Fiction

By Jay Scott Kanes



HOLY Cow! Errol Reed hardly believed his eyes. A Sault Ste. Marie City Transit bus hurtled toward his father who had stepped off the curb onto Great Northern Road.

“Dad, watch out,” Errol screamed. Edgar, his hard-of-hearing father, smiled and waved, oblivious to danger. The bus driver stomped on his brakes, causing a screeching noise, but couldn't stop in time. The massive bus moved closer, and Errol entered one of those rare dimensions where events shift into slow motion.

The two men had left a Christmas party at the Pine Street house where Errol's parents lived. Like most clans, the Reeds had a few tipplers who drank everything in sight on holidays. Uncle Arthur and Aunt Giovanna were the worst. The party had run out of spirits, and 67-year-old Tracy Reed, Errol's mother, always demanded perfection at any event in her home. So she had ordered her 72-year-old husband to visit the wine store.

“Eh?” Edgar had responded as he usually did when failing to catch her words.

“Turn up your hearing-aid, old man,” Tracy had scolded. “We're surrounded by family and friends, and you pay no attention. Have some respect.”

White hair on Edgar's head had thinned, Errol noticed, as his father tinkered with a hearing device in his shirt pocket. A small white cord disappeared inside the shirt, emerged at the collar and snaked toward a tiny earpiece. Edgar was proud, spry and healthy, but his hearing had faded.

Although Edgar could be considered the family patriarch, Tracy, all 250 pounds of her, was the strong-willed one who talked constantly and issued orders to Edgar, their six children, in-laws and even grandchildren.

“That's better,” Edgar had said, finished tinkering. “I can hear now. What did you say?”

“Mom wants you to fetch wine from the store,” Errol interjected.

“Wine? No thanks. I don't drink much anymore. Puts me to sleep.”

“No one asked if you wanted any, you old coot,” Tracy had said. “Our guests have nothing to drink. As hosts, we need to replenish our supplies. Now go.”

Errol seldom approved of how aggressively his mother spoke to the old guy. But he supposed they understand each other well enough after 48 years of marriage.

“Dad, let's go to the store together,” Errol had said. “I'll drive.” He looked at Valerie, his own wife, who nodded. They'd driven Valerie's Honda in from Searchmont.

So the father and his eldest son had left the massive dining-room table, still piled high with turkey, vegetables and other leftovers from Tracy's version of a Christmas feast. Errol imagined his father making several earlier command trips for groceries.

“We'll be right back,” Errol had said. They went out the front door and got into the small car.

The wine store, less than five minutes away, occupied part of a small roadside mall that had tiny stores and two restaurants, but only a few parking places, all occupied. Errol had let his father out in front of the wine store, watched him go inside, and then circled twice hoping to find a vacant parking spot. No luck.

So he'd left the car at a veterinary office across the street. While locking its doors, he'd seen Edgar emerge from the store carrying a bag. The old guy had scanned the parking lot, then extended his search and spotted Errol waving from across the street. Errol put the keys in his jacket pocket, and set off to meet his father.

Then Edgar had started across the street. Oh my God! “The bus,” Errol yelled. "Dad, watch out." His father failed to react.

Suddenly, Errol recalled a series of boyhood images: Edgar holding his hand on the first day of school, the two of them fishing at Sault Locks, Dad cheering at sports events and Edgar's pride as Errol became a steelworker, like his father.

Properly motivated, a mind and body can function at amazing speed. Errol leaped across the sidewalk, sprinted several steps and hurled himself at Edgar.

Errol's rush alerted Edgar. He looked up and saw the bus, his eyes growing wide with fright. Then came a jolt as his son hit him, hurling them both toward the sidewalk.

Still braking hard, the bus driver tried to steer past the tumbling bodies – and just missed them. He leaned on his horn to scold the careless pedestrians and continued down the street.

Errol felt a rush of wind as the bus passed within inches! They landed with a crash, still on the street, but near the sidewalk. Gasping for breath, Errol wondered if the old man was okay.

Then Edgar groaned. “Kid, don't be so rough on me! You probably smashed the wine.”

Together, they scrambled onto the sidewalk. A Sault Star newspaper van slowed so they could reach safety. Weak with relief, they sat there.

“No joking, Dad!” Errol said. “Do you know how close that was?”

Edgar fumbled at his hearing-aid. “Yeah, I saw, at the last moment.”

“How could that happen? You've got to turn your hearing-aid louder. And look for traffic before crossing the street.”

“Look before crossing, huh? Sounds like a speech I gave you once.”

“I mean it. We could have been smashed on the front of that bus.”

“My hearing-aid sometimes cuts in and out. It ain't perfect, you know. And I must'a looked the wrong way before crossing. Or maybe I didn't look at all.”

“For a few seconds, I thought we'd lose you. Can you imagine what Mom would do to me for letting you walk in front of a bus?”

“Well, let's not say anything to your mother.”

“You gave me a fright. Wow! That makes a man glad to be alive.”

“It does.” Edgar turned solemn. “Seriously, son, I gotta thank you for saving my bacon.”

“No problem, Dad! Be careful in the future, okay?”

Errol got to his feet and extended an arm, helping Edgar to rise. The wine-shop bag had fallen a few paces away. Picking it up, Errol heard the sound of broken glass. “Nothing to save here,” he said, looking inside.

“We can't go home empty-handed or Tracy will demand to know what the hell happened.”

Edgar sat on steps outside the store. Errol went inside to buy more wine and carried six bottles to the cash register. He might want to drink some himself after what had happened. When the time came, Valerie could drive them home.

