Home: Part 16

What follows is a work of fiction. Nothing here is either true or relevant. Read at your own risk. Expect nothing, and that's exactly what you'll get. Oh: This could go on for awhile.

January 1958 

The morning after my father broke my mother's tooth, everyone was gone when I got out of bed and walked into the kitchen. It was a Saturday, and though I had seen my father leave for work, I expected my mother and sister to be lingering about somewhere. Perhaps, like me, they were not sure of how to act--or react--to the previous night's event and had opted to avoid everyone and everything.

Outside, the sky was gray; snow had fallen through the night. On the driveway, the snow had been etched by tire tracks that seemed now to be half-filled by new snow. Tiger was now curled up on the sofa and staring at me. I sat beside him and considered the palm of my hand where the fragment of my mother's tooth had left a small cut as I'd squeezed it during the night.

Not far from our home was a large field where corn grew throughout the summer. Tiger and I had left the quiet house behind and were walking through the furrows. Away from the houses in our neighborhood, the field was one place where I could remove the dog's leash and let him run. He would sniff through the snow as he put space between us, going only so far before looking back to find me.

Once, during a heavy snowstorm, Tiger and I were in the same field and he stopped running, turned, and stared into a distance I could not see. Moments later a human form appeared, and as it got closer I recognized my father: warm, heavy coat; old-fashioned black galoshes; knitted scarf.

"Tiger!" my father yelled. "Come here, boy!"

Tiger lurched, stopped, then ran toward my father. My father ran in the opposite direction, and Tiger stopped as if confused by what had vanished into the falling snow. I heard my father's voice call again, and Tiger circled a bit before racing away. I stood there and listened as Tiger barked when my father called to him. Then, for a while, I could hear neither of them. I stood where I was and shut my eyes as the snow fell around me, until I heard them both getting closer.

"That dog can run!" my father said when the two of them reached my side. "This is a nice field, isn't it?" He tilted his bare face upward and let the snow fall onto it, and he seemed to stay that way for a long time. He finally wiped his eyes and looked around. "I just wanted to get out of the house and get some air. Took me a while to find where you two had gone--but you picked the perfect place. I've got to go to work later, so I might not see you until right before bedtime. Stay warm, okay?"

"See you, Dad," I said as he patted Tiger's head and disappeared into the falling snow.

The house was still empty when Tiger and I got home. I dried the dog's fur. Eating Cheerios at the kitchen table, I again looked at the small cut on my palm. I was not sure of why I had taken the broken tooth from my father's dinner plate, or why I had clutched it so tightly throughout the night.  Later that morning, though, I would search for but not find that fragment anywhere on or under my bed, and I would wonder which of my parents had crept into my room as I slept and retrieved it.