The Movement

Chapter Two - Part 2

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“Daddy!” screamed Troy with excitement as his father opened the front door, walking inside.

Troy’s father dropped his large lunchbox and folded newspaper, preparing instead for his young son’s leap of faith into his wide-open arms.

“Troy, my boy!” his father exclaimed with joy. “What did mommy make us for dinner tonight?”

“Mommy said we have to eat leftovers, ‘cause we don’t have any money to buy tacos,” said the young Troy with an innocent sadness, as if he understood the dire financial situation the Duckworth’s were currently suffering through.

“Well, I love leftovers! Leftovers are my favorite! It makes the food riper, like a perfect banana!” exclaimed his father in a convincing voice.

“I guess that’s true, daddy. I never thought of it that way before,” admitted Troy.

“I am starving, are you ready to eat?” asked Troy’s father, swooping up the small, laughing boy in his arms and carrying him in a bear hug to the dinner table.

Troy sat at the table with his father, Phil, and mother, Joyce. They dug into the dish of spaghetti like birds on a worm, feasting on the food before it cooled off.

“Any luck finding a job today, Phil?” asked Joyce, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

“I’m waiting to hear back from Joe Randolph. He said he might be able to get me twenty hours or so in the shop, doing maintenance and cleanup around the place after the workday. That way,” he paused to think and chew, “I could still look for another job in the mornings too.”

“Well that sounds like a decent gig. Hopefully he comes through with it for you. How is the shop going for Joe though?” asked Joyce.

“Oh, like everyone else he’s struggling to stay afloat. I don’t know if he really needs somebody in the shop or not. His offer might just be here-say small talk to shut me up. We’ll see if he really means it soon though,” said Phil.

“Mommy,” said Troy, gazing at the dinner table. “What does this thing do?”

She looked startled.

“This here?” she asked, pointing at the candle in the center of the dining table. “This is a candle.”

“A candle? What does it do?” he asked, amazed.

“This has always been here, Troy. What makes you ask now?” she laughed playfully.

“I dunno. But mommy, what does it do?” he persisted with curiosity.

“Well,” she began. “It has a good scent, you know, it smells like vanilla. Have you ever smelled it before?”

She leaned forward and picked it up off the table, offering Troy a smell via her extended arm.

“It smells good!” shouted Troy with a smile.

“Ask mommy why she never lights it,” pushed Phil as he took another large bite of food.

Joyce rolled her eyes at him with a grin of sarcastic annoyance.

“Hun, what is the point of lighting it? It just melts the wax away and then we no longer have a centerpiece for our dining room table. It’s just decoration,” she justified.

“You know that little thing in the middle? That’s called a wick, and you light it so it gets the aroma of the candle out for everyone to smell it,” explained Phil sarcastically.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, when you want to replace it with another thirty-dollar candle you can go ahead and light it. Until then, it’s just decoration and you can smell it when you get close to it,” she defended.

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. She formed the face Phil hated; the face she formed when she suspected something. She raised her eyebrows and pulled her lips to the left side of her face. Her forehead wrinkled, forming rolling hills of tiny wrinkles below her hairline. Phil hated when she made that face.

“You went to the rallies again today, didn’t you?” asked Joyce, suspicious of her husband.

“Babe, I—” he began.

“The rallies!” interrupted Troy. “We learned about those in school yesterday! Everyone goes to the streets with signs and yells at the president!” he shouted with excitement.

Phil was amused by Troy’s antics.

“No, son, I don’t go to those silly rallies anymore. They can be dangerous and are a waste of time, anyways,” said Phil, looking at his wife.

He redirected his eyes to his son.

“They do no good. I look for jobs instead; it’s much more realistic than standing in the street hoping for a miracle. Promise me, Troy, you’ll do your very best in school studies so you can be a big business owner with a very important job when you grow up,” advised Phil with probity.

“I’ll try, daddy. I have all perfect grades so far. I have a long way to go though until I’m done with high school and college,” said Troy in a truthful, worried voice.

“Good, son. But no matter what, I’ll love you forever,” vowed Phil.

“I love you too daddy!” said Troy through a mouth full of spaghetti.

“But I don’t love your manners right now,” joked Phil, glaring at Troy’s antics.

“Troy,” declared Joyce sternly. “Clean your plate off please, and get ready for bed. But first read your chapters and brush your teeth.”

“Yes, momma,” replied Troy.

Now alone, Phil and Joyce renewed their previous conversation from supper’s beginnings.

“Phil, tell me you’re not still going to those rallies,” she beckoned.

“I told you, I have not been to one since last week! And that’s the last one I’m going to. They’re useless. I’ve been looking for a job all week. I’ve got a better chance landing a minimum wage job cleaning toilets than I do overthrowing the government, you know that,” said Phil with promising eyes.

“I know, I just hear what happens at those things, with the police and all. And I don’t want you even near them. You could get hurt, or worse, arrested or killed,” she worried.

“I’m through with it. I’ve told you that. I still stand for my beliefs, but reality is more important than believing in hope,” said Phil.

Joyce looked down at her plate, twirling her fork in her little pile of remaining spaghetti.

“We need to pay the house by next week. If we don’t we’ll be evicted,” she said quietly.

“I’ll get the money in the next few days, babe,” comforted Phil. “We’ve got half of it already, all we need is another three hundred or so. I can get that in a day or two.”

“We can’t keep living like this, Phil! We need to do something! We need to do something now!” yelled Joyce from across the dinner table.

“Babe, quiet,” hushed Phil, bringing his pointer finger to his mouth. “I know these are tough times, but whatever the case, do not let Troy hear of this. Keep it down, we can get through this, I promise. I’ll wake up early again and go look for a job in town in the morning. I’ll get a good job soon.”

Phil took a large gulp from his glass of water and finished up his dinner with a final bite. Walking by his wife, he scooped up her plate as he walked toward the sink to clean off the dishes.

“Thank you love,” she whispered, still looking down at the table where her plate was.

“Don’t worry; trust me, I’ll figure it out,” promised Phil once more.