“A Child’s Question”

(1,200 Words)

(A short story published in The Peninsula Pulse on July 28, 2006

“Trevor, we have to talk.” Dad had never sounded so serious, before. I wish I hadn’t agreed. I wish that I’d run a hundred miles away. Maybe then, he wouldn’t have told me what he told me.

“What do you want, Dad? As I sat on the bed next to him, he rubbed my back with his big, warm hand. His eyes were red and puffy and I worried about the strange look on his face. The last time I saw that look, he told me Aunt Sally had died.

“Whatsa’ matter? Is Heather finally moving out?” My sister was always telling Dad she’d rather move than listen to any more of his garbage. As sad as he looked, I figured she must’ve decided to do it.

“No, Trev. Your sister isn’t the problem.” He sighed and looked at the ceiling. I looked up, too, but all I saw was the crack, from when I shot off my BB gun by accident. He grabbed my shoulders, then, and stared straight at me. “It’s about me and your mom.” I suddenly felt sick, but I didn’t know why. “You know how much we love you, don’t you, Son?”

I nodded but wished he would just shut up.

“I think you also know how much we’ve been fighting, lately. We can’t seem to stop it, no matter how hard we try.”

I wanted to stop him, but he was looking at the stain on my rug that wasn’t there, yesterday—he didn’t even seem to notice it.

“Your mom and I…what I’m trying to say is…your mom and I are having some serious problems that just can’t be solved, anymore. She wants to divorce me, Trev. Do you know what that means?”

I wanted to cry and scream. My stomach hurt and I felt shaky all over. Tears ran down my face; I wiped them so hard, it hurt.

“Where’s Mom? She promised to help me with my homework, tonight. She promised…”

“She’s at Grandma’s, Trev—upset, I guess. She asked me to apologize to you, but I can try to help if you want.”

“No! You don’t know anything about fractions, like Mom does.”

“I’m sorry, Son. Listen, what if I write you an excuse for your teacher?”

“That would be lying. You hate it when I lie! Why do you want to tell Miss Davison a lie?” He smiled and ruffled my hair. It made my new buzz cut tickle my head.

“It’s good to know you remember at least some things I try to teach you. But, you didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m not a baby. Third graders know more stuff than you think.”

“I know they do. But, I don’t think they know all the reasons why some things happen yet, like they think they might.”

“Jimmy told me his dad divorced his mom last year. Now, he has to live with his dad in the summer and his mom during school time. We talked about it a lot when it first happened.”

“Then, I guess you sort of know what to expect, don’t you?” He folded his arms and stared at me. Hard. It made me wonder if this was how that ant must’ve felt when I burned him with the magnifying glass.

I had to look away. His eyebrows were squished together and his mouth looked tight. Any minute now, he’d start trying to bite his moustache and that always made me laugh. I didn’t want to laugh just then. “You’re gonna leave us, aren’t you? You’re gonna leave, and it’s all my fault. I’m sorry, Dad. Whatever I did, I’m sorry…” The tears poured down my cheeks like a river, now. I was so ashamed. Third graders aren’t babies. I’d told him that and I lied. I just stood there, looking from the stain on the rug, to his work boot tapping on the floor. A black splotch stuck to it, and I knew it was part of the garage smell that made up my dad.

“Trevor, look at me.” He lifted my chin with one finger and smoothed his messy brown hair with his other hand. I felt sad when he did that, remembering how Mom used to say he must’ve thought he was prettier than she was. They both used to laugh and then, he’d give her a bear hug and kiss her. I ached inside at the thought I might never see them hugging again. “You had absolutely nothing to do with this.”

“That’s bullshit!” I waited for him to punish me, to realize that he cared enough to stay. It’s funny—a weird smile played on his lips, but he never said a word about it.

He just shook his head. “Remember when we first got Petey, and how you loved that pup the first day you set eyes on him? And then, when we brought him home, you kept sneezing, and we had to take you to the doctor? Remember what the doctor said?”

“’Course, I do. He said I was allergic to Petey, and we had to give him away.”

“Yes, we did. And you thought it was your fault, then, too, didn’t you?”

“But, it’s not the same—“

“In a way, it is. It wasn’t your fault that you were allergic to Petey, and it wasn’t your fault that we had to give him away. Petey was just being Petey, and you were just being you.”

“I still don’t understand. Why is Mom divorcing you? She’s not allergic to you, is she?” Dad laughed, but I didn’t think it was funny.

“I guess this is harder for you to understand than I thought.” The smile disappeared from his face. “Remember how you and Tommy liked the WWF and then, he went out for Little League and you didn’t? The two of you drifted apart because you liked different things.”

“But, I didn’t want to play baseball.”

“And you didn’t have to. But, it wasn’t your fault that the two of you stopped being friends, was it?”

He had me there, but I wasn’t ready to give up. “It’s still not the same, Dad. We didn’t go around fighting about it.”

“Maybe not, and I’m not trying to say it’s exactly the same. But, your mom and I are sort of like you and Tommy. We both want different things out of life and, no matter how hard we try to compromise, we just can’t agree. Grown-up lives are complicated and hard to explain; but one thing we always agreed on, and that was how much we loved you.”

“No! I don’t want you and Mom to break up. Please, Dad. Tell me it won’t happen.”

“I wish I could do that, but I can’t. I just want you to realize that this isn’t your fault.”

“I believe you, Dad.” I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his chest.

Now, I sighed and opened my math book. Miss Davison’s sharp voice cut through the room. “How many thirds are there in a whole?” she asked. I closed my eyes and tried to understand how three thirds could ever equal a whole of anything, again.