I Used To

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Of course, I knew that wasn't the right thing to say as soon as it was out of my mouth; and if I hadn't already realized it, then Danny's reaction would've clued me in pretty quick. All the happy went out of his face, so fast that it was like I'd slapped it off of him. He bowed his head low as if something very interesting had just sprung out of the mossy ground between his bluejeaned knees. His knobby little eight-year-old shoulders slumped. I've never been what you'd call good with words, but this was downright apocalyptic.

I waited a few seconds before clearing my throat. "I'm sorry, Danny. I know how much you must be missing him." Then I reached out and laid a tentative hand on his shoulder. "If you want to quit fishing and go back up to the house..."

"Nuh uh," he muttered. He swiped at his eyes with one hand, then looked up at me. He'd been doing a lot of crying these last few months -- which was good, because if an eight-year-old loses his father and doesn't cry about it, then there's something pretty wrong with him -- but he wasn't crying now. Misting a bit, maybe, but not crying. "Grandpa, was he good at fishing? My dad?"

That threw me for a loop briefly; Danny had been living with his grandma and me since the accident, and in all that time he'd never actually started a conversation about his dad. "Well, now," I said in a thoughtful tone, stalling for time until my brain could kick into gear. "Well, now, let's see... what do you think it would mean to be good at fishing?"

"Like if he caught a big fish," Danny answered promptly. He dropped his fishing rod to the grass and stretched his arms apart. "Like thiiiiis big."

"Nope, can't say I ever remember him catching a big fish here. Lot of smaller ones, sure, but none as big as you're asking for!" Of course, I had my doubts that this stream could even handle a fish like Danny was asking for -- he'd measured out a span big enough to fit a deep-sea tuna, while as far as I knew all that'd ever been caught here were minnows, perch, and the occasional bad-tempered catfish. Not that generations of boys hadn't tried otherwise, of course.

Danny was looking out at the stream, and I wondered whether he was still thinking long thoughts. A second later he unknowingly answered me. "Was he better at fishing than me?" he asked softly.

Which, of course, was a question about more than just fishing. "Danny, your grandma and I loved your dad, because he was our son." He looked back down at the ground, and I went on in as firm a voice as I could manage. "And we love you, because you are our grandson. Nothing will ever change that."

We were both quiet for a moment, him likely thinking about his dad, and me trying to think what to say next. Finally I decided to try to bring back some enjoyment into his day, so I picked up his fishing pole and handed it gently back to him.

"Now, come on, how's about you show your ol' grandpa up?" I smiled at him, not expecting him to smile back, though I thought I saw his mouth twitch ever so slightly. "After all, those big fish aren't going to catch themselves."

Dates

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"Oh." He rubbed nervously at his chin. "Er. Look, I'm sorry, you know I don't mean anything by -- "

She raised an eyebrow, her expression cool, though he could tell she was genuinely bothered. "I know you don't mean anything by forgetting." She busied herself with the bookcase, straightening a few books that had been shelved hastily. Probably by him. "I'm beginning to think you didn't mean anything by anything, really."

"Sweetie -- "

"I don't think I'm particularly high-maintenance," she interrupted, not looking at him. "I don't care if you forget my birthday, or our anniversary -- hell, sometimes I forget them myself. I don't ask for anything for Valentine's Day, or Sweetest Day, or whatever holiday the greeting card companies have invented this week." Her eyes met his, and he realized that she was fighting back tears. "But this one thing, this one one-time thing that I ask of you? One evening ever, and that's it? Apparently it's too much to ask. Which makes me wonder if maybe I'm just not worth it to you. Or worth anything."

He took a step closer to her, meaning to try to comfort her, but thought better of it. "Look, I'm sorry I forgot. I know this... concert thing... is important to you -- and you're important to me -- I just... forgot, is all."

She looked down at the floor, her growing anger giving way to a sadness that hurt him far worse. "He's one of the greatest cello players in the world," she said quietly. "And I only got to study under him for three years before mom died and we had to move back to Wisconsin. I could've been up there making music for people all over the world, just like him. Now all I can do is hope he'll give a performance somewhere I can actually afford to get to, so I can sit in the audience with all the other nobodies." Then she looked back up at her husband. The tears were falling freely now. "Except I can't even do that, because you didn't bother to get the tickets. Were you too busy fishing with your buddies? Was that it?"

It was his turn to look at the floor now, unable to meet her eyes. "I deserve that."

"Which I guess means 'yes'," she replied.

Shirts

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After she left he had gone into the bedroom, flopped down on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a while. It was taking a while to sink in. Six years together, three of those in the same apartment, and now it was all over. "Not feeling it anymore," she said. Well, what did that even mean?

He lay there for maybe half an hour, not wanting to think about what had just happened, but unable to stop. He kept thinking back to the years they had had together, which was even worse. What good were all of the hopes he'd had for them, all the times they'd talked about finally getting married, settling down, buying a house -- what the hell had been the point? Six years of his life gone, and yet not nearly enough time. Why did it have to turn out like this?

Eventually he got up and went to the closet. The door was hanging partly open; she hadn't bothered to shut it after emptying her half. Absently he pushed it aside and stared at his own clothes. They seemed almost to be huddled together against the gaping emptiness on the other side. He knew how they felt.

He pulled out one of his t-shirts and stared at it for a minute. Band logo in blue and white on red. He remembered buying this one; it had been at that concert at the Coach House two years ago. Her favorite band, and she'd convinced him to come along. He had loved it.

Angry, now, he threw the shirt to the floor. She'd certainly done a good job excising herself from his life, so why didn't he finish the job? He tore another shirt from the closet. "No, I Will Not Fix Your Computer," it read -- a birthday present from her, back when he kept getting suckered into doing everyone's tech support at work. He hurled it at the floor with the first one. Here, one of those fancy-pants polo shirts with the alligator on it, which she had given him as a joke; there, a sweatshirt bought from their favorite vacation spot. Souvenirs of their life together, now as useless as he felt.

Finally he finished the job, and then only stood there for a moment, glaring at the pile of clothing. He stormed out to the kitchen for a trash bag to put it in. That was the ticket. He'd throw it all away. She'd thrown him away, after all, hadn't she? So he thought as he worked on bagging up the pile; but when he was done he only left the bag of shirts there, and sat on the bed to stare at it, thoughtfully.

No-Brainer

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When Dale came home that night, he could immediately tell that something was wrong. It wasn't any one thing that told him; more a combination of the odd quietness of the kids, the strained quality of his wife's words. It took him a few minutes, though, to realize that he was to blame.

He came into the kitchen, lugging along his cooler. "Look, honey, I know I said I'd mow the lawn today..."

"Yes, you did," Joyce replied tersely, not looking up from the vegetables she was chopping.

"And I realize it could really use a mowing..."

She glanced at him briefly. "Rained four days in the last week. I'd sure say it could use a mowing, before it gets high enough to lose children in."

"But," Dale went on, "today was the only day this month that Larry could get free to go fishing. He's my only brother, Joyce, and I don't get to see him all that much, and..."

Joyce looked up at him again, one eyebrow raised. "And?"

"And... to be honest, all the rain lately meant that the fish were biting like crazy," he finished sheepishly.

She glared at him, then went back to chopping, not saying anything. Finally he sighed, picked up the cooler full of fish, and quietly exited the scene.