do whatever you want me to…Father.” The teen’s tone was cool enough
for freeze the room.
Wildwing gagged. Nosedive never
called him “Father.” Well, if that was the way he wanted it. Swiveling, he
fumed, “Fine. Go home, and get ready. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. You don’t
have to wear a tie if you don’t want to.”
Nosedive slithered off Duke’s chair.
“Whoopie.”
As soon as Nosedive vacated the
area, Duke slipped into his chair.
“Ahhhh….”
!!!
Standing before the house, Wildwing
and Nosedive were side-by-side. Nosedive’s beak was agape, as he surveyed the
huge palace masquerading as mansion.
“Okay, look,” Wildwing leveled his
son, “truce inside there, okay? Let’s go through dinner amicably, and when we
get on Route 91, you can pull a Mendez.”
Nosedive rolled his eyes. “Or you
can pull a Darth Vader. I heard it runs in the family.”
“If I was going to pull a Darth
Vader, I’d take more than your hand,” Wildwing assured surly and walked up to
the door.
Ringing the doorbell, Wildwing
entertained the idea of praying again for divine intervention, but for some
reason, the invention never came his way. Instead, he waited in an
uncomfortable silence until the door opened.
Emily Gilmore stood in the doorway,
an instant smile forming upon her face. “Well, you must be Nosedive.” She
welcomed, ushering them into the house.
“Uh…yeah. Dad told me he thought you might still call me
‘Little Wing.’ ”
“Well, we wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,
Nosedive.”
Suddenly, a force tugged at the collar of his coat, and he
tore a way. “What the heck—Getting robbed at rich person’s home! I knew it!
Republicans are dangerous!”
“Oh, that’s just the maid,” Emily assured and helped to
take off Nosedive’s coat.
“Sure, Mom, didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, but
helped to rob him,” Wildwing snickered.
Emily stared at her son. “Hello, Wildwing. I see you
there.” She quickly switched her glare to her grandson. “Now, Nosedive, let me
get a look at you.” Twirling her hand, she beckoned him to turn.
Blushing, Nosedive, dressed in a dress shirt and pants,
sans jacket and tie, swiveled on his heel. When he completed a full circle,
Emily grabbed him by the forearms and smiled. “Handsome. You have the
complexion of your mother.”
Wildwing rolled his eyes, but followed as Emily escorted
his son into the living room.
“Richard,” Emily bellowed, “our guests have arrived.”
Looking up from his paper, Richard eyed the boy in front of
him. With elevator eyes, he remarked with a stringent nod, “He’s short.”
“Well, he doesn’t get that from me, either,” Wildwing
commented, sitting down on the couch he had occupied a few days prior.
“We could tell that, Wildwing. Mindless clatter doesn’t
help a conversation,” Emily chastised.
“Dad thought about stretching me like in the old days, but
decided against it at the last moment,” Nosedive added, sending his father a
sympathetic gaze. He took a seat next to Richard and across from Wildwing. His eyes darted about as he cocked his head
to the side to see the whole foyer, staircase, and living room—mystified. “You
have a nice house. Really…big.”
“Bolshoi,” Wildwing commented under his breath.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Emily replied, hustling
to the liquor cabinet and getting a tray. She returned a moment later, giving
Wildwing a beer bottle, while allotting a flute to Richard, Nosedive, and
herself. “We must make a toast.”
“Uh, Mom? Dive’s sixteen,” Wildwing interrupted.
“Yes, and club soda will definitely give him a buzz. Shall
I get him something less body numbing?”
Wildwing sat back in his seat. “No, club soda is fine,
Mom.”
“So…to what do we toast?” Richard asked, laying his paper
in between him and Nosedive.
“How about to our resident grandson genius here?” Emily
raised her glass.
“And to pie!” Wildwing added. When everyone stared at him,
Wildwing mended, “Pie’s good, too. Maybe not a genius, but still…”
Emily turned to her son, and as she did so, Richard took
his paper, opening it to the business section once more. As he read aloofly, he
ruffled through the remainder of the paper and handed a section to the
astounded Nosedive.
!!!
“This is delicious, Grandma and
Grandpa. What is it?” Nosedive inquired as a shoved another fork-load of the
meat into his beak.
“Don’t answer that!” Wildwing said
abruptly. He grinned at his son. “Every time I ask what something is, I find
out it’s something completely gross and disgusting, and I won’t be able to eat
it knowing what it is.”
