2nd Place Winner of CWA’s First Chapter Contest -                      “Cool Like Maverick”

By Jennifer Chapman

I was eight years old when I learned how to pretend. Not in the way that kids do when they play war or dig a hole to China. I’m talking about the kind of make believe where you become someone else to get through it, whatever that may be.

The last time I saw my dad I was eight, back in ’86. He took me to the Crest Theater in downtown Sacramento to see a double feature of Karate Kid and Karate Kid Part II. I didn’t really care about movies back then, I’d only seen some Disney classics and the old black and whites they’d play on the local channel on weekends. I liked Godzilla and Laurel and Hardy okay, but it wasn’t really my thing.

I was so excited to be spending time with my dad that I reached for his hand as we crossed the street. He yanked it away and pulled up the waist of his Wrangler jeans. He was always gone working on some old car or delivering one to some rich guy who would probably never drive it. Waves of heat rose from the black pavement as we crossed the street to the theatre with its towering neon sign in pink, purples and blues.

“You excited, buddy?” Dad said.

I shrugged. “Kinda. But I really wanted to go to the zoo,” I said.

Dad raked his hand through this wavy black hair and sighed. He put a hand on my back to steer me across the street. “The zoo is for babies. And it’s too fuckin’ hot. Trust me Tommy, you’ll love this. When I was your age I was going to movies every chance I could.”

“Why isn’t mom here?”

“This day is for dudes only. No chicks allowed.”

As soon as we entered the theater I was in another world. The cold air filled with the smell of butter and salt, the dizzying pattern of film reels and stars on the carpet, even the bored teenagers ripping tickets at the entrance were exciting to me. The theater was old and majestic, and it was the fanciest place I had ever seen up to that point.

Dad and I approached the concession counter. “Anything you want,” he said. He pulled a $20 from his money clip.

Mom never let me have candy unless it was a holiday or if I got a good grade on my report card which was almost never, or when she wanted to distract me when she was arguing with dad. I pressed my hands to the glass and considered my options. There were old timey candies that Grandma Barb would eat like Jujubes, Milk Duds and Raisinets, but also good ones like Junior Mints, Reese’s Pieces, and M&Ms. I could also get a cherry slushee or Dippin’ Dots. I was paralyzed with concocting the perfect combination.

“Just pick something already,” Dad barked.

“One of everything,” I said quickly.

“Nice try,” dad said. “One large popcorn with extra butter, a medium Dr. Pepper no ice, and a box of Jujubes.”

Dad slapped the bill on the counter and smiled at the blond teenage girl ringing up the order on the register. Her smile exposed her braces with purple elastic bands and she covered her mouth with her hand as she giggled.

“No need to be ashamed of that pretty smile,” dad cooed as she handed him his change, her pinky finger lingering on the side of his palm.

I turned my gaze to the popcorn boy drizzling a stream of liquid butter on top of the bucket and their conversation faded into noise like the parents talking in the Peanuts cartoons. I was feeling a bit like Charlie Brown and dad was Lucy holding the football waiting for me to fall for it again.

“Mom has a really pretty smile, doesn’t she?” I said, looking up at Dad as innocently as I could.

“That’s right, son,” Dad said in a fake voice I’ve only heard when collectors or his boss called our house phone. “Time to get to our seats,” he said with a toothy smile as he pinched my ear.

“What’d you say that for?” Dad hissed as we found our way to our seats. He grabbed me by the elbow as I headed down the aisle. I wanted to sit near the front and in the middle so I could have a prime view. Popcorn spilled out of the bucket and onto the crazy carpet. I yanked my arm out and Dad headed for the back and sat down in an aisle seat.  “Just in case I need to take a leak,” he announced.

I sat down next to him and slumped down in the chair and stared forward at the screen flashing local ads for video arcades and car detailing. I could feel my dad’s eyes on me but I didn’t care, even if it was a dude’s day.

He shook the box of Jujubes in front of me. "Want some?” he said, chomping like a cow, and his teeth were all purplish black from the licorice. His breath smelled bitter like anise. It reminded me of the first time I had black jellybeans at Easter and threw up all over Grandma Barb’s shag carpet. “Why are you being so goddamn pouty?” Dad picked at his teeth.

“I don’t like licorice. You should know that.” I dug my hand into the bucket on my lap and shoved a handful into my mouth. The popcorn was so salty and wet in spots but it kept me from crying so it was good.

“You’re a real piece of work. I’ve always told your mom that she spoils the shit out of you. I take off work to take my son to a movie marathon and buy him snacks and you’re whining about licorice.”

“But I wanted—”

“I asked you what you wanted and you were just standing there like some kind of mouth breather so I picked for you. If you don’t like it you should have made a choice. ‘Everything’ is not a choice, it’s a cop out. Case closed.”

