Sunday Afternoon

Hank clicked on the coffee pot, then the radio.  It was tuned to CBC.  Sunday afternoon CBC radio.

"Yup, I'm a fuckin' old man." he thought.

He sat at the kitchen table and waited.  He sure wished there would be a Mrs. Hank, if not to have wild monkey sex with, at least make coffee once in a while.  He rolled his eyes and wondered for who's benefit.  Ha!

He heard the creak of the back door hinges.  He should grease those.  This seemed to be a daily thought he'd had for months now.  He would get to it eventually.

"Hey cutie!  Not singing this morning?"

"Hey Janet.  Just getting up.  I was up late last night finishing those baseboards."

"Where's Phil?"

"Who knows.  He was gone when I got up.  There was a sweatsock on the floor, a half bottle of Jager on the coffee table and toast crusts.  The fucker is almost 50 years old and doesn't eat his fucking crusts.  He's such a kid."

"He'll never change.  I don't think I'd want him to.  He's kind of a loveable old bastard."

"Don't ever them him hear that.  He'll chase you forever.  The coffee is ready.  Wanna cup?"

"Sure.  Then I have to get going.  The kids are coming over for supper tonight.  I have to pick up some real food.  The goddamned kids make me act like a grown up.  I don't think they'd appreciate toasted bagels and Cheerios for supper." Janet laughed to herself. "Why don't you come too?"

"I just might.  I remember how well you cook.  I wouldn't mind having a good meal for a change.  I don't cook much anymore."

"I hear ya.  Me neither, since the kids are always away, and since Frank....."  Her words trailed off.

"So what's Phil getting into, today?" She asked, changing the subject.

"I don't really know where he goes.  He never tells me.  I'd think maybe he was chasing skirts but I don't think so.  He's always game to tell me about those escapades.  The real and imagined ones."

He handed Janet a cup of coffee and poured his own.

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"She looked ripe, Pop.  I thought I was in." said Phil sitting under the tree, his arms resting on his knees.

He came to visit every Sunday to chat with him.

"Then she told me there wasn't a chance I'd get into her pants.  She was more colourful than that of course.  I don't understand women at all.  It's not like I was asking her to bale hay for chrissakes!  You know some women have survived sex with me.  I dare say, some have even enjoyed it!  Unless they were Oscar winning actresses or just happened to have grand mal seizures when we were bangin'.  I guess I've dated my share of epileptics if that's the case."

No response was offered.  These conversations were usually one sided.  His dad wasn't much for intimate  conversations anymore. He used to be full of chatter when Phil was a kid.  At least early on in the evenings.  He was usually laughing at some inane thing or another.  His favourite joke was to pass gas, look behind himself and blurt "Who's that asshole talkin' back there?!?"  Then he'd laugh himself silly ass off.  That was after a couple of beer.

When he'd got a few more beers in his belly, the laughter gave way to more acidic talk directed at anyone in range.  Phil would make himself scarce.  He hated himself for that since that left his mom to deal with him.  He still hated himself for that. Maybe that's why she left.

He was twelve when she'd left.  His dad said she was sick and had to go away.  He was never sure, and never heard from her again.  There were a lot of stories around town, and he was never sure what to believe.

Life sure got quiet at home after that.  Gone was his dad's laughing.  Gone was his raging.  He still went to work.  He made the meals and washed the clothes and that was pretty much it.  He'd retire to the basement in the evenings, read, smoke and drink.  And he was quiet.

"Well, I better hit it.  Hank wants me to help him put the baseboards in his bathroom.  And besides, Janet is probably over and if I'm not there, they'll likely get into something no good.  They were making those googly eyes at each other again last night.  Sometimes I wish Hank would just go ahead and fuck her already.  But that'd change things.  They wouldn't be so cool to hang out with anymore.  Anyway, I gotta head out Pop.  I'll see you next week."  Phil's visits were short.

Hank got up, dusted off his ass and walked over.  He bent down to pull three weeds that were daring to sprout up.  He straightened up and swept the oak leaves from the head stone. 

"Love ya, Pop."