“Aw,
come on, Dad,” Nosedive replied, “it can’t be that bad.”
“Famous last words. That’s exactly what General Lee said to
Jefferson Davis at
“It’s pancreas, Nosedive,” Emily answered kindly.
Nosedive’s face paled. “W—What?”
“Thank you, General Lee,” Wildwing said, dropping his fork
to the plate with a clatter.
“So, Nosedive, tell us,” Richard broached as he leaned
closer to his grandson, “has your father ever tried to give you a mother?”
“Dad!” Wildwing cried, horrified.
Nosedive simply took a swig of his water and replied, “Uh,
Dad actually has a set of rules, where if I’m home, he won’t even bring the
girl to the door. I only get to meet his dates if it gets serious, but that’s
never happened.”
“Ah, so I see.”
“Said the blind man…” Wildwing commented under his breath.
Once more, he finished off a beer.
Richard glowered at his son. “So, Tanya called yesterday,”
he interjected, taking a sip of his wine.
A wave of alarm fluttered over Nosedive’s face. “Oh.”
Emily leaned closer, laying a hand on Nosedive’s. “Have you
ever met your mother?”
“Mom—” Wildwing started, but was quickly cut off.
“You haven’t, have you?”
Nosedive shifted uncomfortably in his chair, wiping his
beak with his napkin. “Well, no, but she’s never really in the East.”
“She says she’s doing well in
“Well, Dad’s doing well, too!” Nosedive praised. “He worked
his way up from housekeeper to executive manager at the inn.”
Wildwing closed his eyes. He really wished Nosedive hadn’t said that. Hearing the shocked gasps,
he needn’t open his eyes to know his parents’ reaction.
“You were a maid?”
They exasperated together.
“Had to make a living,” Wildwing said evenly to his
parents. “And it’s ‘housekeeper,’ thank you very much.”
“But you cleaned people’s rooms!” Emily repeated,
devastated. “Tanya owns her own company!”
“Good for her. Would like to switch kids?”
Richard looked directly Nosedive. “You must get your brains
from her.”
Wildwing shot to his feet and threw his napkin on the
table. “Thanks, Dad. Right here, in the room!” As he hurried past his father
and into the kitchen, he uttered, “Excuse me.”
Nosedive rose to his feet, but Emily patted him on the
shoulder as she passed. “I’ll talk to him.”
When she entered the kitchen, she found her son next to the
maid, scrubbing the dinner dishes. He had rolled up his jacket’s sleeves, so as
not to get them dirty, and while his back faced her, the tenseness of his
muscles alerted her just how upset he was.
“Getting back into old habits?”
Emily incensed. Her son—doing dishes? Appalling.
“Is this how it’s going to be every
week, Mom?” Wildwing asked through his anger. He continued to scrub a pan that
just wouldn’t let go of its grease.
“What how?”
“You and Dad putting the Great
Disappointment down in front of his own son every five seconds.”
“Is that what you think?”
Wildwing slammed the pan into the
sink, the water splashing over the edge. “Didn’t you hear yourselves out there?
What do you think Dad meant when he said that to Nosedive? Of course he takes
after Tanya, but he also takes after me!”
Emily rolled her eyes. “Well, at least
he isn’t pregnant at the age of sixteen.”
“It makes two to make a hatchling,
Mom, just like a baby. Just because I have custody does not mean I was
completely at fault.”
“But you both had such bright
futures and dreams!”
“And we were able to achieve our
dreams by not getting married, Mom! Tanya would never have had been able to
start her company if she would have been married to me, living the life of a
housewife.”
!!!
Nosedive cringed as he propped his
elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand. He leaned a little closer
to the door as his grandfather’s snoring rose. Intently, he listened.
!!!
Emily flung her arms wide. “And you
achieved your dreams by becoming a housekeeper!”
“I have my son,” Wildwing declared
truthfully. “He always meant more to me than any job.”
“You could’ve had both. We could
have helped you. If you just would have
listened to me—”
“No. You wanted to control me, Mom.
You and Dad wanted to force me to have a life I didn’t want. I wanted to run my
life, not you.”
“And see what your pride has gotten
you, Wildwing,” his mother seethed in piercing anger. “A life cleaning up after
other people.”
“I wasn’t too proud to come here and
beg you and Dad for money, was I?” Wildwing shouted at his mother, striding up
to her. “I wasn’t too proud to get on my knees and beg Tanya not to have an
abortion!”
