How or What
A tiny midwestern vignette
Before I embarked on our family vacation this year to the Pacific Northwest, my friend Ray handed me a book of short stories from one of his favorite writers who happens to reside in Washington state. As someone who loves to read about a place while traveling, I nestled it in my backpack next to Five Ways to Forgiveness by Ursula K. Le Guin (because we were also visiting Portland, naturally). I was quite happy to start Ray’s book on the plane ride to Seattle since we were spending time in Washington first.
The book is called The Angel of Rome: And Other Stories by Jess Walter, Spokane’s most famous resident (probably). He won me over with his wit and the human quality of his characters. One story called “Cross the Woods”, the shortest of the collection, was a lightning quick capsule of emotion that exemplifies what a reader can feel with a strict economy of words.
This type of story was my inspiration for the Literary Cleveland + Gordon Square Review flash fiction contest. Entrants must hail from the Midwest and stories must be a tight 1,000 words or less. I’m posting this here because it wasn’t selected for publication in the review, but I’m glad to have another story to share in this burgeoning collection of my own. Thanks for reading!
Rowan was late again. Pete was late, too, and while this might have softened someone else, it only made Pete angrier. When is that kid going to learn to be responsible?
Earlier in the evening he’d been catching up over beers with his buddy Tom. Both were divorced, but Tom’s wife had custody of their kids, so he had it easier. Pete was on his own working, keeping house, and making sure Rowan didn’t flunk out of school. Well, Rowan’s grades were fine, but he didn’t have a job, didn’t have any direction, and just wanted to play video games all the time.
Pete tossed his keys on the kitchen counter. Having subconsciously put a little extra oomph into the motion, they ricocheted off the coffee machine and slid over the edge of the sink, landing with a plop in a pot that still held a bit of cold pasta sauce.
Son of a bitch, Pete thought, rinsing the metal keys and wiping down the car fob. He could feel pressure in his chest growing with his elevated heart rate. He yanked the dishtowel from the ring attached to the cabinet, but something about his grasp or the angle caught and the whole ring came out of the particleboard.
Goddammit! Pete slammed his palms on the counter, fuming. Just another thing he’d need to fix in this piece of shit house. All the repairs waiting for his attention scrolled through his mind, just below his awareness, while his conscious brain looped on the way his kid was failing at executive function. He knew without checking that Rowan’s clothes would still be haphazardly strewn about his room. Rowan was supposed to tidy up before he went out.
The doorknob turned and Rowan made an unfortunately timed entrance via the back door into the kitchen.
“Where the hell have you been?” Pete snapped without looking at him.
“Geez, Dad, with my friends.” He moved to escape up the stairs.
“What time were you supposed to be home?”
Rowan stopped, looked at the clock on the stove, and realized how much trouble he was in. He didn’t answer.
That only made it worse. The edge in Pete’s voice sharpened. “When did I tell you to be home, Rowan?”
“Midnight,” Rowan pushed out.
Pete turned to his son. “Why–” He caught himself, the question dying on his tongue. His little boy was becoming a man, but here he was, scared of his dad. That was just enough to nudge Pete onto a different track. He’d been trying so hard to keep it together when his temper flared. Rowan had been a little distant lately, but in his honest moments, Pete knew that it was a two-way street. He knew he needed to be the adult here.
A memory stole into his consciousness. He recalled a reel on Instagram that he’d watched earlier when it popped into his feed:
Asking ‘why’ the wrong way can shut people down. If someone goes on a trip to a place you’d never choose, don’t say, “Why’d you pick that place?” Instead, try out, “How did you decide to visit there?” or “What appealed to you most about going there?” Doesn’t that make you want to answer the question? If you aren’t genuinely curious, asking ‘why’ is a conversation stopper. But asking ‘how’ or ‘what’ questions opens people up.
Pete stared at Rowan, not unkindly, while the gears in his head stopped spinning in one direction and started up a different way. Rowan stared back, his side eye seeming to say, “Whatever, just get this over with.”
His cadence was unnatural, but he got the question out: “What was it like for you guys tonight? Like, I mean, how did the night go?”
Rowan hesitated. Pete thought he might get brushed off, with Rowan retreating to his room. But something snagged Rowan’s attention, and instead of being dismissed, Pete was answered.
“I don’t know…we were playing Apex at Colin’s, but Nate was hungry and said he wanted to go to Swenson’s. That sounded great to the rest of us, so we drove there, but it was closed. Colin said he thought Rally’s was open, so we went there instead. We were eating in the parking lot and I guess I just wasn’t paying attention to the time. Sorry, Dad,” he added, looking at Pete as if trying to gauge his anger.
Pete didn’t want to be angry. In fact, he wasn’t. With a little bit of shock, he felt empathetic toward Rowan. All that frustration and anger that had welled up in his chest, making him feel like he was overflowing with energy that he needed to discharge, dissipated in an instant. He remembered what it was like to be seventeen. His own parents didn’t care where he was or who he was with when he was that age, and while part of him knew that wasn’t exactly healthy, he also fondly remembered tooling around with his buddies every chance he got. He remembered late night drives through the valley, ding-dong-dashing at one girl’s house or another, and nearly getting caught one time drinking cheap beer underage in a parking lot in the Flats.
“Okay, that makes sense. Try to keep an eye on the clock next time, alright?”
“Alright, Dad.”
“Hey, gimme a hug.” Pete spread his arms and, instead of ducking past him to escape, Rowan allowed a quick hug.
“Goodnight. Love ya, Dad.” He pulled away and Pete smiled as he watched him head up the stairs. He’s a good kid, he thought, taking a moment before cleaning up for the night.