A Clean Slate

A flame swaying atop a stub of melted, beige candle wax illuminates a round, dark walnut kitchen table. A picture of a toddler, creased and faded from decades spent trapped in the depths of a brown, leather billfold lays next to a plate of cold grouper and withered vegetable medley. Howard, a man in his early fifties, dressed in a white button down shirt and charcoal slacks holds a cell phone with the contact ‘Son’ at the top of the screen with four identical texts left unanswered, Danny, where are you? Howard’s urgency growing with each sequential message left with no response. Howard grabs a wine glass, turning it on its head into his open mouth. A few drops of pinot noir that have pooled at the base of the glass bowl sluggishly pour down the side of the clear goblet towards his red stained lips.  

WTLE 11, Pittsburgh’s local news station plays on the television in the living room. The same sequence of stories cycle on an endless loop that Howard has committed to memory. A story about a young, local entrepreneur that’s modified discarded Roombas to give family pets walks around the neighborhood. The appearance of the ambitious college student suggests that he’s in his early 20’s, the same age as Danny. Although, Howard has been unable to pinpoint his son’s exact age the entire afternoon. The spectrum of 21 to 23 being the only thing that's left him with any confidence. The subsequent story, a middle-age married couple that were reported missing by a close relative. “No new details have been found in the disappearance of Martin and Lindsey Miller nearly two weeks ago after a night out at the Cinemark in Monroeville. Security footage outside of a gas station that the couple visited on their way home on Highway 22, near Eastmont Park, is the last time the couple were seen before their disappearance. If you have any details as to where they may be, please reach out to the authorities. The anchor says in her sanitized, curated broadcasting voice. A recent family photo with their three children is spliced between shotty security footage of the couple’s last known whereabouts.  

The couple look to be close to Howard’s age, but after his fifth glass of pinot his own age has become somewhat of a mystery. This story amplifies Howard’s anxiousness that has been building in Danny’s absence. Just before the story of the mayor’s plan to cut taxes to alleviate the city’s multi-billion dollar deficit, the sound of rubber tires rolling over the home’s gravel driveway shifts Howard’s attention towards the front door. Howard grabs the remote control, his thumb wildly pressing each button until the television screen is nothing but a black reflection of him slumped in his chair with an empty wine glass still in his hand. The sound of the shifting gravel gets closer. The blinds near the front door illuminate as harsh lights peer through the gaps between the white, horizontal slats. Howard tries lifting himself from the dining chair to investigate the commotion, but quickly realizes how much of a toll a bottle of wine can take on someone that’s been sober for nearly a decade. The lights vanish from window and the sound of the engine dissipates. The harsh thud of heavy boots stomping on the wooden steps of the front porch and the jangle of keys clanging around is the familiar sound of Danny’s arrival home.  

A man with a bookbag strapped to his back dressed in a navy-blue hoodie and weathered, brown leather boots walks into the house.  

“Danny, is that you?” Howard shouts towards the front entrance. 

The hooded man flinches, startled by sudden and unfamiliar greeting.  

“God, you scared me. Yeah, who else would it be? What are you doing up so late?” Danny asks, trying to compose himself.  

“I should ask you why you’re getting home so late.” 

“What’s it to you?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m your father.” 

Danny snickers at Howard's response, “Oh, I see. I must be in some sort of trouble then.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“That’s the only time you seem to have any interest in being anyone's dad around here. So, what did I do this time? Let’s get this over with, I have stuff to do.” 

“Hey, watch it. As long as you live under my roof you’ll show your father some respect. Is that understood?” Howard says, the volume of his voice increasingly elevating. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry Howard. May I please be informed as to how I’ve upset you this time, so that I may go to my room.” 

“You were supposed to be home hours ago. I told you yesterday that we needed to talk and you were to be here for dinner. Any of this sound familiar?” 

“Yeah, sure. I guess I lost track of...”  

“And I’m your father, you are to call me dad or sir. I don't ever want to hear you call me Howard again, is that clear?” Howard yells across the living room, belligerently cutting off Danny’s typical, halfhearted excuse. 

