Night and Day

Chapter 2: Delilah

The night wore on and, before long, my dad was phoning; he was waiting outside, come to pick me up. My heart sank a little. It was always difficult to leave when you were having fun and I was already thoroughly invested in Nathan's latest anime, despite the fact that he would no doubt find another before I visited again. I thanked him, promised to give him a shout and said my goodbyes. The ride within the elevator was calm, and then I was outside, the cruel rain soaking into my boots, the fine snow turned to grey slush.

My dad idled before the McDonald's, his windshield wipers pounding hither tither. He himself was on his phone, his eyes drooping, his form sagging. Weighed down by another exhausting day, he had little to say as I gratefully sank into the warm compartment of the truck next to him. I myself was feeling fatigued and I leaned back in my seat, replaying the events of the day through my mind like a string of old film. It had been a decent episode, I decided, this day in my life; though weary, I was content. The engine purred and the truck began to move.

"So, how was your day?" my dad asked, sighing as he beheld the flooded road before him.

"Pretty good. Long," I admitted, "but enjoyable."

He smiled. "Good stuff."

"Long day?" I returned, watching as the shapes of wet trees sped past us.

"Yeah." Every word, every story and every ache within his beaten bones was described in that sigh. Not for the first time, I wondered if he or my mom were really happy, only feigning interest in daily intrigues. It was evident to me that their interest in my life was genuine, but that was not evidence for joy. They seemed always to be wilting, or else burning-lashing out at each other, volatile flames, they seemed to consume the sweet memories around them. Their work was taking its toll; beneath my parents eyes I could see bags, within them, desperation.

Suddenly sad for earlier days, I blocked out these thoughts. I was worried enough about Nathan, without this; this was beyond my control, and I knew it was ridiculous to fret over responsibilities, and trials, that were not my own. Yet I had to wonder after my brother who, just today, had seemed distant. Of course I tired him, to some extent; he wanted his own privacy, just as I yearned after my own whenever my mother thought to pull me from my own quiet world. Yet this was different; while usually reserved, he had grown steadily more solemn, the words resting unspoken upon his lips.

Why should Nathan be unhappy, though? He had expressed an interest in family before, but somehow it did not seem a priority to him. He liked his life. He enjoyed his freedom to do with as he pleased. If he were to become a husband-or even a father-gone would be the senseless hours of Call of Duty, the microwave meals, and the fear of dusting. Perhaps he was troubled by something else entirely. It could be that his job was growing stale, or else increasing in difficulty as people phoned in sick as a result of the weather.

The truck struggled up ice into the driveway and shuddered to a halt as the wheels threatened to slide into the yard. The lights came up as I opened my door and from the window, my dog hopped about the top of our grey couch, ecstatic to have two of his beloved master's home. I was less than ecstatic as my foot sank, ankle deep, into a large and frigid puddle. It was a series of splashes to the door and my socks were soaked through by the time I reached the dry haven of my home.

My mom was slumped in her chair, her eyes glazed over as she gazed at the screen of our ten year old television, which, remarkably, was still in decent condition, the colours still vivid, the characters appealing to the eye. In contrast, her hair was streaked through with grey and her face drawn, a product of her absurd hours. Her gaze was subsiding as sleep threatened to overtake her; my dad was already collapsing onto the couch, his neck snapping back, his mouth widening.