I Don’t Know the Title of the Story…Does It Matter?

“Should we go?”

“Um…I—I don’t want to get into trouble—”

“How old are you, five? Have some adventure! Liven up, man! Live life.”

“Yeah—no wuss is going to get us to go home and go to bed!”

You guys—we’re not supposed to do this. My—”

“Mommy? Aw, the little boy’s mommy said he couldn’t go. Then, why are you here?”

“Because you said I’d be able to drive the moped. Wasn’t that the deal?”

“Don’t have a permit.”

“Or license.”

“Guys! We agreed!”

“Get lost. You hang with us, we’ll put you through all kinds of weeds and brushes and mud and dirt.”

“Want to ride that moped? Get on it!”

“Just not without us.”

“Don’t worry—”

“Oh—we have to. With you, we do.”

“Yeah—you’re just some pipsqueak.”

“I promise I’ll be careful!”

“Either get us some candy at that candy shop, or you’re not going anywhere. We’re faster than you, and we can outrun you by far.”

“So don’t think about trying to escape—we’ll catch up, grab you and thrust you into that candy shop.”

“I don’t care what you guys do. I’m not stealing another candy bar—”

“What’s gonna happen? The cops are gonna put us away in jail? I’d escape faster than a chicken on the run from a fox. So I don’t know what’s taking you so long to get us the stupid candy!”

“Yeah—you better hurry up.”

“Not doing it. Besides, if it’s stupid, why should I?”

“We’ll leave you here. An’ we’re not coming back for ya.”

“So? I don’t need you guys.”

“Okey-dokie—”

“So long.” Don’t know what I’m doing out here past midnight with a couple of thieves anyway. Almost got caught. Oh, look, a police car. Have fun raiding the place.

“Finally, I’m in my bed, safe and sound.”

“Hey, Mom. I didn’t steal with them. I went home.”

“I know! I heard the back door unlock. I’m so proud of you, Rockets.”

“Thanks.”

“There’s some bacon and sausage on the counter. Eat up—you have school today.”

“Aw, man!”

“It’s worth it. Study hard!”

“Okay.”

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Can I talk to you about something?”

“Yes, honey. Whatever you need.”

“I…I’m sorry for wasting my time. I mean, with those guys—”

“You’re always apologizing for things you don’t need to do, Rock. Just make the best decision. Be wise. Don’t always feel the need to make everyone else your therapist. Just do as you’re told! You’re always making mistakes and then feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I’m not feeling sorry. I just…I just want friends.”

“Make friends at school. Don’t you hang out with Greg and the guys?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Because if I did, I’d get inundated with videogame trivia. “Every time I went over to Greg’s, they would be outsmarting each other in Mario Kart or shooting the enemy down in Halo or quiz me on my knowledge of Dungeons and Dragons while creating characters that make me question my own sanity—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. What’re some of your hobbies?”

“Nothing!”

“Don’t say that! You’re my son. Come here. I love you, man. Don’t doubt it.”

“I don’t, Mom. But I don’t understand why I can’t hang out with people who—”

“Max and Phil? They’re just high schoolers, Rockets. You’re in seventh grade. Don’t waste your time hanging out with people who don’t share your passion for—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Hey, Mom. Meet my new friend, Isla. She’s from Norway. We’ve been eating lunch together. She’s never been to America or Canada or any other English-speaking country. She doesn’t know English that well. I’m teaching her.”

“Hi! I’m Maddie, Rockets’ mother. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice meet. How you?”

“I’m doing well! How sweet you are.”

“Welcome.”

“Hey, Isla. Thought maybe we’d go on the trampoline. Would you like to do that?”

“Tramp-o-line? Yes, much good that. Go now. We jump.”

“Okay!”

“Hey, Isla? Do…you…want to go out on a date?”

“Date? I thought you’d never ask! Sure.”

“I thought maybe we could drive over to Olive Garden. I need to fill the car with gas. Do you mind stopping with me at Love’s?”

“No, not at all! How’s your Norwegian coming?”

“Good. I think I can have a small conversation with you.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

“That’s so funny! So you’ve never been to Norway, Finland or any of the other countries?”

