Mitzi & Oz

Chapter 20: Love Stinks

Side A: Oz

"Hey, buddy."

Dad's standing in the doorway of my bedroom, hands in pockets. I straighten up slowly, observe his posture, then look at him with wide eyes.

"Oh god, please tell me you're not going to give me the Talk."

Closing his eyes, Dad pauses a moment, then chuckles and shakes his head. This has been an ongoing joke between us ever since that day in seventh grade when I found a box of condoms in my nightstand drawer. "I think you know why I'm up here."

I sigh and stare at the jumble of wires at my feet.

"Mom thought you might need someone to talk to, because she's tired of listening to the screaming and the smashing of things." Dad eases into my room like a zookeeper approaching a lion. I'm as tall as him now, and I think it still freaks him out. "I'm sure the speakers wouldn't mind if you decided to talk it out. Or, perhaps, you could punch a pillow."

My fists squeeze. "It's an amp, Dad, geez." I kick the side of it, but gently. It's already fucked.

"Are you still upset about your audition?" Dad asks.

That was the excuse I used yesterday, when I apparently played my music too loud and the witch from next door called the police. And part of that was true.

"Kind of." I flop onto my bed. "I also kinda broke up with this girl. We weren't actually going out, but I liked her and... I think she used me."

"Used you?" Dad asks. "For sex?"

"I wish." I laugh and sit up. "No, Dad. I think she pretended to like me so I would make her the lead singer of my band."

Dad sits down on my bed. He's already in his plaid pajama pants and the stretched out t-shirt Mom hates. "What's the name of this band again?"

"The Flaming Pickles."

"Oof." Dad winces. "Come on, now, you're better than that."

"I know." Gazing at the ruins of my amp, I add, "She wanted me to cut my hair."

"How dare she," Dad says.

"Stop playin', I know you and Mom wish I would cut my hair too."

"No we don't." Dad grimaces as the words leave his mouth. He scratches his thinning hair. "Yes we do." He sighs. "I wish your Gramps wasn't so forgetful these days. A few years ago, he would've been great for you to talk to."

"Gramps?"

"Haven't you ever seen photos of your gramps before he got married? That's ridiculous." Dad thinks for a minute. "Robin has all the old photo albums. I'll have to show you next time we go over there—your Gramps was in a band, didn't you know that?"

I sit up straighter and look at him. "What? How was I supposed to know that?"

"Yeah, well, I suppose you got me there. This was all before I was born. He had long hair, played drums, I think. He gave all that up when your grandma got pregnant with me. That's when he cut his hair too, and started working at the post office."