by D. Ryan Lafferty
Landon was in the fourth grade the first time that his father noticed the interference. It was a small thing, barely perceivable, but he did perceive it, and it didn’t sit right with him. Not at all. If he were to think about it, and now he often did; he could recall other times, much earlier in his son’s life, when Landon’s mother put herself firmly between the boy and his lesson. It seemed to Mr. Meyers, that no matter what consequence his son absolutely deserved, his own loving wife would step in and remove the sting, blunting the repercussions that naturally should have resulted from the boy’s bad behavior. His only way of really learning from his mistakes. She insisted on taking over each and every project, “helping” with his homework, painting posters, and building dioramas that would make the Natural History Museum drip with envy. Thankfully, Landon was a good-natured child; gentle and kind like his dad. His mother too had a tender soul with a heart as big as the world, but like every tragic character who ever lived, she was flawed.
Now, Landon was twelve-going on to thirteen, the cuteness had long since worn off, and his father’s patience was threadbare. From an outsider’s perspective, it wasn’t clear if Shellie Meyers was even aware of her little interventions, but Landon’s teachers were. If Landon handed in his work late, as he always did, invariably there would be a lengthy note, with some contrived story, written on his behalf. Judging from the freak accidents or million to one odds that regularly aligned in this boy’s life, he was either the unluckiest kid in the world, or the least responsible. At the start of each school year, she didn’t even try to be pleasant or cordial anymore. If he didn’t study and bombed a test, without fail, she would be chasing and pushing the teacher for some kind of retake. When he started flaunting the rules at school, Mrs. Meyers would be in the office demanding that he not serve his detention. It seemed, in her eyes, that the world simply didn’t understand her special little pride and joy. She saw Landon as an exception to every rule and made sure that she found that exception and exploited it for all it was worth.
The next few years were filled with pushing around his teachers, posting her self-imposed narratives of victimhood in every online parent group she could find; haranguing the principals, and bulldozing anyone who got in her way. Perhaps, this was a form of self-satisfaction, maybe she felt it was her motherly duty to run defense, which in her line of thinking was a strong offense; either way, it was only prolonging the inevitable when the chickens would come home to roost.
His father, too, found himself looking the other way whenever Landon “forgot” to walk the dog, or vacuum his room, or clean up his mess. If the overfilled trash can was rotting in the kitchen with the remnants and wrappers from his son’s afternoon snacks cresting the top of the can, his father just took it outside leaving the same gentle reminder to, “do better next time.” The most surprising thing his father found was the absolute normalcy of it all; how easily these little steps worked their way into the daily routine. He almost could not recognize himself, their life, what kind of parents they had become. What kind of family? This was not the future he so lovingly envisioned just over a decade before, when the world was full of endless possibilities, potential, and positivity. How he longed for those halcyon days of optimism and even imperfection. A time when he wasn’t afraid to say the wrong thing to his wife or have her find fault in whatever he did. When had the joy been drained from their world, their resilience, their sense of humility and wonder? He missed these things and the extraordinary feeling of being comfortably average. His life, well, their life together was now a cycle of work, running to meet the kids’ obligations, and endless hours of silent scrolling. Each night ended in the living room, planted on the couch and easy chair while the love of his life swiped incessantly; staring and tapping at her phone screen for hours on end until bedtime. It was all of the same ilk, he thought as he rolled over on his side of the mattress. Tomorrow, this will change, he said to himself, but for the life of him, he just couldn’t figure out how.
Dr. D. Ryan Lafferty is a local Bordentown poet, writer, and the author-illustrator of children’s books. To see more of his work, visit http://www.DartanionPress.com
Literary Crumbs: Poems & Short Stories to Savor by D. Ryan Lafferty 