Introduction
This is a story that Denise wrote, and I finished. As you read it, keep in mind the questions, "What is the smell of aged adventure?" "How does this story have anything to do with INFIDELS?" and "Who the heck names their daughter Ike?"
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“I’m home!” I heard my mother say as she closed our front door and headed to the kitchen with the groceries that she had bought for the week. They usually included just enough for two, she and I. Ever since we moved here, my father hadn’t been spending much time with us. Every night, he’d come home when everyone was already asleep. It did not look like my parents were at the greatest point of their marriage life.
When I heard the door slam, I groaned to show her that I had heard her and then continued trying to solve the problem that was in front of me.
“If the train moves west at a speed of 25mph, what time will it reach its destination 30 miles away?” I mumbled to myself, trying to apply the notes we had taken during class earlier that day.
I could hear the sounds of pots and pans knocking against each other, evidence that my mother was cooking dinner that night. She didn’t always cook dinner; there would usually have to be a special day or event for her to bring her culinary skills to the table.
Before long, dinner was ready and the table was set. What confused me was that there was a third placemat set. Could my father be coming home to eat? If he did, it would be a first in the last six months.
“Mom, why is there a third placemat set? Is Dad coming home to eat?”
“Oh, no,” she said, with a mischievous smile, “We have a special guest today.”
“Who is it?” I asked, while trying to figure out who it might be.
Could it be Aunt Linda? Or perhaps Grandmother decided to drop by, I thought. I loved it whenever Grandmother came to stay with us; she always bought me presents and would personalize it with a note of encouragement, usually about my studies or my family.
Mother refused to budge and so I gave up. Because the mystery guest had not arrived yet, I decided to continue on my math. I somehow felt excited about the special guest, yet there was a tiny feeling deep inside that was worrying. I wasn’t sure what it was that was causing it so I tried to forget it and focused on math.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang and my mom ran excitedly to open it. I looked at her in curiosity as she passed, wondering what, or rather who, might be the cause of all her sudden happiness. The door opened. I heard murmurs, as if this mystery person and my mother had planned this surprise all along.
My mother was laughing as if she had no cares in the world. Walking arm-in-arm beside her was the mystery guest. It was a man; a handsome one at that. They were walking towards me and suddenly the thought entered my head, “Mom is having an affair!”
My breathing began to increase and the room suddenly felt like an oven. Thoughts began to rise rapidly in my head. My head was spinning. I could not believe I had never thought of it earlier. Mom was an attractive and lonely woman. He was a good-looking man, but there was something about him that I did not like the second I laid eyes on him. Was it the permanent smirk-like mouth he had on while walking towards me? Was it because when he stepped in the house, he smelled like aged adventure? Or could it be that he just looked almost too perfect? The color of his hair told me he was at his 50s - a dark hue of brown that was turning grey. Even so, he didn't seem to be short of charm and attractiveness.
I kept reminding myself not to make assumptions. There must be a logical explanation to his visit. Maybe he was just a really close gay friend that my mother had made at work? Or some old acquaintance passing through town that my mother felt obliged to entertain over dinner? My head continued to spin even faster as I saw them approaching in slow motion. I wouldn’t have minded if I could have fast-forwarded to when I would be alone in my room thinking about what had just happened.
They finally entered the dining room, where I sat, dumbfounded at all that was going on. I pinched myself as a reminder that they could see through the transparent expression on my face. They stood, while I sat, in silence for awhile.
“Hi,” I managed, with a put-on smile, “I’m—“
“Honey, this is your father,” my mother interrupted me.
I screamed hysterically. How else did my mother and this strange stranger who could not be my father expect me to react? I jumped violently from my seat onto the table and shouted into my mother’s face, “What is wrong with you?! This is not Dad! Dad is fat, balding and smells of beer and cheap perfume, not aged adventure!”
“Calm down, Ike.”
I was calm. What had just happened? I was confused, but no longer hysterical. My mind felt like a lizard under a hot afternoon sun; sluggish, slow. The racing thoughts of a moment before were now floundering in a viscous, murky soup.
“I am your father,” said the man who looked too perfect. And smelled like leather and books. Soft, old leather and musty, forgotten tomes. The smell of aged adventure.
I believed him. I didn’t know why. Who was the person I thought of as “Dad”? Why did my mother marry him? What were we having for dinner? I never found the answers to those questions.
My father told me that I believe because I know. I know that I’m different, that I don’t belong. 15 years ago, he came to Earth to begin an experiment. It was time to bring back the results.
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