Moments later, the two men strolled to the nearest crosswalk, waited for the light and looked both ways before crossing the street. “That's the way to do it,” Errol said as they reached the car. He swung open the passenger door for his father, marched around, slid behind the wheel and stashed the wine on the back seat.

After inserting the key, Errol paused. “Should we talk more? I mean, are you normally okay walking around in the city?”

“Fine, kid. Relax. Listen, nobody lives forever. I'd rather go out in an accident than in a sick bed.”

“But the whole family wants to keep you with us for as long as possible.”

“Much appreciated,” Edgar said. “Believe me, old age has its drawbacks, but I shouldn't complain. I'm still in good shape.”

“Of course. I didn't suggest otherwise.”

“And being hard of hearing isn't a drawback.”

“No?”

“Not in my case.” Edgar hesitated, wondering whether to elaborate. “Thing is, your mother and I have been together for 48 years. We should reach our 50th anniversary. Not many people do that. I'm proud of Tracy and almost all we've done. That includes raising you kids. But a few things about your Mom aren't so easy to take. Never stops talking, does she? Tracy talked more and more over the years. Me, I'm naturally quiet, and the more your mother talks, the less I can say. She makes sense, sometimes. Fine, whatever makes her happy. The secret in marriage is to make the other person happy.”

This was a side of his father that Errol never had imagined.

“Actually, I probably could stand all her talk. Something else drove me nuts though. You know how your mother always pulls and snaps the joints in her fingers. Snap, crack, pop! She does that often enough when we have visitors. More when we're alone, even at night as we're trying to sleep. Says the sound helps her to relax. Well, it doesn't relax me! All that popping is hideous. It makes my skin crawl. For years, when your mother did that, I just wanted to scream. Or jump off a tall building.”

Errol listened, fascinated.

“Sure, I complained, told her she'd drive me insane. Nice as Tracy is, she didn't care, maybe never realized I meant it. So life continued. Snap, crack, pop! All the time. Cracking her joints is something she's done since childhood. She insisted it was part of her, something I couldn't change.”

“Dad, did you bump your head when we fell? This doesn't sound like you.”

“Ah, this's nothing new. Just new for me to yak about it.”

“I've heard Mom crack her fingers lots of times and never knew it bothered you.”

“You grew up with her doing that. But my point is, I don't have this problem anymore. Tracy and you kids get glum about my ears failing. Me, I don't mind. No more snap, crack, pop! Happy day! Silence gives me peace-of-mind. The hearing-aid makes things even better. Now I can choose when to hear.”

“That's amazing. Still, be careful in traffic.”

“Point taken. Now let's get back or we'll need to explain what took us so long?”

“Right.” Errol started the car, and off they went.

Back at the house, Tracy entertained in the living room while Errol's sisters washed dishes. Everyone else listened as Tracy told how Errol once scored three touchdowns in a school football game. “He made some good tackles too,” Tracy said. “I thought the Bawating quarterback might end up in the Plummer Hospital. Mercy! I think Errol got his athletic ability from me.” The relatives often heard similar stories.

“There you are,” Tracy said, as her husband and son entered. “What took so long? We thought you went off to drink by yourselves.”

“We got caught in traffic at the store,” Edgar said. “Lots of folks forgot to stock up for the holidays.”

“Let's see.” Tracy took the wine from Errol. “Not bad. It should last us for tonight.” Returning to her easy-chair, she extracted one bottle and left the others in the bag at her feet.

“I've been ready and waiting,” Tracy said, grabbing a corkscrew from the coffee table and holding it aloft. Then she dropped the corkscrew into her lap, interlocked her fingers and stretched her arms, palms outward. Her finger joints cracked loudly.

Errol noticed Edgar tinkering with his hearing-aid.

“Now who wants a drink?” Tracy got busy with the corkscrew. Uncle Arthur and Aunt Giovanna raised their goblets in request. The cork popped. Tracy got to her feet, pouring into every glass that came her way.

“No, thanks,” Edgar said as she held the bottle in his direction. “Drinking's bad for my kidneys. I don't want to disturb you by getting up to the washroom tonight.”

“Don't worry. Enough wine and I'll be out cold, impossible to disturb. Have a sip.”

Edgar failed to reply, and Tracy moved closer. “Hey, old guy,” she said. “Are you listening? Turn up your hearing-aid.” She made a mock gesture, as if hitting her husband on the head. “A good bop to the noggin might improve your hearing.”

Tracy turned away from Edgar to face the others. “Sometimes I think he doesn't hear a word I say,” she lamented. Then she turned back to her husband. “I said turn up, up, up your hearing-aid, you nincompoop.”

“Yes dear,” Edgar said. He reached for his hearing-aid and adjusted the setting.

“Can you hear me now?” Tracy bellowed.

“Yes dear.”

Errol noticed something peculiar. Earlier his father had moved the controls clockwise to make noises louder. Now he turned them counter-clockwise.

“Dad, maybe if you....” Errol started to suggest turning the dial the other way. Then a realization struck, and he swallowed the words.

Edgar stopped tinkering with the hearing-aid and paused, as if listening. “That's better.”

“Good,” Tracy said. “Now where was I?” She began to tell what a “smooth talker” her husband was nearly 50 years ago. “I don’t understand what happened to him since.”

Edgar nodded and smiled. He sat quietly, nodding again at moments when Tracy gestured with the greatest gusto.

Errol thought that his father looked mighty pleased. The clever old guy!

Silence really was golden, and that's exactly what Edgar whispered to his oldest son when the party ended.

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