“No! I probably went to England when I was, like, twelve months old, but I don’t remember that. I mean, I was a baby!”

“I never went outside Norway. Now that I’ve lived in America for five years, I never really knew anything else other than American food and Fourth of July and other American things.”

“Do you miss Norway?”

“Yeah. But I go back. During summers.”

“Oh.”

“They don’t celebrate the Fourth. I try to explain the holiday to my best friend, but he just doesn’t understand. It’s like trying to explain how beautiful the Northern Lights are without actually seeing them. You can’t.”

“Hey, Isla. I don’t mean to pry, but are you going to marry your best friend—”

“Hey, Rockets. You know we’ve been going out as friends since the eighth grade. I don’t see why—”

She just doesn’t get it.

“I never really had many close friends—”

“Isla, you have a best friend.”

“Rockets, I don’t mean to be the prying here, but I’m a girl from thousands of miles overseas, and I think it’d be great if you find some pals who don’t use or lie to you. I see you over at some other boys’ houses, and you’re always talking about how you don’t fit into their group or their life.”

“Isla, you’re not—”

“Just because I have a best friend doesn’t mean I don’t like or want to hang out with you. Look, we’ve taken great pictures together. I even showed you my father’s little fish collection—”

“Little? Don’t think it’s so small—”

“Well, it’s small compared to a whole wall of fish tank in a huge mansion.”

“Yeah—”

“Hey, I thought you were going to practice your Norwegian. Want to give it a try?”

Sure…

“Say, you’re pretty good. Sometimes, you say ‘my’ instead of me at the end of your sentences, but I used to say ‘I’ instead of ‘me’!”

“It’s hard.”

“Uh-huh. English is my second language. I still struggle with a and an. But I guess it’s just a thing you do when you speak someone else’s language.”

“That’s true—”

“Hey, are you even listening? You’re on your phone. Put it away, Rockets.”

“Okay—okay. Sorry, just needed to get back to my mom. She said we couldn’t stay out past midnight. It’s pretty close to eleven thirty. I think we should be heading back now.”

“Okay. I’m sorry to bother you, but why do you live with your mom?”

Does this girl ever just listen instead of feel the need to talk? “My dad left us when I was only four. I don’t really remember him much. I have memories of him throwing me on the couch and me laughing hysterically whenever he would blow into the elbow part of his arm and make raspberries, or he would push me on my bike, teaching me how to ride one, or how to swim. But—”

“That’s a lot!”

“It is, but it’s mostly because my mom told me when I was eleven. I don’t really remember him much at all.”

“I think we should talk and drive. Is that alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for taking me. And paying. And driving me home! You’re really nice.”

“Sure!”

“Hey, Rockets, if it makes you feel better, I have a best friend back in Norway, but we’re friends back in Norway. We’re not, like, best friends here.”

“What does you mean?”

“He doesn’t speak much English. And I lost a little Norwegian. I talk to him to get the lost words back.”

What does that even mean? How could you just not talk to someone you assumedly grew up with or known all your life?

“Hey—it’s eleven forty-five. Think we should head back?”

“Yeah”

“Rockets.”

“Yes, Mom?”

“How was school today?”

“Good.”

“Is…everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah!”

“Rockets, you’re not telling me everything.”

“Why’d he leave? I’m his son, Mom. I know you know why, but…why?!”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry!”

“I…d-don’t know w-why he’s…he’s g-got to leave us!”

“Don’t cry, Rockets. It’ll be alright.”

“No one u-understands, Mom!”

“I know. Come here.”

“I mean, he missed my eighth grade graduation. Who was there when I got my driver’s license? Who celebrated me when I got my preschool certification? Who hugged me tight when I watched Scruffy our cat be put down in sixth grade? Who clapped so hard some people—whom she totally ignored—told her to be quiet while I walked the stage at Waters Crossing Elementary School in fifth grade? Who cheered the loudest when she watched her son kick that winning goal into the net? Who watched her son dunk that basketball all through ninth, tenth and eleventh grades? Who screamed with joy at her son getting into an Ivy League school? Who’s telling her son to come home from a restaurant at eleven thirty at night? WHO?!”

