Walking out of This World

Two

The table takes hold of my brain with an image that spreads it farther across the room than its accustomed reach. A large dose of adrenalin is conjuring up this distorted picture of One facing Dad.

A familiar wooden chair welcomes my body with a cold embrace, my eyes fixed on the looming shape of Dad and the wall of emotion that stands between us.

I wait patiently behind a face covering a churning stomach.

Mother and Big Brother take their reserved places, joining the table and waiting for Dad to perform a necessary dinner ritual. It is nothing more than a firm thank you, a purposefully and confidently articulated release of human control to God.

"Yeah! Another retreat from human responsibility," claims the whisper.

His holy words evolve into the clatter of forks on China and knives gnawing at steaming slices of pink-oozing beef, farm raised, corn fed and sweet to the taste.

Small talk makes its way into an environment organized around the proposition that we are one happy family.

Let's see how that's going to work out! The thought echoes through my brain.

Little word notes are trotted out for a retelling of each one's participation in the day's insignificant personal events. Mom and Dad listen patiently, asking questions during silent in-between moments. I'm not hearing most of the conversation because my brain is rehearsing.

One pushes, the words spill out and my hidden intentions watch them bounce down the table toward Dad.

"I've been accepted." I threw the words at him with a rehearsed imitation of a respectful tone.

"What's this all about?" Dad asks, breaking eye contact with his plate and aiming his stare at me.

"Go get him, buddy!" The whisperer encourages.

Big brother's mouth stops chewing. His tongue lodges a lump of meat to one side of an accepting cheek. His words come twisting out at an odd angle, "Say what"?

"I've been accepted to State University!" I repeat.

"When did you manage to make all of these arrangements without consulting me?" Dad throws the words back at me.

Ignoring the request for an explanation I continue. "I'm leaving next week," I announce, trying to hide the words among the potato pieces still lingering on my plate.

"You have to be kidding!" Big Brother spits out, along with a few bits of green bean.

The ensuing pause is excruciating. All eyes are focused on me and, waiting.

"Give 'em the wild pitch, boy!"

"I need to borrow money from you. I'll use my inheritance for collateral." That high school accounting class is paying off with that well managed reply!

My words are hanging between their faces like the jumble of clothes drying on Mother's outside line.

Dad scoots his chair back and away from his end of the table. The tiled floor gives up a screech.

"What are you saying little brother?" Twisting lips push his words out of an obviously flustered brain.

"That's a big request," Mother interjects with surprise written large on her face.

There is a brief pause while everyone appears to be collecting their thoughts, born out of the unexpected news release.

Dad breaks the uneasy silence first. "Scholarships?" The word cuts through the rising tension.

"Keep going. You're on a roll!"

"Some...uh...to pay for tuition. I'm joining a fraternity. So, I need more money." I look down at my plate hoping to reduce the emotional temperature rising in the room.

"Are you serious?" Big Brother challenges. His face flushing red.

"Bring on the matador. Wave that flag for the bull's charge!" Interjects the whisperer.

"I'm tired of all your huffing and puffing!" I almost yell, a blast of adrenalin gushing up on demand.

"Now you've got him on the run!"

"Whoa! Slow down boys."

Suddenly I see something that's never gifted my eyes in our long family history.

Dad's eyes are glistening with a hint of tears. "That's right, boy, he's showing some emotion. Now you can play him like an old fiddle," whispers my secret friend.

"I have to find my own way. There's no future in working on this farm."

Dad keeps his eyes fixed on mine, appearing to be lost in thought.

"We'll talk about this tomorrow." He draws the words out as if his mind is regaining command of a surprising emotion.

"Oh come on. That's a crock of sh..."

"Stop!" Mom cuts Big Brother's words off like she was castrating a bull calf. "We don't use that kind of language in this house!" Her long brown hair slaps against the sides of her thin face.

Big Brother's arms flop onto the table as if to steady his reeling body. I can see the burn flushing his face. His eyes engage mine with a message written in pain, the pain he's itching to inflict.

He twists out of his chair in one silent motion, casting an evil look around the table. The bang left behind the closing of the front door leaves no question about his state of mind.

The dinner table drama drops a level on the tension meter.

A ragged memory surfaces between Mother collecting plates and Dad leaning back to contemplate the last moments of a family dinner.

I set my laptop on the table and direct my parents' attention to the very convincing presentation by a fraternity brother. They lean forward and are captured by the impressive sights and sounds of a great sales job.

My brain chooses to use this space to draw up the picture of a pumpkin's face with its toothy evil grin and narrow eyes. The memory sits up inside my head. Big Brother had placed it on the end of my bed one Halloween night, rigged it with a yellow light and a speaker which echoed a hideous sound—a laugh that'd scare the devil.

The light and the noise woke me from a deep sleep throwing me into such a fit that I no longer was able to say his name, Jack.

Now, what wicked surprises is Big Brother planning to block my travel plans?