Are You Going to Eat That?

"Are you going to eat that?" said dad, pointing at Fran's belly. 

"That's not funny, dad," said Fran.

"Humor an old man."

It had been weeks since Fran had dropped out of high school. Then came the battle of a lifetime. Her parents fought over what they should do with her. Should she join a home economics course? Should she join Job Corps? Peace Corps? The military? Such things were rolling through their minds. 

Fran hadn't been the best student to begin with. She was a solid middle classwoman. After years of study and progress, there was very little chance of her getting into a top college. She was okay with that, however. 

"Look, Fran, I was thinking about how you -"

"No, dad!"

"What? I was only -" 

"Baker didn't think that way back then. He was only a kid."

"But did you think that your mother and I would...?"

"No."

"Look, Fran."

"Dad."

"I want you to just listen."

"Listen to what? I've heard everything before. In with the tide, out with the windows. Everyone's been saying it. They all know."

"What they know won't hurt them."

"And who eats pistachios on a turnpike anyway?"

"I've done it. Cleared through a whole barn. Full of stocks."

"Well, I'm not too sure that this is the right idea."

"Well, what do you want me to do, honey? Beg?"

"Baker never would have begged. He would have made it sing! He would have...turned it over. Given it words!"

"But he wouldn't have said that to me. He wouldn't have been lying at the feet of my bed, sleep, purring like a kitten because he didn't want to get turned into a fur blanket."

"That was my favorite blanket. You know that!"

"Wait, we're getting off subject, honey."

"Well! I don't know if you've noticed by that sunlight is pouring into my bank and it's hotter than winter out there."

"Look, honey, I don't want you to panic."

"Panic? Who's panicking? I just fell through the floor trying to beg those pimple-busters to procreate. Now you're telling me that I've got to catch the red line to the Eiffel Tower on a weekend!"

"That's not going to matter if Jones breaks in the sneakers."

"Yeah? But what does that mean for me? Me, sitting all alone, not knowing who to care for or what pleasures to take? This isn't swim class. I needed those pimples."

"What would you need a pimple for? Face so clear it could block the sun."

"Dad. Don't."

"Look. I don't want you to do this. I want you to understand that if you don't figure this out you may be singing to Samuel L. Jackson by next weekend."

"Singing? You want to bring up singing? Who was singing Christmas Carols for four hours on the fourth of July? Not to mention New Years Day!"

"The permanence and the impermanence of all things."

"Yeah. The only thing that's permanent is my fixation witch ketchup balls."

"Do you have to bring that up every time we talk?"

"You looked at them last time and it almost ripped my arms off. You think I like living like that?"

"Well, I think that we should think about this in a new way."

"I'm listening."

"Who brought your brother to the prom?"

Fran's eyes began to tear. 

"What?" said Fran.

"Who brought your brother to the prom, and what was the SS number?"

"SS number? We've been through this a million times. I keep the numbers in a safe under the yard. I don't look at them unless there's an earthquake or a tornado."

"Look. I'm trying be honest with you."

"Well, I don't need honesty. I need popcorn sticks. Don't get me wrong..."

They stood there with each other for a while, each thinking of their own situation. Where would Fran go? What would be her life's destiny. It was so hard thinking about what could have been, what was "supposed" to happen. What kind of kid just up and drops out in their sophomore year? It was an interesting story to tell, but for all the wrong reasons. Fran spend the next week sporadically submitting her resumes to local retail stores and fast food chains. On a Friday, she spoke with her mother about the situation.

"Dad thinks I should start an ink farming enterprise," said Fran.

"Your dad was always so obsessed with whales," said mom.

"Mom, just listen to me. I -"

"Look, Fran, you're not going to be accepted into Harvard with hell and in a handbasket around your neck, so stop flying the coupe."

"But mom, Harvard denied my existential reasoning algorithm."

"Well, reload it. Hit refresh. We all need to freshen up every once and a while."

"Mom, if I go to Harvard, who will nurse the canoe?"

"Honey, I love you, but you're going to have to tell that canoe to get going already. We've only got fifteen minutes until the rapture and Jesus isn't waiting for anybody."

"Mom, do you remember when Brady fell through the skylight on Batman's Day?"

"He fell on the Joker. Split his cranium."

"Well, It's not that simple."

"When was the last time you talked to Batman?"

"You mean the Joker..."

"No, I mean Batman. When did you talk to the Caped Crusader? The savior of English?"

"Mom, I don't want get into the video game thing again."

"I always thought that Playstation should run for president again, just like in the eighties."

"Mom, it's not that simple. If you want, I can go ahead and put the solid state drive into the popcorn machine."

"That won't do. It's full of butter."

"Solid state butter tastes good, though. Especially when it's salted."

"Oh, I'm getting fat just thinking about it."

"Mom, do you think that I could be a ballerina's justice department, just once?"

"You're asking the wrong Conquistador, Francesca."

"I wish I had stayed with the Beatles, instead of the Jackson 5."

"Honey, do you have a billion sea shells for the fair?"

"The beach couldn't hold them. I had to hide them in the bottom of the ocean."

"The Loch Ness monster lives there, you know."

"I know, I know."

A few weeks later, Fran got a job as a teller at a local Chase Bank. It was a tough job to get, because Chase had been rapidly closing branches. There was a recession going on and the people were panicking. Fran worked diligently, eventually being promoted to regional manager. It was a time of ultimate pain in the world. No one could tell what was going on.