“I’m still your papa, and you ain’t got no right to talk to me like this, Axel.”
“You got what you signed up for. Respect is given when it is earned. I always pay on time when it’s due.”
“And it’s due to me, because without me, there would be no YOU.” Tommy Theodore Hendrix II’s voice quaked as he yelled and waved a finger at him.
The old man knew such shit got on his nerves. It was a pet peeve. Why in the hell would I want to be a junior to someone as foul as you? Lying down and fuckin’ don’t make you no daddy. You popped up when it suited you.
“Your name was Tommy when you were born. Your mean, rotten mama went and changed it after I had had enough of her shit and left her.” The old man spat a wad of saliva on the ground, full of foamy venom. That evil inside of him was raw and youthful, despite his obviously weakened and inebriated state.
Dad was lying again, as usual. He lied about everything. He even lied on his lies. He didn’t leave. Mama kicked his drunk ass out and filed for divorce after finding out he’d had yet another affair. Dad was going on another mendacious tangent, then, he saw Tammy’s face in the window. She offered him a smile behind a sheer white curtain—sad and soft. Maybe she wanted the company? It sure looked like a pleading invitation to him. Dad offered nothing but insults and liabilities. She disappeared again, leaving them alone once more.
Axel cracked the can open, took a hard gulp, and plopped down beside him.
They were quiet for a while, during which Temple Of The Dog’s, ‘Hunger Strike’ played from the television inside.
“I did win the lottery, Axel.” He took a sip of his beer. “One of those scratch offs. Five hundred dollars.”
“Congratulations,” he stated flatly before taking another gulp.
“You want a hundred of it?”
“Nope. Every time you give me something, it’s got strings attached. Thankfully, I’m not in a position where I need to borrow from anyone, anyhow.”
“I know you don’t. Got that nice house… the cars ’nd such…” The music kept playing and another song began.
“Taaaaa-mmmmy! Is that grub done?”
“Almost, honey!”
“She slow and fat now. Jesus Christ. When I first got with her, you remember I’m sure, she wasn’t that big. Nice lookin’, just a bit chubby. I can handle that. Now?” He shook his head as if repulsed. “I can barely fuck her. Can’t find ’er pussy between all them rolls. If she got on top I’d probably fall right down through the floor and be in the basement.” Dad laughed, as if he’d said something real nifty and hilarious.
Axel calmly lit a cigarette and shook his head in disgust. He looked out into the open yard. No neighbors or other homes in sight, just the two of them in the middle of nowhere with traces of cigarette smolder, greasy fried pork chops, and misery filling the air.
“That’s supposed to be your ol’ lady.”
“She is.”
“Look how you talk about her. She took care of your diseased, stinkin’ ass when you were sick.”
Dad rolled his eyes. “You’re a mama’s boy, Axel. Always taking the woman’s side. Tammy knows I love ’er. It’s just a joke. Lighten up.”
Not once had Dad asked how he was doing after he’d had to shoot and kill two men. He knew he’d been hurt in one of the altercations. Not once had he asked about his business in the last year, or what he was up to. His goals. His life in general. It was always about Dad… about what he needed. What he felt. What he believed was funny and necessary. His selfishness ran deep.
“You’re just like me, Axel. Got your own mind. Say things how you feel.” The old man’s voice was low and gravelly, covered in wickedness like gravy.
“I’d never talk about my ol’ lady the way you talk about yours, after all she did for you.”
“All she did for me?” Dad rolled his eyes and laughed mirthlessly. “I think she’s fuckin’ around on me with one of those male nurses at her job.”
“What kind of garbage is that?”
“I’m serious. Come home smellin’ funny sometimes, and for your information, it’s my social security money that pays the bills ’round here! She doesn’t keep a clean house, either, and if you so gotdamn worried about her, why don’t you go up in there and help her get her shit together?! Show ’er where the bucket and mop is?!”
Axel flicked ashes onto the porch, and smirked.
“She should take that pot of mashed potatoes she got on that there stove, come on out here with it, and drown your ass in it. She bet not offer you no life jacket, either. Not even in damn Cheerio.”