Robby got off the pot, never getting saved, never finding out if his dad would’ve caught him.
♦◊♦
It was gradual. The heroes left first, going from every other day to just weekends, to eventually just the confines of his dad’s dresser drawer. Robby missed when they would go out together wearing them.
His dad stopped wanting pancakes, even the happy face ones, even when Robby made them Mickeys or when he tried to make them letters. “Thanks, but no thanks, Robbs,” his dad would say. “I’ll just grab some coffee on the way in to work.”
Until he gave up, Robby ate a lot of pancakes.
His dad came home from work later and later. Robby would eat dinner by himself in front of the television. His dad always said he was sorry, that work was busy. Robby noticed his dad had started to smell like his mom had: newer, cleansed.
His mom called more now. After she was done talking to Robby, she’d ask to speak with his dad. His dad would get loud sometimes, and even behind a closed bedroom door Robby would hear parts like, “I have a life too!” and, “… well, make an extra room then!” and, “You’re his fucking mother!”
Robby learned to close his bedroom door, put on one of his heroes and turn the TV up loud.
♦◊♦
The storm came in the morning and its strength grew throughout the day. By the time Robby’s dad got home, and dinner was done and the plates were clean, it was shuddering the windows, the walls.
“Daddy, can I sleep with you tonight?”
His dad continued flipping between channels with the remote: a basketball game, a news show, a basketball game, a news show.
Robby asked again.
“Robbs … You’re my brave boy! You can sleep in your big boy bed, sport. It’s just a little storm.”
The way his dad said it sounded like his voice at the pool that day. Robby turned, walked back down the ladder, put on his Superman heroes and went to bed.
♦◊♦
By morning, the storm was gone but its wreckage was left in front yards and driveways. Robby asked his dad if they could go to the park on Saturday.
“The park?” his dad asked, seeming confused.
“Yeah, Dad, the park, you know … where we used to always go.”
“Oh, right. We’ll see.” He grabbed his bag and his keys and tousled Robby’s hair. “You’d better change out of those things, Robb. You’ve got to leave for school in a few.”
Robby looked down at his green Hulk heroes, knowing he wasn’t going to change at all.
“I will, Dad.”
“OK, then. I’ll see you tonight.”
♦◊♦
It was warm at the park and busy; everyone seemed to need the sun now that the storm had gone.
“Look, Dad!” Robby ran over to where a large Eucalyptus branch had knocked down a portion of the fence surrounding the City Pool.
“Stay away from there, Robby,” his dad said.
Robby stared at the crushed fence, the bright yellow caution tape, the end of the slide hovering over an empty concrete hole that was the pool. A low pool of black water sat at the very bottom, chunked heavy with leaves and branches.
His dad’s cell phone rang.
“Ugh,” he groaned looking at the screen. “I gotta take this Robb,” he said, walking toward the playground.
He wasn’t quite at the benches yet when Robby heard his dad getting loud. No doors to close, or television to turn up, Robby reached back and pulled his red cape around himself and tucked his chin towards the S on his chest.
It took a little while for his dad to find him. He saw the crowd first. Saw Robby second, sitting at the top of the slide, cape blowing behind him in the warm breeze, the smallest Superman.
Robby, spotting his father, shouted, “I’m ready now, Daddy! I’m ready!”
Before his dad could answer, Robby pushed off and waited to be saved.
Superb fiction. xTx’s work never fails to engage and rip the rug from underneath me.
This is really beautiful.
Tragic. I am still waiting to be save by my dad… who sadly passed away.