Outsider

The truck crept through the entrance as he examined the numbers above the door before pulling into an open space. He double checked that the doors were locked before heading inside. The kids playing near the dumpster eyed him suspiciously. The suit and tie was a warning sign in this neighborhood.

The smell of urine filled the dimly lit hallway. He held his breath while climbing to the third floor. The crumpled paper instructed him to go to door on the right - number 6 - at the top of the stairs. He stood in his tracks as he faced the door. The number nine seemed to laugh at him as he was motionless. A quick glance at the door on the opposite side yieled the number five. He reached out and pushed the number upward a full one-hundred-eighty degrees to read number 6.

He collected his thoughts before knocking on the door. A vaguely familiar voice echoed behind the door. He could only decipher the obscenities as the door knobbed turned and a hardened, weary face look up at him. An awkward silence followed as each man searched for words.

"Hey there, I didn't think you would actually show." The older man turned away from the door and took a seat on the nearby couch.

"I said I was coming." The younger man stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind him. It rattled as he pushed hard to secure it with a deadbolt and chain. He didn't feel safe as the hallway was clearly visible in the quarter inch space around the door.

"Leave it, I've tried to fix it countless times." Smoke flowed through the old man's nostrils as he spoke. Ashes fell in a glass bowl on the table as he tapped the cigarette.

"Okay." The young man mumbled while taking a seat perpendicular to the older man. The bright blue sectional couch filled the two walls. He doubted the old man could fix anything given his condition.

"So, who died?" The old man laughed while obviously staring at his visitor's suit.

"Oh, this is for work, they make me wear it." The embarrassment of his work attire surprised him. He had forgotten to bring a change of clothes to the office. He knew the suit would end up at the cleaners after this visit.

"Mr. Big Shot."

"You say so." The old man nodded. He felt the sting of the old man's backhanded compliment. His eyes crisscrossed the room as he examined the squalor of the old man's living conditions. He had the urge to wash his hands, but nothing short of a Silkwood-style shower could wash the filth of this place from a body. "So, what did you want to see me about?"

"Well, does a man need a reason to see his son?"

"Well." The answer to the question was not as obvious as it seems. Given their history, a reason was clearly necessary to bring him to this part of town.

"Yeah. Well, I'll be moving soon to a place where I'll get some assistance." He began coughing and reached for a cup and drained its contents before continuing. "Anyway, I won't have as much room as I do know, so I thought you might want some of this stuff."

"Oh." He wondered if it was financial or physical assistance, but he was afraid to ask since financial could lead to requests for money. A request he had no desire to fulfill. He examined the contents of the apartment again and knew the appropriate place for everything was an incinerator.

"Well, don't sound so thrilled. Honestly, I have a couple things I wanted to give you." He rocked back and forth before gaining enough momentum to raise the shrunken body. He crossed the room and disappeared in a back room.

The word "honestly" swam through his mind. He wondered what it meant to the old man as he couldn't remember the last time his father had told him the truth. His eyes drifted to the stained burnt orange carpet as his mind wandered. He realized the anticipation in the car on the way here had been misplaced. He was a stranger in this world and this man was a stranger to him. There was a time, so many years ago, when a meaningful conversation could happen, but those days were long gone. He felt the pull and desire to leave, but guilt kept him in his seat.

"Here it is." The old man emerged with two objects in his hand. He gasped while returning to his seat. Upon catching his breath, he turned to his son with outstretched hands - an offering awaiting acceptance.

"Oh, what do we have here?" Curiosity got the best of the younger man as he leaned forward for the treasures. He grabbed the two objects and examined them without a hint of understanding or recognition.

"That card is gold, I got it when I bowled a 300. It was 1973 in Dayton. A blizzard hit the day before and I barely made it to the tournament." Pride covered his face while lighting another cigarette. Its tip glowed as he watched the younger man examine the treasure.

"I remember you telling me about it." A knot formed in his throat as he tried to swallow. He wondered about the old man's sanity. The date on the gold treasure told a much different story. It was his birthdate and his father had opted to go bowling instead of witnessing his entry into the world. His mother had angrily relayed the argument and events that preceded the two events and the aftermath. He wanted to add that it was not gold, only fake gold plated. His teeth grinded as he silented prayed for strength.

"And that other old wedding ring. It wasn't the best marriage, but it did produce you and your brothers." He pushed the cigarette butt into the ashtray while watching his son slowly turn the tarnished ring between his index finger and thumb.

"Yeah." He wondered how the old man had forgotton to mention his daughter, and he knew the small round object was a fraud. His father had never had a wedding ring when married to his mother. In fact, he couldn't remember a ring in his second or third marriages either, so he wondered about the origins of the ring.

"I wanted you to have these things to remember me by. We're not getting any younger. I'll be gone before you know it." The old man sat meekly while trying to lay guilt on his youngest.

"I appreciate it." The words dropped from his mouth without emotion. The two objects in his hand were perfect reminders of the misguided life of the man in front of him. They were strangers with only a connection via blood and that connection had died long ago. He pushed his body forward and sat on the edge of the navy blue sofa as he prepared to leave.

"Something wrong?" The old man sensed the moment and felt the stab of loneliness returning to his doorstep. He searched for the words to keep the younger man longer, but the search yielded nothing. He swallowed hard and watched every movement of his visitor, savoring the moment, knowing it would be their last.

"No, but I do have to go." He was surprised that the words came out. He felt the stab of guilt as he quickly rose. He couldn't remember feeling this bad. The emotions were overwhelming as he reached out to shake the old man's hand and pat him on the back. He turned once when he reached the first landing and the pitiful old man stood watching him. he waved and disappeared into the stifling heat of the late afternoon.

The cool wind of the air conditioner beat his face as he sped away. The tears erupted as the unfamiliar surroundings streamed by the windows. He had tried so hard to forgive and forget, but his father had reached into his soul one more time and turned his world upside down.