Danny faces Howard, flattens his hand and brings it to the temple of his forehead in a haphazard salute, “Yes sir. Sorry sir. Permission to speak freely, sir.” 

“Danny.” Howard says, attempting to assert himself in a more composed manner.    

“I noticed the empty wine glass in your hand, have you been drinking tonight, sir?” Danny asks. 

“Enough.” Howard says in frustration. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for hours with no response. I’ve been worried sick that something may have happened to you.” Howard flashes the phone screen towards Danny, revealing the unanswered messages he sent throughout the evening.  

Danny places his hand down from his forehead, abandoning the attempt to wind his father up any further. 

“We really need to talk, Danny. I know it’s late, but this is really important.” Howard places the wine glass next to the empty bottle on the table. “Look, let’s just start over. A clean slate, alright? Please, just come sit down. I’ve spent hours cooking and I don’t want to see this go to waste.” 

Danny slips the straps of the bookbag from his shoulders and throws it at the foot of the stairs leading up to his room. He walks over to the table and sits across his father, grabbing a napkin and pushing the plate of food away. Howard, looking insulted, grabs the plate of food and tosses it back in front of Danny, the ceramic making a harsh clanging sound as it drops onto the wood dining table.  

“Well, go ahead, dig in. Tell me what you think.” Howard says, enthusiastic to hear Danny’s feedback. 

“I can’t.” 

“Why not? So it’s a little cold. You’re telling me you’ve never had sushi before.” 

“No, I haven’t had sushi before.” Danny says, disappointed but not surprised. “I’ve only had fish once my entire life, remember? The vacation we took to Florida when I was eight. I broke out in hives and could barely breathe for hours. I had to be rushed to the hospital. Any of this sound familiar?” Danny’s tone growing more sarcastic. “Oh, that’s right, you weren’t there. You were off on another business trip with your secretary. How is she by the way? What was her name? Oh yeah, Allison, that’s right. I’m sure you haven’t seen much of her lately. When she told mom about what the two of you had been doing for years behind her back, I guess that put the kibosh on the romance. If you ever see her again, please be sure to send her my love. Oh, and if ever you hear from mom again, tell her I kind of miss her and that I don’t blame her for trying to get as far away from you as possible.” 

Howard grabs Danny’s plate and positions it above his own, raking the fork across the white porcelain and piling the food on top of his own. Howard drops the empty plate back in front of Danny.  

“Happy?” Howard asks, frustrated but aimless as to what or whom he should be displeased with. 

Danny leans back and pats his stomach with his hand, letting out a bombastic belch, “Delicious.” 

Danny sees the picture of the toddler lying beneath what’s left of the melted candlestick. Danny grabs the picture, bringing it only a few inches from his face. The picture of a toddler with hazel eyes and brown, curly hair, is almost undistinguishable from Danny’s own features, more than two decades later.   

“Is this a picture of me? Where did you find this?” 

“That’s what I wanted to discuss with you and I'm not sure where to start. I guess the best way to start is with an apology.” 

“I’m listening.” Danny says, sarcastically surprised to hear this come from his father’s mouth.  

“Danny, this is serious.” Howard puts his hand on Danny’s arm, trying to extinguish the contentious mood of the conversation. “I’m sorry for not being a better father and not being more, I don’t know, involved in your life. What happened between your mother and I is not your fault and it’s something that I’ll have to live with. I’ve made a lot of mistakes and I’ve hurt people. Most importantly, I’ve hurt you and I want to make up for that now.” 

“Well it’s a little late for that.” 

“Just, please, hear me out. I know after your mother left that I wasn’t really there for you.” 

“That’s one way of putting it.” 

“Danny, I’m trying to...” 

