One Night in Canby

Canby, Oregon

June 3rd

Something wet dripped onto my forehead. I slapped at it sleepily, kept my eyes closed and dug deeper into the blankets. Dripping again. Forehead, then cheek. I shuffled out of the way and it turned into a stream. Cracking my eyes open I saw my eighteen-year-old son standing by the side of my bed, dick in his hand, pissing on me and Matilda. Or Millie. Maggie? Fuck.

Using the blanket as a shield, I scrambled to sit up against the backboard. "What the fuck, Mark? Are you outa your mind?"

"Glad you're up, Dad. You've got a choice to make."

The human rain stopped, and I cautiously lowered the blanket. Mandy had scooted almost out of the other side of the bed and clutched the sheet so it covered her tits. Oh, shit. Mabel's in my bed. Where his mother should be. And the room now reeked of sex and urine.

"Listen, Mark, this isn't..."

"Shut up, Dad."

His voice was very cold and darker than it should be for anyone his age. Mark pulled over the desk chair, turned it around and sat. That's when I saw the gun in his hand. "Mark, where did you... Son, put the gun down."

"I will, Dad. When we're done. After you've made your choice. You remember the last time I caught you with a whore in Mom's bed? You swore it was a mistake and it would never happen again. Remember that? All that bullshit about how a divorce would crush Mom and wreck Jamie and Kevin? Well, you got me. I was an idiot. I fell for it. Mom's out working third shift as an EMT while you've been out of work for over a year. She takes all the overtime she can. You, on the other hand, stay home, get drunk and obviously get as much strange as possible."

He lifted the gun and waived it back and forth between Marge and himself.

"Here's your choice, Dad. Me or your whore."

"What?"

"I'm going to shoot one of us. You get to choose. I'm going to shoot her in her left shoulder or me in my right foot. Choose."

"Mark... Look, this is completely nuts. I was drunk and depressed about the job and... listen, I shouldn't have brought Mabel here. You're right. I'm totally in the wrong. Can you put the gun down?"

"You shouldn't have brought her here? But fucking around on Mom is fine? Is that what you're saying?"

"No! I'm... I'm nervous and freaking out. I'm not used to sitting in a urine-soaked bed five feet away from someone with a gun. It was all a mistake. I shouldn't have done any of it. Mark, put the gun down."

"Make your choice, Dad. Your son or your slut."

"I'm, Mark, this is crazy. I can't choose between you hurting yourself or an innocent woman."

"Okay. I get that. I thought that a bullet in your child or the woman you were cheating with might mean something. Me catching you last time obviously didn't. Your word to me certainly didn't. We need to up the stakes a bit, Dad. Go all in."

He lifted the gun to his head.

"You also have the option of not choosing at all. If that's where you're headed, I'm going to kill myself. Make a choice."

"Ma... Mark, for God's sake, Son. Please, I'm begging you, put the gun down. Look, shoot me. If you need to kill someone, kill me."

"Clock's ticking, Dad. My foot, your whore or my head. I'll give you a minute."

We sat there, Mark staring at the digital clock. Mavel tried to slip from the bed until he pointed the gun at her. After about forty seconds, I spoke.

"You're not going to do it. You wouldn't kill yourself. I'm not choosing because there's no need to make a choice."

"And you're willing to take that risk? Sort of cavalier." Mark turned and stared at the bureau for a moment as he spoke. "Rather than have Maude shot in her shoulder, you're willing to risk your son shooting himself in the head. What a dad. Father of the year material. Banging Midge while your three kids are in the house. Pure class."

He turned back to me and continued. "You're right and wrong. I would, I will, and I've tried. Remember when we cleaned out Grandma's house a couple of weeks ago? I grabbed her Fentanyl. I thought fifteen pills would be enough. It wasn't. I woke up in a pool of vomit. There'd been blood in my urine. I think I have an ulcer. Keeping your secret wasn't sitting too well with me. And now, tonight... with all this..."

He waved the gun encompassing the room as he smiled. It was devoid of humor and life and I shivered.

"But I won't do it here. My brother and sister would be okay seeing one of us injured, but I don't want them seeing my corpse. I'm going to go into Molalla Park and do it there. Try to follow me and I'll shoot you and then kill myself here after all."

He grabbed his phone that was perched oddly on the bureau and left.

MARK

Ted's sister is a parks ranger. He knows woods like I know Call of Duty. After I uploaded the video of what happened between me and Dad, he took my phone and truck and drove to the park. Ted will stomp around in there for a day wearing some of my clothes and boots.

The prop-gun was bought on eBay, and I left it for Mom under the deck. It was a replica used in a Marvel show on Netflix. I didn't think I'd get in too much trouble. Maybe harassing or something. She could give it to the cops, and they'd see it couldn't fire.

An email, text, and video went out to the Park Service Rangers and local police telling them that I was fine, over eighteen, had no plans to harm myself and did not require their assistance.

I called and explained everything to Mom and asked her to tell my sister and brother and ask them to keep quiet. I expected more dramatics. She freaked out a bit when I told her what I said to Dad about the pills, but I convinced her I was making it up. I got the feeling that she had an inkling that he was cheating on her and this wasn't a total surprise. I expected that they'd be divorced by Thanksgiving.

All this did was bump up my schedule by sixty days.

I got on a bus at midnight that would take me to Portland. My cousin was letting me stay in his dorm until I started at Concordia in the fall.

I asked her not to tell Dad. Screw him. He'd probably get some of his hunter buddies and dogs. They'd follow my smell and Ted's tracks. Would the authorities tell him about me reaching out? Maybe. Let him search for my corpse and wonder.

The video was up to 16,340 views before we left Canby.

This story is part of the "One Night in XXX" event. I'd like to take a moment to thank Chloe for conceptualizing and curating this event.

Mr. Brooks has my appreciation for both his editing skills and alacrity.

Thanks to the Left Foot, Right Foot Society for their continued support.

Finally, a quick note to Pauline French. If you're reading this, I never changed my phone number. Give me a call. We had some great times and can again.