Short Stories + Contest Entries

No Apologies

A short story I wrote for class. The style is a bit different from what I usually write, so I hope you enjoy it. 

My father was never the type of person to apologize. In his eyes, the world was his kingdom, and we were his followers. He could never be wrong. If he did come to realize his actions were out of term, there was an abundance of pride that stood in his way. Instead, he solved his problems with unspoken apologies that needed no explanation. He'd send a wink at dinner to say all had been forgiven, or a holler across the house asking for help. That was his stubborn way of moving on.

One of the first encounters I had where I fully understood this was one summer afternoon. My lazy days of watching TV and playing with Barbies were relentless.

"Nicoletta, go with your father to the store and help him out." my mother said. She'd tell me it was a special mission, one that I couldn't decline. I'd go and make the most of it.

The game I played while I shadowed my father around the store was called Lava. The checkered tile became my obstacle course. I was allowed to step only on the black tiles, or else I'd drown in lava. It was an easy game and made my time a little more adventurous.

My father's flip-flops smacked the ground rhythmically, which kept me from getting lost, as my laser focus concentrated on the floor. I barely managed to dodge a white tile when I bumped into someone in front of me. The artificial light shined like glass on his bald head. I could see the lines on his forehead crease.

"Nicoletta, pay attention," my father said.

"Sorry, papà," I said, my body trembled just a little in hopes he'd let it slide. The stained Red Socks shirt and grey shorts were not the best look for him. He didn't even like the Red Socks, baseball, or any American sports. His features were intimidating, a dark Mediterranean tan, and hairy eyebrows that flared out. He was rough around the edges and had a resting mad face all the time.

Just as quickly as the moment came, it passed. His dark eyes scanned the shelves while his hands pulled cereal boxes left and right. He'd take one, put it back, take another, then shove it back on the shelf.

My father's agitation swelled. The whisper of curse words became frantic. Luckily, I knew what he was looking for.

"The Corn Flakes are behind you," I said.

His shark eyes scanned me. "You be quiet. I know what your mother wants."

"I do too. They're right behind you," I replied. I pointed across from him. "It's the box of Corn Flakes."

Dad reached over and took the box in both hands. He squinted at it, then tossed it into the cart.

"See, I told you that's what she-"

"Chiudi la bocca," he said.

I did what he asked and kept my mouth shut for the remainder of the trip. I continued my game of Lava and occasionally looked between the Corn Flakes and my dad. The green and red rooster on the box had its beak wide open. I couldn't help but think the rooster was mocking him.

***

When it came to unnecessary punishment, my father was notorious for disciplining me and sending me to my bedroom for the most ridiculous reasons. In many ways, he was like a thunderstorm. At first, he would release all his fury with repetitive cracks of thunder and lightning. Eventually, he would settle, and not even five minutes later, he was back into his regular pattern.

Still, this didn't keep away his screaming, the bruising, and threats to keep me in line. He was so strict that even my mother found it unnecessary, but to argue with him was to start a war.