Thomas Scott - Voodoo Daddy

“Excited and a little scared too.”

“What?”

“Getting to know your dad. I don’t have any preconceived notions about it or anything, but in the back of my mind I’ve got this idea that he’ll be able to help me fill a gap I’ve been carrying around with me for a long time.”

“You know what? I’m sure my dad would want that, but he’s not the easiest guy in the world to get along with sometimes. He doesn’t really open himself up that way. At least with me.”

“It’s probably hard for him too. You’re his child, Virgil. No matter how old you are, or how grown up you are, you’ll always be his child.”

“I think in many ways, my dad could give you what you’re looking for. All I’m saying is he’s the kind of guy that gives on his own terms and not necessarily the needs of others. I just don’t want to see you get hurt because of an expectation you might have that he’s not willing to fulfill.”

“Your father could never hurt me, Jonesy.”

“Yeah,” I said. “You’re probably right.”

“Probably, he says. Hey, did you hear yourself a minute ago? You said ‘our place?’”

Sandy and I said goodbye to each other, but as soon as I set the phone down, it rang yet again. Christ.

“Hey Bud, I was wondering if I could borrow your truck today. I’ve got to run over to the lumber store and buy a few pieces of board for the bar top. Don’t think I can fit them in my car.”

“Sure thing, Pops. Door’s open, just come on in.”

Twenty minutes later I heard the front door open, then close. “That you, Dad? I’m in the kitchen.”

My father came around the corner just as I was moving away from the sink. “Hi, Virg. Looks like you’re moving around pretty good.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to get the hang of these things,” I said, and wiggled a crutch in the air. “Still hurts pretty good, especially in the mornings.”

“I’ll bet. I put my car next to the garage, out of the way. Sure you don’t mind letting me use the truck?”

“Naw, it’s fine,” I said. “But listen, how about I go with you? This just sitting around the house is driving me nuts. Sandy’s downtown and I could sure use a change of scenery. I’ll sit at the bar and keep you company while you work.”

He looked at me, the skepticism clear upon his face. “Gee, son, you sure you’re up to it? I’d hate to get all the way over there then have to turn around and bring you back.”

Well that sounded about right I thought. I let out a sigh. “I just need to get out, Dad, okay? Sandy will be done in a couple of hours or so. I’ll leave her a message and she can probably swing by and bring me back here.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure, Dad. Let’s go, huh?”

“You bet. Hey, I’ll pull the truck around to the front. Shorter walk, right? You want some help getting out there?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

We rode together in silence for a few miles, a routine that was familiar to us both. After the stop at the lumber store-I waited in the truck-we headed for the bar. “Which boards need to be replaced?” I said.

“Aw, you know, the ones on both ends that butt up against the cross-members, just above the sinks? They’re fine on top, but they’re getting soft underneath. All the water that splashes up there is taking a toll. I thought since I was going to sand and refinish the top, now would be the time to swap them out.”

“Yeah, probably right,” I said. “So, uh, how’s things with you and Carol?”

He shifted his eyes from the road without turning his head. “Okay, I guess,” he said. “Why?”

I shook my head and let out a little huff. “What do you mean, why? I was just asking. Making conversation, you know?”

“You pissed at me or something?” Mason said.

“Naw, Jesus Christ,” I said. “I’m sorry. It’s these fucking pills they’ve got me on. For the pain. I’m snapping at everyone.”

Mason nodded. “You’ll be alright, son.” After that, neither of us spoke for the rest of the ride over to the bar.

Way to go, Jonesy, I said to myself.

My dad helped me into the bar, then went back outside to bring the boards in from the back of the truck. I hobbled over to the juke box and put some music on, then hobbled back to the bar and sat on one of the stools and let my leg hang down below the brass railing underneath. It felt good to get the weight off of it. I looked at the clock above the back of the bar and checked the time, thought close enough, and took a couple more pills.

My dad placed the boards on top of the bar and set about prying the old ones from their mount, so I took a sanding block and began to sand the area in front of where I sat. Stevie Ray Vaughn’s ‘Lenny,’ from his Texas Flood album played in the background, the bluesy, soulful melody a fitting backdrop to an otherwise unbroken silence, my father and I communicating the way men often do, not with words, but by working together.

Later, while we were taking a break, I picked up the phone and called Sandy to let her know where I was and to see if she’d pick me up. For some reason, I thought she might be a little upset with me for leaving the house. I expected her to say something, but instead, she just said, “You boys having fun?”

“Oh yeah. Nothing better than bar upkeep. Think you could swing by and pick me up when you’re finished?”

“Sure,” Sandy said. “but I thought I’d stop and pick up something to eat. You think maybe the three of us could have dinner tonight?”

“Hold on,” I said. “I’ll check.” I pulled the phone away from my ear and said, “Hey Pops, Sandy wants to cook for the three of us tonight. What do you say?”

Mason wiped the sweat from his brow. “Aw, geez Virg, I don’t know. I think-”

I put the phone back up to my ear, but kept my eyes on my dad. “He says he’d love to.” I listened for another minute, then said goodbye and set the phone down.

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud,” I said. “She wants to cook for you.”

My father let out a sigh, then went back to work.

I did too.

Sandy got to the bar a little earlier than I expected and when she walked in she smiled and kissed me hello. “Thought you were going to the store,” I said.

“Well, I was going to, but I thought I’d stop by here first and see what sounded good to you guys. Any suggestions? Hi Mason.”

“Hi little darling,” Mason said. “You know how to make a meatloaf?”

Meatloaf? Oh boy.

“I sure do,” Sandy said. “As a matter of fact, I’ve got a meatloaf recipe that’ll make you love me forever.”

Mason laughed. “Won’t need a recipe for that Missy. All you’ve got to do is take care of my baby boy, here.”

I thought, huh. Felt the love in his words.

Sandy excused herself to the ladies room. “That’s one you don’t let get away, Son.”

“I know, Dad. I know. This one’s going to work. Meant to be, you know?”

“That I do, Son,” Mason said. He was marking a series of cut lines on the boards with a carpenter’s pencil. He didn’t look up when he spoke, but it didn’t stop the words. “You know, Virg, you and I, sometimes it sort of seems like neither one of us has the right words to say to each other. You ever feel like that?”

“Yeah, I guess sometimes I do, Dad.”

Mason put the old board on top of the new one and traced the cut points out. “My dad, your grandfather, he wasn’t much of a talker. I used to get mad at him when I was a kid because he wouldn’t say anything to me except to correct me when I did something wrong. It wasn’t until you were born that I finally figured out how much he loved me. Wasn’t until he died that I figured out how much I loved him, faults and all.”