Anecdotes from the Future
*The following short story is a work of fiction. The characters, organisations, brands, and events portrayed are fictional. Any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental. This material does not reflect the author's opinions. It may depict highly unsuitable topics and language for sensitive demographics and should not be read by minors.
“Dad, we need to talk.” I took a sip from my espresso. My father wore his usual outfit: A top hat and a black cape.
“Look!” He said, “I have come up with a new trick!” He seized the milk portion—which looked like a small tit—and posed it in front of his eye. “Behold! The man who loses an eye! And then… Generates another one!” He laughed maniacally.
“Dad, please, stop,”
He furthered his fork towards his hand holding the nipple of milk and lacerated it with a stern, stark movement. “AHHHHHHHHH!”
“Dad,”
“AHHSHDFHFDKAHSFKHDSHJFHJ!” He really wanted to make me believe that his eyes were filled with a white liquid instead of blood.
“Dad! People are staring at us! We are at a fucking Denny’s!”
He hid the crushed snippet of milk and opened his eyes slowly–pretending the white, clouded sunlight blinded him. An elderly woman from the table next to ours clapped amused, he bowed in gratitude.
“Are you finished?” I said ironically.
“Yes,”
“I need you to pay the rent, OK?”
“Oh, that? Yeah, no, no, yeah, of course, of course, David,”
“You have said that, several weeks ago. I seriously need the money. I am afraid that I will kick you out if you do not pay soon. I have other offers, you know?”
“I just booked a new gig.” He smiled with wicked glee.
“Is it a paid gig?”
“Yes,”
“Oh, really? When is it?”
“Tomorrow,” He parried.
“What o’clock?”
“Ten.”
“Where?”
“I would have to look for the address in my phone, but it is a child’s party so you cannot come, unfortunately.”
“Look, Dad, I know you are broke. I want to help you, but it seems as if you are not taking me seriously enough. I feel you are using me, to be honest.”
“Using you? No, no, no! David! How can you think that? I am your father, for God's sake!”
“I know, I am sorry, it is just what I think.”
“I am your father, and I am a magician, and I love you.”
“You just say that, but you do not mean it.”
“I mean it, I love you, David.”
“And would you still love me if I, as your landlord, kick you out?”
Benedict gulped, “Yes,” he spurt mindlessly—looking out the window.
“I do not believe you. You have one day, tomorrow you collect your gig money, and you give me half the rent or you will be out in the streets.” I tossed a twenty upon the table on my way out. I glanced at him outside of the Denny’s through the window-paned walls, he was staring off into space. I wonder how he ended up like this. He used to be my dad, a family man, a guy who raised a child, but now his child is somehow bigger than him, somehow economically stabler than him, it is so weird. I knew he should never try to become a magician, but he can’t help it. Bad decisions haunt him wherever he goes, whatever he does, I think he is the personified bad decisions. It is so sad to see him like this. I wish I could help him, but it is useless. I drove away. On the freeway, the wind roared in my ears as I rolled my way back home…
