The Predicament of Tortured Men

“It’ll work out. I’m glad it’s a girl,” the man standing next to the crib said.

“Why?”

“Girls are easier to handle.”

“I think they’re the same.”

“How can they be the same?”

“How can they be different?”

“Girls only need their hair washed, skin cleaned, and underwear on.”

“Boys need that.”

“Only if you’re the groom at a wedding.”

“I had those things at my wedding,” the other man said, sitting in the chair across the room.

“You did. But never since then.”

“I didn’t book the right hotel.”

“What?”

“For the honeymoon. We had to stay in a motel. She wasn’t happy.”

“Just buy her a necklace.”

“I bought her earrings.”

“Problem solved.”

“She didn’t want them.”

“Why wouldn’t she want them?”

“They were too similar to the ones she wore on our first date.”

“I gave a girl earrings once, but her ears weren’t pierced. I assumed they would be.”

“Are you gonna get her ears pierced,” the man sitting down looked at the crib.

“I always thought her mother would do that.”

“And I thought my life would be the same after I married.”

“That’s a big mistake right there.”

“I didn’t know your ten months of marriage filled you with experience.”

“It should have been more.”

The creature began crying and the man standing up grasped it in his hands, holding it out at arm’s length.

“Somebody needs their diaper changed,” the man standing up said, placing it on the changing table. When he opened the diaper nothing was in it. “I guess she’s just hungry.” He left the room to get a bottle leaving the baby alone on the table. The man in the chair was staring back and forth at his hands.

“They’re the same,” he said to himself.

“Okay, I’ve got your dinner,” the man standing up said, running through the door.

“It’s 12 in the afternoon. Not that it matters.”

The man standing up held the creature in his arms and placed the bottle by its mouth. It refused to feed and instead spit up on itself and onto the mans skin. “I’ll get a rag,” he exited the room, once more leaving the baby alone on the table.

“This color is the same as my room,” the man sitting down observed while staring at the blue walls.

“Here’s a rag,” he said entering the room and wiping the sickness off its face. “It’s always like this.”

“Always the same.”

“Exactly,” he replied, as if asked a question. “It’s our birthdays next week. We should go to that bar downtown. The one we go to every year on our birthdays. It’s a tradition,” he put the creature back into the crib.

“Traditions aren’t always good.”

“You say that every year.”

“I say many things-the same things-every year.”

“What else are you gonna do?”

“Sure. Let’s continue the tradition. Same bar, for the same birthday. Same as last year,” the man sitting down reluctantly replied, as if being asked how he’d like to be killed.

“Good.”

“You’ll have to find a babysitter.”

“No. The neighbor kid will do it. He’s a nice kid, good at baseball. His dad told me he’s trained him since he was 5. He’s the lead hitter on his high school team and has more strikeouts than any other pitcher in the state. Plus he’s got a firm handshake. I’m gonna be a good father like his when I have a kid.”

“You do have a kid. Just like everybody else in this neighborhood.”

“I mean a boy.”

“Why don’t you teach her to play baseball?”

“She doesn’t need to play baseball. She won’t want to. She’ll want to play dress up and dance.”

“The same as every other girl.”

“Exactly. I’ll still be proud.”

“Shouldn’t a wife be proud of her husband for getting a promotion?”

“Yes.”

“Mine wasn’t. She said I’d be gone too much on business trips. That I’d cheat on her. She told me I should’ve gone to school to be a doctor.”

“My dad was a doctor.”

“Was your mom a doctor?”

“No. Not for the time I knew her. Maybe she is now.”

“She’s probably the same as when you knew her. Otherwise she would have found you by now.”

“Probably.”

“Did your dad remarry like every man does?”

“No. I just saw my uncles and my grandpa a lot. They felt bad about me not having a mom. They told me she wanted to be there but couldn’t because of her female problems.”

“My mom told me no woman would ever marry me. But I proved her wrong.”

“Good.”

“She told me that my dad would be ashamed of me if he were alive. She said I’d never give her grandbabies. But I will.”

“Good.”

“That’s why I came by actually, I have news,” he said plainly. “We are having a baby, same as you,” he said as if being forced to walk off a cliff. “It’s a boy. Don’t tell her I told you!” He yelled, rising from his seat and moving to the middle of the room “She got mad when I told my brother because she wanted to throw a party.”

“You’re gonna be a dad,” the man standing up repeated, collapsing into the now empty chair.

“Just like you. Same as every other man.”

“We’re both gonna be dads.”

“One of us already is,” he said, scared for all children born from that moment on.

“You’re having a son.”

“Yes.”

“Can I teach him to play baseball? Can I take him to his first football game and teach him how to shake a hand? I want to be the cool uncle; the one who’s really his best friend.”

“Sure. Somebody has to when I’m gone.”

“I’ll be the greatest uncle. I’ve always wanted a son. I’ll know exactly what to do whenever he comes to me with problems. I’ll be able to take care of him.”

“Please do. And take care of her too,” he said, gesturing toward the crib.

The baby began crying in the crib and the man stood up from the chair to let her loose on the floor. He sat down next to her and smiled, “Hey there baby girl. I’m happy I’m your father,” he said continuing his smile. “I love you so much,” he said to her, his smile fading as it crawled away from him, just as every woman had done to him throughout his life.

Later that evening, the man in the chair went home and parked his car in the garage as he always did. He turned the car off and put the keys in his pocket, as usual. He got out of the car and shut the garage door, himself still in it. This was different. He got back into his car and removed the key from his pocket. He looked to his key, and then to the ignition several times. Then, as if considering a life altering decision, he put the key down into the cup holder. Feeling pressure to uphold tradition, he opened the glove compartment and stared at the gun, the same one his father used.