The lights dimmed and I was grateful because if I cried no one would see. A hot dog and a Coke walked out on screen and told everybody to be quiet and enjoy the show and some jerk said “fuck you” and my dad laughed along with the other teenagers and suddenly he didn’t seem all that cool to me anymore.

Before the first Karate Kid was over I was hooked. I was Daniel-san and dad was Johnny in his red leather jacket on his motorcycle and more than anything I wished I had a Mr. Miyagi to help me figure things out. After we watched Karate Kid Part II I wanted to watch the first one again (sequels are never as good) but Dad said we had to go to dinner.

As I walked out of the theater I felt powerful and special and all I needed was to learn philosophy and to perfect a crane kick and the world would be my oyster as Grandma Barb said. As Dad held open the front door the heat and the sunlight nearly knocked me over. I had forgotten about the world outside of the movie and my normal life.

Dad smacked my hand when I tried to wax on wax off on the hood of his car. We made the short drive to Old Town which still kind of looked like a Western frontier town with low buildings fronted by wooden walkways and signs hanging from hooks in front of each shop. I asked to go into the candy store that had barrels of every kind of candy you could imagine since I didn’t get any in the movie and Dad said dinner first and then maybe candy if I didn’t cause any trouble.

Dinner was at some place that was supposed to be a diner but also had scoops of ice cream and a bakery section with coffee. I asked the waitress if they had any sushi like Mr. Miyagi might eat and she laughed and Dad ordered a black coffee and a blueberry muffin for himself and a cheeseburger and fries with a Coke for me, so things were looking up I guess. Until they weren’t.

When the food arrived Dad watched me eat and left his muffin and coffee untouched. The waitress came by wielding a carafe and dad put his hand over his cup.

“So how’s school?” he said, picking a blueberry off the top and squishing it on the plate.

“It’s summer,” I said.

“Well how was school, then?”

“Okay I guess.”

“You get good grades?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, my mouth full of greasy meat and bread. I could tell that Dad was getting frustrated. He was doing that thing when he picks at his cuticles until they get red and bloody.

Not knowing what to do I just imitated him. “How’s work?” I said. I dragged the last of my fries through the ketchup.

Dad took a sip of coffee and peered at me. “Same old, same old,” he said.

“You working on any good cars like a ’69 Mustang or a Charger?”

“What are you doing?”

“Shooting the shit. Like two dudes.” I said. I drained my Coke and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. The burger sat heavy in my stomach. I resisted the urge to burp.

Dad spit out his coffee and it sprayed across the table, casting a fine, earthy mist on me. I didn’t blink. “What did you just say?”

“I’ve heard you say that on the phone,” I said.

“That’s different. I’m a grown-ass man. I don’t want you going back home and cussing at your mother. I’ll never hear the end of it. Never mind all that. We need to talk.”

The waitress laid the check on the edge of the table. “Take your time,” she said. Dad chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” I said. “Can I have ice cream?”

Dad looked around the room for a door or a beer or an escape hatch or something. Suddenly my throat felt dry and sticky.

“No ice cream, I already got the bill,” he pulled out another $20 and laid it on top of the check. He told her to keep the change and waited for her to walk away before he turned to me. “Look, there’s really no good way for me to say this.”

My lips felt cracked. “Can I get another Coke?” I said quietly.

“Stop asking for stuff. I need to talk to you. Now just sit there and listen. This isn’t easy for me. I’m no Mr. Beaver.”

“It’s Mr. Cleaver.” Leave it to Beaver was from Dad’s day but I watched whatever was on TV after school instead of playing outside. So I knew all about the Beav and Eddie Haskell.

“Cut the crap. This is serious.” Dad fixed his gaze just above my head. I wondered if he was reading the ice cream menu. “Your mom and I are going our separate ways,” Dad said.

It kind of felt like the time in first grade when I was chicken fighting at recess with the new kid in my class and a bee flew near my face and I screamed and fell to the ground and the wind got knocked out of me. My mouth flopped like a fish when the new kid stood over me, his dominance established, earning the respect of the other little assholes, so he no longer had a need for me. He kicked sand at my face with the toe of his sneaker just at the moment that my lungs resumed their supposedly automatic function and I inhaled the cloud of dust and everyone laughed and that was my worst moment up until Dad said those words.

Why did he tell me in the middle of a busy restaurant? Why wasn’t my mother there? Why was this happening at all? My parents had been fighting and distant for so long that it seemed normal to me. Even then I knew shows like The Brady Bunch and The Cosby Show were full of crap, designed to get Americans to buy laundry detergent, station wagons and ugly sweaters. I wanted to cry but I knew my dad would hate that. I searched his face for any sign of what he could be thinking or feeling, but he just sat there biting his fingers.

