Stories, Poems and Other Stuff...

Sunday, June 01, 2014

Parent of the Year (or, making beer money with dad)

 


CRACK!
I never saw the old man
move that fast.
I mean, one minute he's
holding a cue, the next
he's hitting this poor mark
with 18 oz of wood
on the side of the head.
That poor guy didn't see
it coming.
Hell, I didn't see it
coming.
"C'mon, we gotta go,"
I tell my dad as he is grabbing the guys money
off the table.
I pull dad along as stunned,
angry,
rednecks
start to head our way.
Okay, let me tell you,
I thought I was dead,
or at best
left in a coma
if we didn't leave.
If he weren't my dad
I would have left him.
I know any other
hustling,
drunk,
septuagenarian
would have died that night.
I pushed the old man
into the Cordoba,
prayed it would
start. (it did)
We peeled away,
no headlights in the
rear view.
"How much did we make?"
I asked.
"$40.00."
The rest of the ride home
was silent.



© Charles Scott 2014

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