Danny cuts his father off. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, you were always there.” Danny says, the ridicule in his voice unrelenting. “Every time I would get into trouble, remember? You were always there to smack me around whenever I got to be too much. When that annoying neighbor accused me of stealing her dog, you were there to take her side. When the school tried to expel me for picking fights with the other kids or vandalizing the school bus, you agreed to take me out of the school. Don’t sell yourself short, you were always there for me when I needed you. You just always took their side on everything.” 

“Danny, you were always threatening that woman and her dog. Then one day it disappears and all of a sudden there’s a bite mark on your hand and you have no explanation for how it got there, what was I supposed to think? If you remember, the school had video of you vandalizing that bus. And I can’t begin to count the amount of calls I got from parents telling me their kids didn’t feel safe with you at their school. But I should have paid closer attention to what was going on. I should have tried to get you some help and I realize that now.”  

Howard grabs the picture from Danny’s hand. “This picture is the only one I have of you. I’ve torn this whole house apart looking for another one and I realize that I don’t have anymore. I haven’t given you the attention and love that you deserve and I’m ashamed of myself.” 

“You should be.” Danny says, matter-of-factly.  

“Stop this. I’m your father, I did the best that I could. All I’m asking for is a second chance to make things right.” 

“You don’t think I've given you a second chance? And a third, and a fourth, and a fifth chance? I’ve given you hundreds of chances to be my father and not once did you come through. You’re out of chances and I don’t owe you anything just because you’ve decided to feel guilty, all of a sudden.” 

“I looked in your room, Danny.” 

“You what?” Danny asks, looking at his father with a confused expression. 

“I told you, I’ve torn this house apart looking for another picture of you. I thought, perhaps, you had one in your room. A random picture of you and a friend or maybe even a girlfriend.” 

Danny clenches his jaw and his eyelids collapse over the top of his pupils. “You had no right. No right to invade my privacy like that. Don’t worry, after tonight you’ll never see me again. Maybe you can find someone else's life to ruin. I’m packing my stuff and I’ll be out of here by morning.” 

Danny pushes the kitchen chair back with his boot, sending it flying into the wall and stomps across the hardwood floor, walking towards the staircase by the front door. As Danny approaches the bottom step, the television turns on in the background. A girl, no older than ten, appears on the screen sitting on a large, blue couch, positioned between two younger children. The WTLE 11 logo on the bottom left of the screen followed by the caption, Children of Missing Parents Speak Out. 

The young girl speaks, her eyes unable to look directly into the camera. “If you know where my mommy and daddy are, please tell someone. We miss them so much. We just want them home.”  

Without turning to look at the tv screen, Danny responds, "Turn that off.” 

Howard turns the television off and says, "Bottom dresser drawer.”  

Danny turns to look at his father, his eyes widened with disbelief as Howard continues on. 

“In the pocket of your gym shorts.”  

Howard pulls two white, plastic cards from his pocket with Pennsylvania bordering a tiny, framed headshot on each. Howard wastes no time and reads aloud the text written on each of the cards.  

“Martin Miller, age 57, blue eyes, brown hair, and an organ donor.” Howard throws down the card on the table and reads the next, “Lindsey Miller, age 53, brown eyes, blonde hair, and an organ donor.” The images from the identification matching the ones in the news station’s reference photo. 

Danny sprints from the staircase and over to the dining table, Danny’s eyes locked onto his father’s, his face close enough to smell the pinot on his dad’s breath, gripping the collar of Howard’s shirt in both his hands.  

Howard, in a surprisingly composed tone says, “I’ve been trying to tell you all night and you haven’t given me a chance. Maybe you’re right, maybe I don’t deserve another opportunity to be your father. Whatever you’ve done, this is probably just as much my fault as it is yours. I haven’t been there for you. All I want is a clean slate, a chance to start over. You haven’t been willing to give me that and I’ve had nothing to bargain with, until now.” Howard picks the cards off the table and holds them next to the flame balancing over the pile of melted wax. The fire from the wick creasing the edge of the ID as the small flame burns its way through the plastic. “Give me one more chance to do things right and this time I’ll have your back, no matter what.”  

“What do you want from me?” Danny asks. 

“You can start by calling me dad.”