“Do you have any questions?” he said.

I thought about Karate Kid and how Daniel-san was so stoic after he got beat up by Johnny and his goons. He put on a pair of sunglasses and told his mom that nothing was the matter. He didn’t cry. Even though his leg was hurt he found the strength to do the crane kick and defeat Johnny in the tournament. I bit the inside of my lip. I imagined myself training for the fight that was to come. Wax on, wax off. I traced circles on the table with my open palms.

“Say something,” Dad said.

“Can I have some ice cream?”

Dad covered his face with his hands, but his shoulders fell slack as he exhaled and I knew that I had done good.

“I’m whooped, buddy. Why don’t we pick up a quart of ice cream on the way home?”

During the car ride I had so many questions but I kept my mouth shut, making circles on my thighs to remind myself to be zen and focused. We pulled into our pot-holed driveway and Dad put the car in park. He got the bag with the ice cream from the back seat and placed it on the dash. The closed metal blinds in the front window parted and fell back again.

“You’re not coming in?” I said, a little too highly. I cleared my throat.

“Nah, kid, it’s best if I don’t. Besides, I have to drive a Porsche out to a client in Scottsdale first thing.” Dad rubbed my head with a calloused palm. “Be good for your mother, okay?”

Tears threatened to spill from my eyes. I pressed my lips together and smiled tightly. I knew if I opened my mouth to speak that a scream from the depths of my being would erupt. So I blinked my eyes at him and got out of the car. I focused on the trudging of my feet as I moved to the open doorway. Mom was standing there with her favorite crocheted shawl wrapped around her even though it was still hot, arms clutched around her chest. I could hear the whine of the engine as Dad reversed out of the driveway behind me.

Mom sat me down at the kitchen table, sipping from a can of Tab, adjusting the fake flower centerpiece so that it was in the exact middle. I went to the kitchen cabinet and got out two bowls and two spoons from the drawer. I put them on the table and then burst into tears.

“I know it’s hard honey,” Mom said, lighting up a Virginia Slims and taking a deep drag.

“I left the ice cream in the car,” I wailed. “Mint chocolate chip.”

“Oh, I thought you were upset about—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. She took one more drag and stubbed out the cigarette in a coffee mug. “Did Dad talk to you?”

“You mean about the divorce? Yeah.”

“And you’re okay?”

“Why weren’t you there?” I said.

Mom got up and searched the cabinets, moving boxes of pasta and saltine crackers to find an offering. She pulled out an opened package of generic sandwich cookies and placed it between us. She unscrewed the brown top slowly and scraped the filling with her teeth. “I know I should have been there. But I couldn’t. The idea of upsetting you—“

“It’s not like he’s around much anyway.” The weight of the day weighed down on me. “I’m going to bed,” I said.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?”

The wheels started spinning. I never thought of the advantages of this situation. Kevin Herbert’s parents got divorced and next thing I know he comes in with a new Huffy bike and a pair of Nikes.

“Could we get sushi sometime?” I said.

“Sushi?” Mom said. “Have you had it before?”

“No,” I said with the zen calm of Mr. Miyagi. “But it is always helpful to keep an open mind.”

“Sure, I guess.” Mom said.

“And can I see Top Gun?”

“We’ll see.”

“Can we have ice cream for breakfast?”

“Tommy,” Mom said in a weighted tone.

“Good night,” I said. A good negotiator always knows when to quit. After I brushed my teeth I made a list of all of the things I would ask for. This arrangement might suit me yet.

 

Dad never came back. A few days later I woke up to the sound of packing tape being pulled from the roll and the thump of cardboard boxes as they hit the tiled floor. The local morning show blared from the black and white TV in the kitchen. When I opened my door I saw mom wrapping cartoon jelly glasses in old newspaper. As she looked up I could see the mascara from the day before darkening the circles beneath her eyes. She nodded towards the dining room table.

“I got us some donuts from Lee’s this morning. I even got your favorite jelly ones.”

I sat down at the table and grabbed a raspberry donut. “Why are you packing?”

“We can’t afford to live here without your Dad’s paycheck and I can’t exactly count on him to help,” Mom said.

I put the half-eaten donut back in the box and closed the lid. The donut wasn’t a consolation prize. It was a bribe. It never occurred to me that we would leave. That house was the only home I had ever known. I took in everything so I could commit it to memory—-the yellowed stucco walls, the cracks in the ceiling, and the orange tree where I learned to climb that shaded the front window.

“Can’t you just get a better job?” I said.

“I already have,” she said. “But it means we have to move and I didn’t want to drop everything on you at once.”

I thought about how the Karate Kid’s mom moved them to the Valley without asking first and he was mad too. She also used some job as an excuse to ruin his life, but in the end it all turned out okay I guess so maybe my new life would be okay too.