“Well, then, Wildwing, have your
pride, and I’ll have my Friday night dinners,” she gloated and strode toward
the dining room. “Now, if you are finished with your dishes, come back to the
table for dessert. It’s pie. Even you should enjoy that.” Halting for a brief
minute, she peered over his shoulder. “By the way, you should teach your son
proper etiquette. I expect a jacket and tie next week.”
Wildwing tossed the soap back into
the sink and sighed. So, this was to be a weekly ritual.
Defeated, he rolled down his sleeves
and followed his mother into the dining room.
!!!
The door shut behind them, and
Wildwing leaned against the wall for support.
“Do I look shorter to you?” He asked his son, who
immediately was at his side, offering his help. Walking toward their car,
Nosedive’s arm about his father’s shoulders, Wildwing continued dismayed, “I
physically feel shorter. What do you think? Three? Four inches?”
Nosedive grinned gently. “You think
you can reach the pedals?”
“I don’t know. I was thinking of
allowing you to drive and give me time to grow back.” He opened the jeep’s door
and flopped in the driver’s seat. “Of course, I’ll grow back just in time for
Friday and then be cut down again!” He studied his son thoughtfully, a sheepish
look on Nosedive’s face. “How much did you hear?”
“Snippets,” Nosedive answered
flippantly.
Wildwing’s eyebrow arched.
“Snippets?”
“Tiny little snippets…strung
together,” the teen finally admitted.
“So practically everything.”
“Practically yeah.”
Wildwing sighed and looked at his
son. He grabbed Nosedive’s wrist, then tugged him into an embrace. “I love you,
kiddo.”
Nosedive pulled back slightly,
though didn’t let go of his father. “You should have told me.”
“Yeah, probably, but I didn’t want
you to know your father couldn’t pay for it.”
A sideway glance. “But you are.”
Wildwing snorted. “In a way, we’re
both paying for it.”
A solemn silence enveloped them as
neither moved.
“Do I really have to wear a jacket and tie?”
Wildwing shook his head and suppressed a laugh. “The
jackets debatable.”
Nosedive cringed. “Maybe I can drown my sorrow in club
soda.”
Wildwing wrenched his son by the
wrist and put the boy in a headlock. “Oh, you are so going to get it!”
!!!
Wildwing dragged his tired body into
Canard’s and held the door for his distraught son behind him. Taking a seat at
the first table, he practically dumped himself into the chair. Nosedive plopped
into the one across from him.
“Service,” the teen called with an
exasperated wave of his hand. “Service.”
“I’m
getting there!” Canard yelled from behind the counter. He strode about it,
shaking his head. “Petulant.” He
teased the teen and tussled his hair.
Wildwing’s eyes widened. “What happened
to you? Did a Macy spit up on you?”
“Oh, this?” The tan mallard asked,
indicating his shirt, tie, and dress pants. “I had a thing at town hall,
and…anyway, I thought you had dinner at your parents’ house tonight.”
Wildwing and Nosedive traded a grimace.
“You…don’t want to know,” Wildwing
replied. “Coff—ee. Caffeine! Not that
decaf crap you have back there.”
Nosedive pondered contemplatively.
“Chili fries and a coffee, too.”
“I can’t do this,” muttered Canard. He placed his hands on the sides of
the table and leaned over to Nosedive. “Dive, you can be healthy. You do not have to be like your father over
there.”
Nosedive looked at him, then caught
his father’s eye with a smirk. “Too late.”
Shaking his head in disapproval,
Canard vacated the table, muttering, “Impossible. How are they even alive?”
Eying down the pie on the counter,
Nosedive asked distractedly, “So, did you finish hemming my jacket?”
Wildwing smiled. “Does that mean
you’re going?”
Nosedive shrugged. “We already ate
pancreas. What’s three years at a private school?”
“So!” Wildwing sat straight-up in
his chair and aimed a mischievous grin at his son. “What’s her name?”
“Dad! Come on!” Nosedive protested,
his face bright red.
“You can tell Daddy.”
“What is this? Father Knows Best. Don’t think so.”
“Is she cute?”
Nosedive crossed his arms and
slouched in his chair. “What does that matter?”
“Well, if you do happen to get her
pregnant,” Wildwing considered, “I don’t want ugly grandchildren, especially
when their grandfather is so handsome.”
!!!
“…Dad…?”
Wildwing groaned and rolled over,
clutching his pillow under his head.
