$0 Income = No Value

At the time, taking daddy to lunch had seemed like a generous idea. Now, sitting across from his long, dirty fingernails while straining to make out what he is saying because he barely opens his mouth or speaks above a whisper when he is talking, it seems like a stupid idea. We had to count the cash between us, because I didn’t know the dump had stopped taking debit cards. They were now cash only. I was actually surprised he had a ten dollar bill in his wallet. I only had a five and two ones. I did feel bad asking him to help pay, but we had no other choice except to get up and go to another restaurant. I knew he expected a free meal. He had even said so when I had asked if he would like to go to lunch over the phone, “Sure, I wouldn’t turn down a free meal.”
He orders a fish sandwich with fries and tells me how he used to stop here every Saturday night to get one on the way home when he was a teenager. I want to ask ‘where did you work?’, but it is my turn to order. I order a large cheeseburger with tater tots. I remind myself how good their cheeseburgers used to be when I worked here after school every day. I had hoped the burger would be like the ones I used to cook when I worked here. Oh my God, what is 42-15? That’s how many years ago it was. 27….that can’t be possible. I look at the painted concrete walls and figure that’s the only reason the building is still standing. I had noticed the rotting wood trim when we came in. The meat was fresh back then. Once all the food is on the table, I give him the nod to bless it, we both bow our heads, and I listen for the mumbling to stop so I will know the prayer is over and I can begin eating. I don’t pray. Not over food, not over anything. I am now trying to enjoy a frozen patty with white, hard lettuce, a slice of a once-frozen tomato with no flavor, and all I can taste is the oversized pickle. The tater tots are good, but what isn’t after it’s been deep-fried and drug through ketchup. We both agree they gave me way too many tater tots. I make a mental note to take the left over ones home to my son James. We eat.
He has done most of the talking. To respond I have to raise my voice, because he is hard of hearing. I sense an echo in the room and don’t really want to have our conversation broadcast to the local workers who have come in for their daily grease. So I have resigned to listen intently while reading his lips. He is not talking about anything important. My brother is in a nearby town, Shannon, finishing a job that kept growing. He should get paid today. He talks about the flower beds around the house. The strawberry patch that he planted as ground cover is actually producing some good size strawberries.
I widen my eyes for effect and ask, “Can you eat them?”
“Yea, Erica ate one yesterday. She said it was good.”
Erica is his granddaughter. Out of six children, my parents only received 4 grandchildren. Three of them are mine. Erica is my niece. She has always stayed with my parents while my sister worked.
He says the tiger lilies are not blooming. They are green and big, but no flowers.
“No Blooms? That means you need to dig them up and separate the bulbs,” I offer my free advice. He just nods his head. I’m not sure if he heard me. Regardless, he won’t ask me to repeat what I just said, and I won’t volunteer. Even if I did repeat the instructions, he would not enact them.
I get a to go box for the tater tots, combine our cash and pay the bill with contempt. I would like to say your food sucks, but I don’t. We stop at the corner of the building outside to say good-bye. I’m hoping for a quick one so I can go home and puke. He looks comfortable right where he is. Like someone had planted a tree years ago in this very spot and now it looks like my daddy. He has custody of the tater tots. I left my two ones for a tip on the table, used his ten to pay the bill, and gave him my five so he wouldn’t be broke. I promise to pay him back for the meal. He just smiles. I’m not sure if he’s smiling because he knows I will pay him back double or if he just doesn’t hear me. We embrace. I move toward my car as the signal that we should get back to our lives. He wants to be a tree.
“We should do this more often, now that you have more time,” he says as if he is a genius.
I am moving now. Smiling I respond, “I hope I have a job soon.”
He is being washed to his truck by some tide of disillusionment. But his face remains as hard as ever to read. We both yell bye. I flop into my car. I’m going to be sick before I get home. “I’m not doing this again,” I say out loud, though I meant to just think it.
I think about the meal I had just the day before. That one was over $100 and left me with the same ‘I’m think I’m gonna puke and I’m not doing this again’ feeling. Yesterday was mother’s day. A week’s planning had gone into going out to dinner with my oldest son, 24, and my daughter, 17, my husband of five years and my youngest son, 10. I’ll admit I was a little nervous. What if they didn’t show up? My youngest lives with us, and he loves Olive Garden, so he was a guarantee. The other two, not so much. I had dropped hints that I would like a new slider cell phone and a plastic wicker chaise to match the chairs and table already on the back porch. I was pretty sure the phone was happening, because James, the youngest, kept bringing up the fact he wanted to get me that for mother’s day. My husband would gently remind him that I just got a new phone with our new contract, so we couldn’t get the slider phone. Great cover guys.



to be continued...