Writer’s Challenge #14- Broken Mirror, Enemy

                                                                        By David Crerand

            It was the destruction of his life,  that was all. The total dismantling of all the dreams and aspirations he had spent the last twenty-five years formulating, molding, nurturing. And now, they were gone. Smashed by the selfishness and childish demands of a son who chose to blame his failures on his father.

            The last eight years had been dominated by his wife’s medical struggles. And he had believed firmly in his heart that he was providing the support that she required. There had been one procedure after another, the therapy, the borderline cosmetic surgeries to build self-esteem, the counseling, the quietude, the separate bedrooms, the lack of intimacy. And finally, living with a wife who was more of a roommate than a partner. And now was the time for the ultimate payback.

            It had been a trivial argument with his son, over an inability to budget, and, the fact that the “free” car that dad had given him and was still making the payments on was a gas-guzzler. Granted, Dad probably shouldn’t have had a few beers before the talk, but he had just gotten a new job after months of frustration and unemployment and was pleased for the first time in a long time.

            “I’ll even trade cars with you,” Dad had tried, “you can take my little car and I’ll take the SUV if that will help!”

            “You think it’s that simple?” his son had shouted.

            “Well,” the Dad asked confused, “why isn’t it?”

            “You always find fault with whatever I choose to do,” the son hurled at him.

            “I love you, “ said the Dad quietly, “I’m proud of you and I’ve always been proud of you. I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

            “Of course you don’t” the son snickered, “you just look down on everything I do and shake your head like I’m some kind of idiot.”

            “I’ve never done that,” the Dad now was so mad at himself for those couple of beers. He truly was confused about how this little chat had blown up into a nuclear confrontation.

            “Go to hell,” the son had screamed, slamming the door so hard on his way out that the rattling frame next to it now held an expensive, antique broken mirror.

            “I don’t understand,” said the Dad, “I had a plan that would’ve helped him.” But his wife turned a cold and angry shoulder. “There’s no reason for him to be that angry at me,” the Dad tried again. His daughter stood without a word and left the room, an indication of what was to come.

            I’ve become the enemy, Dad thought. I’ve done nothing, but I’ve become the enemy.