“I know, I know. I know! I’m angry, too, baby—”

“Dad isn’t. Dad doesn’t know. He has no idea how hurt I am. How much he’s missed. How much of your life or mine he’s missed. He doesn’t care!”

“Rockets, my grandmother watched her husband leave, my husband’s father watched his wife leave and I was forced to watch my father leave. I don’t have anyone but you and Mom. Sometimes, I just want to jump in the community pool and swim. Forever. Swim to Dad. Swim to Grandpa, and swim to my mother-in-law. But I can’t. I can’t swim to the afterlife. To hell.

“Rockets, honey? Are you listening? You’re tuning me out.”

“Oh, I’m listening all right!”

I’m listening to the silence of my father never smiling down on me. I’m listening to the deafness of my father never showing up for any of my school science fair projects. I’m listening to the fact that I was the only boy at Boy Scouts without a father. Whose dad never pinned his son’s next badge on his vest. Without a dad tossing him a basketball, or kicking the ball around on the soccer field. I’m listening. To his absence. His stupid, lifeless rejection. There, that should do it. The boat’s ready, Rockets. All yours to sail away from this island and never return.

Oh my gosh! Look at that. All those bioluminescent creatures surrounding my boat! Wish I had a camera. Then I’d show Isla—

“Hey! Come join us.”

“You can talk?”

“Well, yeah!”

“Cool! Wow—I’m a jellyfish! I’ve never been down this far.”

“Actually, man, if you look above, you’re not that deep down.”

“Oh—sorry. I’m not so aware of my surrounding sometimes.”

“That’s okay!”

“Hey—what’re we doing tonight?”

“Just hangin’. Wanna hang?”

I want a friend, a relationship, real people in my life. Isla’s back in Norway. She couldn’t take the McDonald’s food anymore. Whatever that means. I want my dad.

“So you want more than just the cool lights underwater?”

“Could you please at least act like you don’t know my thoughts?”

“No problem.”

“Where’s my son? I don’t know where he is! I’ve already lost my husband. Please—somebody—”

“We’re sending help, ma’am. Just be patient. Search and rescue officers are looking for him.”

“Just get him home fast!”

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? I’VE BEEN WORRIED SICK ABOUT YOU! DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I’VE BEEN UP AT NIGHT, WAITING FOR YOU TO ANSWER YOUR PHONE? YOU DIDN’T COME THROUGH THE BACK DOOR. YOU DIDN’T TEXT ME. YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!”

“Mom—Mom?”

“Hey, man, you were sleeping.”

“Get off my boat! Dude, leave me alone.”

“Alright!”

Wish I had some paper and a pen right now. I’d be writing up a song about my life. My sad, boring life that consists of no father, no mother, no friends, nothing but sadness and—

“Hey, man, don’t be so down—“

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Sorry your dad left. Sorry your mother isn’t here—”

“Shut up! Just shut up, alright? You know nothing. You don’t watch your mother go to bed with tears in her eyes, talking to my father. Chuckling a little because she needs someone to laugh with. I go in, and I laugh for him. You don’t wake up without a warm hug, a glowing smile, a gentle nudge in the right direction. Now, I’m just a kid. I’m nothing. Nobody. I might as well jump into the sea and let you take me away as your food. Sting me. Do whatever. Because, you know what, I’m done. I’m through making my mom laugh so hard she cries. Because she does. She actually cries, and I hate it. She blinks back them tears for me. She wipes them tears away from my eyes. And I say, ‘Mama, don’t cry’ and she goes, ‘Alright, ma boy’. And I go, ‘Stop it!’ And she says ‘Yes, sir!’ And we laugh. We laugh away the pain. But it doesn’t go away. It will never go away! It’s always there—even when no one can see it.”

“Do you think if you get in touch with your father you’d be happy?”

“No. He’s off—”

“Do that, man.”

“I don’t need no advice from no jellyfish.”

“I’m just—”

“Some creature who’s giving me nothing!”

