{"id":520,"date":"2024-11-30T02:32:41","date_gmt":"2024-11-30T02:32:41","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/20-1\/?page_id=520"},"modified":"2024-11-30T03:27:02","modified_gmt":"2024-11-30T03:27:02","slug":"the-odyssey","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/20-1\/the-odyssey\/","title":{"rendered":"The Odyssey"},"content":{"rendered":"

by Gary Owens<\/span><\/p>\n

Saturday was as good a day as any. My dad\u2019s baseball team had beaten their hated rival, and while watching he had gorged himself on beer and nachos; fat and happy and victorious, as he would say. I found him at the kitchen table thumbing through his phone, having cleared the living room of empty cans and a bag of chips. However, he had ignored the leaking half-full medium chunky salsa bottle, probably since it would have taken effort to clean first.<\/span><\/p>\n

Gobs of patience was not my thing. He didn\u2019t look up when I said, \u201cDad.\u201d I was sure he was leering at a betting app, trying to figure out how much he had won.<\/span><\/p>\n

So I tried again. \u201cFather.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Formality often worked. But I still had to wait before he raised his head.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI need money to buy a car.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Over the last two weeks, I had dropped hints about wanting a car, only to be rewarded with tepid replies. My mother, I hoped, would have done work for me.<\/span><\/p>\n

His first move was to scratch his five o\u2019clock shadow, as if he were thinking. This was a stall move to make me wait, maybe test my patience. Next was taking in the room and, not seeing my mother, broadening his mouth into a grin, knowing he had full authority over the situation. In my youth I often won in this situation, but lately I noticed a basement treachery he sometimes did for kicks.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAlex, you know,\u201d he started, looking longingly at his phone. \u201cIt\u2019s sensible, asking your old man for help.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He was silent for a moment, falling back into his phone. When I shifted impatiently, he sighed and frowned and pocketed the device. \u201cFine, O.K. I\u2019m here. But understand things don\u2019t come automatically. Like I\u2019ve worked long hours, for a promotion, or looking hard for candles and candy for a girl. Not to mention buttering my own dad up to get tickets for a concert.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut the thing is,\u201d he said, his face widening into that smile again, \u201cnot everything paid off. The promotion, the girl, making my dad happy\u2026only one of those got me what I wanted.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo here\u2019s the deal. You sit here until I return. If you leave, then you get nothing. But if you\u2019re still here, I may or may not give you the money. You must be right there, though, and don\u2019t ask how long I\u2019ll be gone. Even if you stay, I\u2019m not promising anything.\u201d Then he stood, got his wallet and keys, and went out the door.<\/span><\/p>\n

I had raised a hand for an objection but lowered it now. I wondered what he meant by saying that I had to be here. He had finger-pointed to the table, yet he must have known I would need to go to the bathroom. I wanted the phone I had left in my room. I won\u2019t even mention my homework.<\/span><\/p>\n

So I stayed and considered my options. An hour went by before my mom came through the front door. She called my name and went back out again. When she returned, she was burdened with grocery bags. After three trips she slammed the front door shut, and when she brought the first couple of bags into the kitchen, she gave me a funny look. \u201cNo help?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I asked, \u201cDid Dad once buy candles and candy for you?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She didn\u2019t answer. Her face changed after that question, though, and, ignoring me, she put everything away. She didn\u2019t even ask why I was there doing nothing, instead petting my head in a way she hadn\u2019t since I was a kid and walking towards the stairs. Before escaping she asked, \u201cDid your father tell you where he was going?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I shook my head. She sighed and pulled out her phone as she left. <\/span><\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t move. The afternoon fell into the night, and I stayed put. The car was heavy on me. The car would let me ditch my bike. I could apply and get accepted into a college, fill the thing up with worldly possessions and drive far from here. I could see movies, visit pet stores, take in baseball games. I could cruise the neighborhood, note what house lights stayed on late and which darkened early, hang at botanical gardens. I could skip town and return, run away or stay put. The beat-up world would be at my beck and call, and I could go when and where I wanted, see who or what I craved. Nothing would stop me.<\/span><\/p>\n

The problem was getting the wheels. The cost of going was something I barely fathomed, but the destinations could be seen as easily as the drops of salsa on the jar. This lack of understanding was a failure, I knew, outside myself. <\/span><\/p>\n

The world held lessons I could never learn here. Besides the enunciations from my parents, the ramblings of a television screen, the moans within pop music, the ramifications drifting through books, this house was a shell. I had to find what my parents would not say. I had to escape to the end of the world, and peer over the edge. Only then could I understand.<\/span><\/p>\n

When the front door opened, letting my father inside, it took all my strength not to run. You see, I\u2019ve heard his speeches before, and I know what they get me.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

by Gary Owens Saturday was as good a day as any. My dad\u2019s baseball team had beaten their hated rival, and while watching he had gorged himself on beer and nachos; fat and happy and victorious, as he would say. I found him at the kitchen table thumbing through his phone, having cleared the living Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":83,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":25,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"template-left-sidebar.php","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-520","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/20-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/520","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/20-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/20-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/20-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/83"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/20-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=520"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/20-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/520\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":531,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/20-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/520\/revisions\/531"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/20-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=520"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}