Supper

Was that matter or light that swung through the night?

Don heard someone speaking at that moment of consciousness, right when his weight flew back in. There wasn't the yellow-bearded man he half expected to see when he opened his eyes, just the flowing turquoise texture of the bathroom; The toilet and shower curtain bent from the refracting rain outside, but no yellow beard. There was no tobacco eaten lips that pursed then licked, no eyes that whirled under brilliant yellow brows. Don had closed his eyes again. The man appeared to him then, those shedding lips, pursing together, then licking. His voice rigid from something like excitement.

"Suppa." He sputtered.

"Get some suppa den!" There was a crash and Don erupted from the sheets. He struggled for a remote or light switch and found familiar bumps beneath his sheets. A few moments later the T.V fizzled on, flooding the room with light and a moment after that, sound. It was the morning news.

Don tugged some sweat pants on. He crept down the poorly crafted stairwell, conscious of every sound. After his lap through the living room, dining room and back again, he felt satisfied. Don went into the kitchen and poured cereal into a bowl too small. A hand came from behind and scuffed his hair. Don jumped.

"That's quite a shiner you got." His mother said, rubbing his bad eye. She tottered from side to side, as she always did. Don looked up at her face. It was windblown and covered in make up. Don turned back to the bowl and poured.

"I told you not to start it." She offered.

"I know."

"I have to go," She began, sniffling, "go ahead and stay home."

He didn't want to deal with the other kids anyway. Hunched over the barstool, he downed the rest of the bowl. The ceramic and metal clashed loudly when he set the dishes by the sink. He imagined seeing the yellow-beard man waiting in the bathroom for him, but nothing was there. Don stripped and waited naked by the tub's roaring faucet.

When Don sat up in the tub, and bent down to splash water onto his face, he felt replenished. Not only that, he felt worthy, like he deserved a bath. For awhile he leaned over the edge, sweating. As he looked distantly at the carpet, the water began to feel too hot. He got out, dried off and went to his room.

His legos were strewed over the red shag carpet. He scooted over them all like gravel. One of his eyes wanted to close more than the other. From his bed he peered at the lamp and then the dresser near the door. There was nothing new there to change anything. Don felt something thick that he later learned was hate, or maybe responsibility. He ran his finger under the dark bruise and coughed up an unintentional laugh. His eyes continued to peer around the room in a "there must be something" kind of glare. The game ball from Saturday lay centered on the dresser, it's white and black spots freckled in mud.

"Get the ball."

"Go get the ball, Don." But when he brought it back, he got punched anyway. The other players nearby were watching.

"Sleep it off."

"Sleep it off, Don." But when he did he saw his mother. She stood palming something around with her bare hands, maybe coleslaw or potato salad. She held a cigarette in the other hand. The smoke crawled up her knuckles and limp arm. Don turned to the table and saw the arched, quivering backside of the man. He convulsed and strained.

"S' self defense." He may have said; Don only heard the desperate twiddle of fingers. The man raised a whiskey bottle above his head, then poured its contents over his nape.

"S' hot." The man blurted.

"S' self defense." That time he whispered. Suddenly the bottle came down, the bunt end of the bottle crashed on the table. The vision quaked then snapped back into clear shape.

"Come get some suppa den!. S' hot, Donny. Come get ya suppa!"

His nose flared as he breathed hard through it. The television faded in, light first and then the sound. From the bed, Don opened the window blinds but the sun was already down. The hearing was on T.V. and Don stared past it to the wall, but listened.

"Self defense," The woman started, "The plantiff attacked Mr. Aiden with a razor blade..."

Don looked back to the T.V and saw that yellow mane on the stand. Those dull overalls scretched across a boulder of a back. That man was up there next to the judge, shaking but almost smiling. He mouthed something Don couldn't make out.

They were home at 6 and supper was ready by 8.

"Suppa." The voice announced. "Come get ya suppa, Don." The three of them ate their meal without looking up or talking.

The rubix cube had lost it's fun by the end of the night. His legos were now pushed into mounds that would be picked up later. Don let the multi-colored cube fall on the floor, and then lit a cigarette. His room looked alright. I'll go back to college he thought and leave that yellow-bearded bastard behind.