Facing the Dragon

The two children looked wistfully at the summer carnival, as if it were already a memory. The six-year-old boy, rubicund and chubby, kicked dust into the air. His sister—two years older—had wakeful eyes, and a curious stillness despite the loud carnival crowd. Pineapple popsicles glittered in their hands. The first drop of sticky, yellow sugar slowly made its way down. 

Fumbling in his backpack for his car keys, the father wiped his brow with his sleeve. His shirt was wet with sweat. “The things I do for these kids,” he muttered.

The three were walking through the parking lot, looking for the car. They had spent three hours on the tallest pink horses in the carousel and in the bumper cars and placing cotton candy clouds on their outstretched tongues—and yes, it had been fun, but now, they still felt rather melancholy. Jody pointed to Joey’s popsicle. His eyes widened; he slurped the bottoms. 

Their father found the keys. He clicked. Distantly: Beep beep. “To the left, kids,” he said.  

Indeed, the carnival hadn’t been far from the house. Yes—fifteen miles west—but most of that was on the highway. Leave after lunch, return by six. He still had plenty of time to fix his slides. 

They opened the car doors, and a heatwave contained by the sleek car doors blasted forth, releasing the sun’s energy. The father turned the A.C. to full blast. The children buckled in, he closed his car with a thud and drove off on the bumpy road. 

Now Jody’s popsicle was melting too. Both of them began to suck their sticks furiously, making sure that none of the syrup fell on the seat. They waved them back and forth, like a game of dodgeball, letting the melting sugar waterfall backward, then upward, into their mouths. Their eyes flitted to their father, making sure he didn’t notice anything. They did not want to risk his displeasure. 

The father had not noticed. For he had remembered something: he had overheard the big boss say he liked the color purple. That gave him hope. It was his third time asking for the assistantship. Then he felt a hot rage rise in his chest, thinking of the dignity that prick had taken from him. He slammed too hard on the brakes. A series of thumps echoed around the car.

He turned back quickly to check on his children, and the sight he found was strange: both were bent over, faces gone, searching the floor. “What are you doing?” he shouted. From the corner of his eye he saw the red car to the side begin to move. Hotly he swiveled around. The light was green. 

“What the hell are you two doing?”

Noise from neighboring cars grew louder and louder. However, nothing could be heard against the blood rushing to the children’s ears. Rarely did their father curse. 

Staring fearfully into her father’s eyes, Joey whispered, “Sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear it! Whatever you were doing, looking below the seats, that doesn’t warrant you distracting me while driving! Look at what we are doing! Sitting in the middle of the road!” The two children looked at the floor, head bowed down. “I brought you here to have some fun and to cease your persistent nagging. Well, look at what you give in return! Only TROUBLE!”

Joey’s awkward hand had been hovering—protectively, it seemed. Only then did the father notice. Roughly, he pushed it aside, only to see that Joey’s popsicle had smashed against the back of the seat. Yellow muck was splattered all over his precious vehicle. He let out a roar of indignation—a noise which would rival the beasts which inspired the most ferocious rides at the carnival, one which left his children cowering. Jody’s popsicle had traveled from the window, down the car door, and to the floor, and her eyes were glued to her feet.

“You. Should. Be. Grateful.” 

He hissed through his teeth. Outside, other cars were honking, and so he turned back around and sped off, far beyond the speed limit. “IF YOU DON’T CLEAN THAT UP BY THE TIME WE RETURN, JUST WAIT WHAT’S IN STORE FOR YOU.”

The kids looked at each other in undisguised fear. It was astonishing how quickly the quiet, compliant father which let them ride all the rides at the carnival could turn into this monster. It was happening again.

Quickly grabbing a handful of napkins from the side pocket, Jody handed some to his sister and began wiping furiously at the seat. The yellow gunk was everywhere. Trying to cover every spot, the napkins simply got soaked immediately and spread a thin layer everywhere. The smell was intoxicating. Drying quickly, the syrup became sticky.

Speeding through red lights, with his white knuckles gripped tightly on the wheel, the father drove up to his house. Getting out and slamming the door, he took long strides toward the house. The children looked at his walk and unspokenly agreed to stay and keep wiping. After a few minutes, he came back with several roles of paper towels and a spray bottle of soapy water.

Opening the door, he sneered, “Get out of the way.” 

Jody and Joey slid past him quickly and stood there watching as their father cleaned up the whole mess. 

They felt overwhelmed. Jody was shaking. Joey was crying. It was a pang of guilt and a shame that they imagined most children do not have to experience, which could only be caused by someone powerful, who they respected, turning on them like they were scum beneath his feet. They vowed to never do it again, no matter what “it” was, no matter what it would take. It had been all their fault. 

The sun was falling. The sky, once glowing pink and yellow and orange, suddenly fell into a solemn indigo. Silently, the father finished and stomped back into the house. He had to make his slides purple. The children followed obediently in a line. Each felt utterly alone.