I hate my job but love my dad

P.T.'s

It's close to 9 o'clock in the evening: the voices behind me dwindle and carry out the door. I sit at the bar facing the grill: the heat radiates to warm the front of my body, the sound of the grill fan drones on. There is a simmer: the last burger patty sits in the hot plate. A loud hiss: water has been spilled over the grates of the grill. The thin, metal spatula taps the gristle-covered metal of the grill. Left to right. Someone walks in front of me: it's Zach, the friendly giant. His stride is expansive as he walks the length of the room in only a few short steps. Kyle, the lost puppy, follows behind him: his feet hardly lift the ground. His Sanuks are wearing away quickly at the sole. The general walla-walla from the tables behind me has moved to the front register. People mindlessly bid each other a great day, weekend, life, as they are already half way out the door. This place sounds insincere.

The Mornings at the Tabor House

The traffic of parents rushing to drop off their children at the Catholic school behind my house: I can hear the confusion in the distance-- no, it is not a four way stop. The door to my parents' bedroom opens. My dad shuffles down the hall. I can tell he just woke up: his gait is uneven and flat-footed. The skin of his heels is rough against the wood floors. He is tired but must go to work. He has been working so hard for so long. My dog Indy waits at the end of the hallway: her tail happily beating against the metal baby-gate, which reverberates in an almost comical way. The AC isn't on, but my ceiling fan slowly creaks at each revolution. My dad has turned on the sink somewhere in the house-- the water moves eerily through the pipes in the walls. My mother must have slept at my grandmother's house last night: I can't hear her singing the wrong words to any song ever as she comes inside from the screened-in porch. Indy's toenails click loudly against the stone tile of the foyer: she followed my dad half-way to the kitchen, paused, turned back to return to her position at the end of the bedroom hallway where she will wait for me to greet her. She wants her treat. She is bored and lonely after the death of my dog Tink: her tail wags a little more irradically.