“Just trying to lighten up the mood. Don’t understand why you can’t make light of the situation.”

“Because I’m angry!”

“I can see that.”

“And stop making those dumb light jokes.”

“They’re puns.”

“Whatever.”

“Guess what? The lights are on, but nobody’s home. How about you come down here?”

“See? Tentacles and all. Happy?”

“I think you’d be happy if you’d talk to your father about him leaving your mother and you. Why be angry when you can resolve the problem?”

“You mean hurt him? Avenge him for never being in my life?”

“No!”

“Uh…no. I’m not.”

“Doesn’t sound so convincing. Sounds like you’re going to.”

“Well, I’m not. Sorry, but I don’t believe in vengeance.”

“Hey, son. How are you?”

“First of all, Dad, it’s Rockets. Second, where are you? Where were you? Didn’t want to celebrate Black History Month with Mom and me? Didn’t want to stay for my graduations from elementary and middle school? Didn’t want to bake bread with Mom and me while I practiced for my Last Supper play at Easter one Sunday at church? Why? Why didn’t you?”

“I—”

“You what? Didn’t want no one in your life but your income, your logo, your motto, your suit and tie and coat and—”

“Hold on. Who said anything about a suit and tie? Who said—”

“Dad, you abandoned us.”

“I know, but I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t like us?”

“Now—”

“Didn’t love us?”

“No—”

“Don’t tell me no! Grow up, Dad!”

“Mom?”

“Yes, Rockets! I’m here.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Rockets!”

“Why did Dad leave?”

“I told you.”

“No, the whole truth, Mom. I’m about to have a baby right now. My wife’s going into labor any second. We’re here in this hospital room, waiting for her to deliver. Please—tell me.”

“Rockets, please. We’ve gone over this.”

“Rockets, please, honey. I need to stay calm for the baby.”

“Rockets?”

“Yes, Dad?”

“Do you forgive me?”

“Yes, Dad. I do.”

“Thank you.”

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Do you forgive me? I didn’t know what came over me. The gun—it went off. I ran. I fled. I…the gun…”

“You were scared, Rockets. I understand. We’re here now, in heaven. Please. We’re forgiven. Don’t make me say something else. Go be with your father. He wants to build another bridge with you. How about you go—”

“Yeah, okay. Bye!”

“See you. Enjoy.”

“I will.”

“Marie?”

“Yes?”

“Do you forgive my son?”

“Baby Samson and I both do.”

“No more guns. No more craziness.”

“No more suicide.”

“No. Bullet entered my son’s head. Jesus wipes our sins away.”

“Yes, yes, he does.”

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Dad, do you forgive me for how I acted in that hospital room with my Marie and Mom?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Thank you. Oh, and can we build another bridge? This time, it’s wider and bigger than anyone’s ever seen! I’ll continue my engineering work, while you’re the architect. Draw the blueprint, and I’ll construct, alright?”

“Okay, okay! Calm down—one thing at a time. I’m just not as fast as you.”

“Great! Let’s get started.”

“Mom?”

“Yes, Rockets. What is it?”

“I don’t ask Dad why he’s left. I’ve dropped the subject.”

“That’s great!”

And even better we’re all here together, in heaven. Jesus does in fact wipe our sins away. Our sins—like that blood spattered on the walls, hospital bed sheets, pillows, linen, floor and chairs—are wiped away. Cleansed by the blood of the Lamb. How merciful our Lord is.

“Yes, it is!”

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey—”

“Huh? Oh—what a dream!”

“Yeah, man! You were sleeping for, like, forever!”

“Mom?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Going out with Raquelle.”

“Have fun!”

“So you like diners?”

“Mmm…they’re kind of boring. Why?”

“Because you’re bringing me to one on our first date, silly!”

“Aw, my sweet grandson!”

“Here he is, Mom.”

“Congratulations, Rockets. You’re a father.”

“Thank you. I couldn’t be more proud or excited.”

“And I couldn’t be more thrilled to be his grandmother.”

“Dad?”

“Yes, Malachi?”

“You’re not going to leave, are you?”

“Why would you think that?”