Max Booth III - We Need to Do Something

“ These motherfuckers! ” Dad screams, and charges the bathroom door. I leap out of the way just as he connects with the wood and bounces back on the floor. No visible damage is inflicted.

He remains flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, breathing heavily, seething.

I step back into the tub with Bobby and Mom and the three of us watch him, waiting to see what’s going to happen next.

In a voice so low and calm we can barely hear him, Dad says, “Why hasn’t he come to check on you yet?”

Another long silence.

And I can’t take it any longer. “Why hasn’t who —”

“Dee,” Dad says, cutting me off, “don’t play deaf. I know you heard me.” He sits up and glares at her. “It’s been a week. Maybe longer. Don’t you think he’s worried about you?”

“I don’t want to do this right now,” Mom tells him. “Not in front of the kids.”

Dad rubs his brow, annoyed. “I’m not trying to be an asshole, goddammit. I’m just saying. We need to get out of here or we’re all fucked. Especially now with Bobby. Is there a chance he might come?”

“Who are you guys talking about?” I ask, practically pleading at this point.

Mom doesn’t answer.

“Well?” Dad says, voice prodding.

She sighs. “I told him if he didn’t hear from me by midnight, that something might have happened.”

Dad narrows his eyes. “Something like what?”

“We shouldn’t get into this right now.”

He makes a big show of looking around the bathroom. “Oh, do you have a better time in mind? Maybe go out in the living room and continue this discussion, is that it?”

“You can’t go to the living room,” Bobby says, voice weak. “We’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Bobby. I guess I forgot.”

“You’re welcome.”

“What’s going on?” I ask again.

Dad cocks his head at Mom. “Dee?”

“I didn’t know how you’d react. I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“…of you.”

Dad laughs. “What did you think I’d do? Hurt you?”

“Maybe.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He wipes his lips. “Have I ever hurt you?” He gestures to me and Bobby. “Have I ever hurt your mom? Huh?”

“Sometimes you yell and get angry and make her cry,” Bobby tells him.

This response seems to sucker punch Dad into silence.

A half hour passes. Or maybe an entire day. Eventually Mom says, “If he was going to come, he would have already been here.”

“Where does he live?”

“Not far. Within walking distance.”

“Jesus fuck.”

I can feel the rage boiling inside me, much how I imagine it permanently cooks in my father. “ Stop ignoring me! ”

Everybody directs their attention my way. Like they just realized I’ve been trapped in this bathroom with them the entire time. I can’t stop shaking.

“What are you talking about?” I ask them.

Of course I’m met by another long silence.

“ Hello? ”

Dad lowers his head, quiet.

Mom clears her throat. “Your father and I are getting a divorce.”

“ What? ”

“No you’re not!” Bobby shouts from the tub. “That’s not true. Dad, tell Mom to stop lying.”

Dad remains unresponsive.

“We decided on it the night of the tornado,” Mom says. “We were going to tell you both the next day.”

Dad snorts. “ We decided?”

Realization hits. All the clues, right in my face this entire time. “Oh my god, Mom, are you cheating on Dad?”

“I’ve been seeing someone. Yes. He makes me happy. I deserve to be happy.”

“And I don’t?” Dad asks.

“Goddammit, Robert, don’t pull that shit now.”

“Pull what shit?”

“I tried. I fucking tried. And I was miserable. I asked you to get sober. I asked you to help out more. I fucking begged you, Robert. I begged you. ”

“I can’t believe you guys are getting a divorce,” I whisper.

“Who are we going to live with?” Bobby whines.

And I tell him, “Mom, obviously.”

Dad glares at me, hurt. “Why obviously?”

He catches me off guard. I realize I’ve screwed up. “I don’t know.”

“No. You said obviously. What the fuck did you mean by obviously?”

“Just… you know… I don’t… I don’t…”

Mom takes over for me. “She meant that I’m the only one who can actually take care of them without passing out drunk in the front yard.”

“That was one time.”

“It shouldn’t have been any times.”

“Guys…” Bobby whispers.

But Dad ignores him and stands back up, getting that crazy look in his eyes again. “You think you’re taking my children away from me, you got another thing coming, baby. You fuckin’ try it. I dare you.”

“… guys …”

“Please stop fighting,” I chant, “please stop fighting please stop fighting please—”

Mom takes in the whole situation and does something peculiar. She smirks. “You’re scaring the kids again, dear.”

Dad stops and glares at us all in the tub, seething with rage, then reality hits and he points at Bobby. “What’s wrong with him?”

We all glance down and discover Bobby convulsing in the tub next to us. He’s grabbing his wrist and moaning. We rush on top of him, trying to calm him down.

“ It hurts, ” he cries, “ it hurts it hurts it’s on FIRE I’m on FIRE help me HELP ME…”

“The belt’s making it worse,” Dad says. “You’re fucking killing him.”

“… oh my GOD oh my GOD…”

Frantic, Mom loosens the belt and casts it aside, nearly slapping me in the face with it in the process. Bobby continues moaning. His wrist and hand have gotten extremely swollen and discolored. She hesitates, examining it, clearly out of her element just like the rest of us. She twists the tub faucet to COLD.

“Put it under the water, baby. Come on.”

Bobby scoots up to the flowing water and cautiously extends his arm under the faucet. He cries out and hides his hand against his chest. “ IT HURTS IT HURTS EVERYTHING BURNS! ”

Mom presses her own hand against his chest, waiting, concentrating, then withdraws. “Oh, god, his heartbeat is way too fast.”

Dad kneels so they’re eye-level. “Bobby, calm the fuck down! You gotta calm the fuck down right now!”

This only makes Bobby cry louder and further freak out.

“That isn’t helping,” Mom says.

“Well what the fuck do you want me to do, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“We have to do something, don’t we?” I wail. “We have to do something. ”

Mom soothes her voice down into something replicating calmness. “Okay, baby, take big deep breaths, okay? Real nice and easy now. It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay…”

They continue this routine for several minutes and eventually he actually starts to calm down. Mom cradles him in her arms. They’re both dripping with sweat and tears and—judging by the smell—urine.

“Can you tell me, Momma?” Bobby asks, voice soft.

“Tell you what, baby?”

“You know.”

Dad’s sitting on the toilet, next to the upside-down trash can. The snake has stopped moving for the time being. Its rattler no longer makes any noise. Perhaps it’s trying to fool us into believing it’s gone away and that we’re safe. Stupid snake. There’s no way in hell any of us are ever going to entertain such a fantastical delusion again.

Mom holds Bobby tighter, resting her cheek against the back of his head. “Well, we were at Walmart trying to buy a frozen pizza, and you decided you had been in my belly long enough.”