A Story of the Past

It was his third year of college just shy of 21 when he had married his high school sweetheart; at the time he never would’ve considered differently. That’s what his own father had done, and he didn’t feel any particular feeling of disdain towards his significant other that he would foresee being a problem down the line. That was how things were supposed to be. They had a small modest wedding, attended by both of their families and he soon was on his way through paying a mortgage on a house.

Things were simpler back then. He got his degree, found a job teaching physics at his alma mater, and he and his newlywed wife settled down. What more could he ask for? Perhaps maybe a child so he could appease his parents’ pleas for a grandchild, but his wife provided that soon enough.

He remembered fussing over her and her growing belly, wondering what they should name the child if it was a boy or a girl. Things were blissful. He was happy and she was happy. And their happiness grew when their son was born.

Making a living lost a little bit of its immediacy as he shafted his club advisor duties on one of the other newer teachers and made his way home ASAP so he can coo over his offspring. He bought all the latest cameras and video recorders to capture every moment he could of his little one, much to his wife’s protests accusing him of being a spendthrift. Why, he had taken so many photos that he could be argued that his profession now was photography, not teaching. Going to the local drug store became a weekly affair to develop the photographs of his little one and his wife. 

Years went by. Videos of his son crawling, walking, running, jumping started to line shelves in video cassettes. His son was 5 now, and was to start kindergarten. It was one of those days when his little one was in kindergarten that he had learned something he was better off not knowing. 

Today it was one of those “teacher development meetings” he loathed more than anything: sitting through people lecturing at him to keep doing what he was supposed to be doing made him nearly fall asleep. With absolutely abysmal luck, the meeting ended behind schedule and as soon as he was able to he was out of there like a racehorse out the gate. He was rushing home before suddenly gaining the foresight to maybe surprise his family with some treats at the store and bought a lemon pound cake to share. The thought of the smile on his son’s face as he stuffed his face with cake brought an irrepressible grin to his own as he drove the rest of the way home. 

Nearing his neighborhood, he was already rehearsing the scenario in his head: “I brought you guys some pound cake, why don’t we share it now?” he’d say. His son would run up to him at the door, shouting “Cake! Cake!” as his wife smiled down the hall, chiding him for bringing dessert when she already had something prepared. 

When he got home there was an unfamiliar car parked on the street outside the house. He didn’t pay much attention to it, until he noticed an unfamiliar pair of shoes at the entranceway. His pulse quickened, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of all the information at the moment. He dropped the rustling bag containing the cake next to the doorway, and quietly made his way through the house. Who was in the house right now? 

As he passed his son’s room he heard a small knock and a whimper. He turned his attention to the door, curiously.

“Mommy, I need to peepee.”

He exhaled, knowing that his son was fine, and he tried to open the door but found it locked. Why was it locked? His mind raced through scenarios, that perhaps the mysterious shoes belonged to an intruder and his wife had locked his son in there for his safety. Hurriedly, his heart pounding in his chest, he opened the drawer to the bureau that was out in the hall and fetched the key to let his son out.

He scooped up his little one and made his way over to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He sat his son on the toilet and knelt down in front of him.

“Please try your best to be quiet ok? Daddy is playing the quiet game.”

“Ok,” his son replied, more concerned about relieving himself instead of whatever suggestion his father was making.

When his son was done, he scooped his son back up in his arms and put his finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. His son mimed the motion back with a loud “SHHHHHHH” and smiled.

He sat with his back to the door and his son in his arms, quietly wondering if maybe he should call the police, wondering if anything was stolen, and most importantly if his wife was ok.

He heard footsteps outside in the hall, and the indistinct voices of his wife and an unknown man. He couldn’t catch what was being said precisely, but he wasn’t sure if he made out the words “I’ll see you next week” properly.

He heard footsteps go back up the hall again, and he stood up and finally found the resolve to open the bathroom door and go out.

“Ron?” His wife stared at him exiting the bathroom like a deer in the headlights.

“Who was that?” he asked.

“No one you should be concerned about.”

“I think it should be someone I’m concerned about, if you’re willing to lock our son in the room.”

His wife was clearly getting agitated now, and he held his son tighter in his arms. His heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he could nearly vomit from the pulsing headache it was causing. It took all that he had to stand his ground and not tremble from the flurry of emotions and adrenaline that were coursing through his veins. 

“Daddy, you’re hugging too tight.”

His grip on his son loosened in surprise, and with a surprising swiftness his wife had come up to him and scooped the child out of his arms and into hers.

“It’s going to be alright now,” she consoled to their child. 

“You…”

“Don’t say a word, Ron. Not in front of our son.”

His hands were balled up into fists now, his knuckles turning white. 

“If you want to talk about this, we’ll talk about this tonight.” She turned and left towards the kitchen with their son, leaving him alone in the corridor.

He didn’t say a word. He turned around back over to the entrance way to fetch the plastic bag he had dropped by the door earlier, and found the cake smushed flat from being squished between the door and wall. 

“I bought you guys some pound cake,” he whispered, the words catching in his throat. “Why don’t we share it now?”