A poke in his shoulder, then a
whispered, impelling inquiry, “Dad? You awake?”
“Wha tem iz ‘t?” Wildwing mumbled,
not even opening his eyes.
“…ah…about twelve-thirty.”
“Parentin’ houz betwin six an’ ten.
Go bac’ ta bed.”
Suddenly, his bed rocked vehemently
as a force jumped into it. A warm being leaned against his back.
“Dad, I want to ask you something.”
“Your dad’s asleep and has two
hundred guests coming to the inn at seven.”
“…Dad, did Mom really want an
abortion?”
Wildwing’s eyes snapped open, then sighed loudly. Pushing up, he turned
around to see the troubled and haunted expression on his son’s face. He crossed
his legs and brushed the hair and sleepiness from his eyes, then sent a tiny
smile to Nosedive. “Kiddo, you’ve had a different upbringing than your mother
and even me. In societies like the one your grandparents are a part of, it’s scandalous to have a teenage girl
pregnant.”
Nosedive scoffed, “So people had
sex. What’s the prob?”
“I dunno. I’ve never understood how
a child can be illegitimate, either. It’s a child, but that’s beside the
point.” He shook his head to clear his thought and fought through the yawn
rising in his beak. “Tanya had a lot of pressure from her parents to have the
abortion and go on with life. It’s not that she didn’t want you,” he said
gently, ruffling his son’s hair warmly. “It’s just that she wanted to live the
life her parents dreamt for her, and a hatchling would hinder that.”
“But you—”
“I’m different from your mother,
Dive,” Wildwing replied simply. A fond smile washed over his beak. “Look,
kiddo, your mother lived by the principles of that society. I lived by the
principles that my child would come first in my life, despite what others told
me. Hell, kiddo, if I could back and do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a
thing.” His grin grew. “I love you, son.”
Nosedive smiled back. “I love you,
too, Dad.”
Beckoning his son into his arms and rubbing his back
tenderly, Wildwing reveled in the presence that he almost lost sixteen years
ago, and thanked the Stars for their kindness.
A stark inquisition. “Dad?”
“Yeah, kiddo?”
“Do you think if Mom would have
known me, she wouldn’t have done it?”
“Absolutely.”
Nosedive seemed to take some comfort
in that, and he sunk into his father’s chest.
For a whole three seconds.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Why doesn’t Mom want to know me?”
Looking down at his son, Wildwing
sighed contemplatively. “I made a deal with Tanya that if she didn’t have the
abortion, I would never ask her anything or contact her, so it would be as if
she never had a hatchling. She just…has a different life, Dive. It’s not you.
It’s…S—She doesn’t want to rock the boat, you know. She doesn’t want to pop in
and out of your life and be someone of instability. It’s been years.”
Nosedive pulled out of the embrace
and aimed a suspicious glare at his father. “And how do you know that?”
“Uh…you know, that’s just my
opinion,” Wildwing stammered. He ducked to look into his son’s eyes, lost under
his bangs. “Okay?”
“You talked to her, didn’t you?”
Nosedive persisted.
Wildwing hesitated. “Let’s just say
your mother and I have…been in contact in the past…at some times, okay?” He
patted his son on the leg. “Now, you better get back to bed before Brad Pitt
and Tom Cruise decide they would rather have you than Kirstin Dunst.”
Nosedive rolled his eyes, but staggered off the bed.
“You’re changing the subject, and I’m not liking it one bit.”
“Good. Then my work as a father is done! Go to asleep!”
Down the stairs and past the
kitchen, Nosedive entered his room. As the teen settled back under his own
covers, he turned suddenly at the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
Wildwing grinned tiredly at him as he walked into the room,
blankets and pillow in tow.
As he pulled the chair in the corner close to the bed,
Nosedive inquired, “What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna sleep here tonight,” was the simple answer.
“Well, I got that. Why?”
Wildwing smiled, albeit fondly, but sadly. “I don’t like to
ponder how close I was to losing you, so I just want to be close to you. That
okay with you?”
“And if it wasn’t?” Nosedive challenged facetiously.
“Tough noodges.”
Nosedive snuggled under the covers and reveled in its
warmth before an affectionate murmur sounded from his beak. “I love you, Dad.”
Wildwing grumbled. “Go to sleep because you’re coming to
work with me in the morning.”
Silence.
A loving whisper pervaded the darkness of slumber, “Kiddo,
you have no idea.”
The End