Mixed Nuts

by Venita Louise

  “Then what do you need help with?” Frank asked curiously.

  “I need help gettin’ a dog.”

  Frank’s face seized with a dumfounded look.

  Joan appeared carrying a first aid kit and a needle. “Which foot is it?” She kneeled down.

  “Thanks mom,” he said pulling his sock back on. “Dad already got it out.” Matt looked up at Frank and raised his eyebrows up and down.

  Chapter Four

  “How do I look?” Melinda asked, and then twirled around.

  Joan sized her up. “Except for the dangling caterpillars under your eyes and the blue satin blouse, you could pass for a vagrant.”

  Melinda turned away. “What are we having for dinner?”

  “Roast beef, mashed potatoes with gravy, brown and serve rolls and corn, the same thing we always have on Tuesday night,” Joan replied. “And please tell me you’re not going to wear those holey jeans.”

  “Mother!” Melinda squeaked. “What’s Bobby going to eat? I told you he’s a vegetarian.”

  “You did no such thing,” Joan shot back. “He’s too young to be a vegetarian anyway.”

  “Can’t you at least make a salad?” Melinda whined.

  Joan put her hands on her hips. “I could, but unless you do it, Bobby’s going to eat corn and rolls for dinner.”

  “Fine!” Melinda pulled a head of lettuce and three tomatoes from the refrigerator. She took a large bowl from the cupboard and began tearing lettuce leaves into it. She cut the tomatoes in quarters with exaggerated chopping sounds and sprinkled them on top of the mound of lettuce.

  Joan peeked over Melinda’s shoulder. “Why are you using the popcorn bowl for salad? Why don’t you use the salad bowl?”

  “Is it going to taste different if I use this bowl for the salad?” Melinda asked with a snooty tone.

  “You know very well we use the big brown plastic bowl for popcorn and the clear glass bowl for salad,” Joan insisted.

  Melinda jerked around. “Why?” She stepped over to the refrigerator and took out some green onions, a cucumber and an avocado.

  “Because I don’t want my plastic bowl to smell like onions, that’s why,” Joan raised her voice. “Do you like onion flavored popcorn?”

  “Then I won’t use onions,” Melinda said and put the onions back on the shelf.

  “Just use the glass bowl!” Joan ordered.

  “Mother, this is my salad!”

  “Melinda, this is my kitchen!”

  Melinda burst into tears. “Why does everyone in this family get their way except for me?” She ran out of the kitchen and stomped up the stairs.

  Joan shook her head and jerked the glass bowl from the cupboard. She dumped the half made salad into it and rinsed out the plastic bowl and dried it before putting it away.

  “Do we have hormones on the warpath?” Frank asked from behind.

  “I wish you’d talk to her,” Joan pleaded. “We seem to be speaking two different languages these days.”

  “What do you want me to say?” Frank asked.

  “You’d better say something before she cries those caterpillars right off her face.”

  Frank slipped an arm around Joan’s shoulder and gave her a compassionate look. “Honey, is it really that important to have the salad in this particular bowl?” He glanced at the glass bowl.

  “Oh I see, this is all my fault,” Joan returned.

  Frank’s eyebrows knitted. “That’s not what I’m saying. It’s just that at this very impressionable time in her life it might be good to allow her to make some choices for herself.”

  “Impressionable?” Joan stepped back to gaze at him. “What about me? What about how all of this is impressing me?” Her lower lip began to tremble. A tear welled up and rolled down her cheek to drip onto the bib of her apron. “I go to work every day, I cook, I clean, I wash clothes, and I take the kids where they want to go. What thanks do I get? I may as well wear a horse harness everyday.”

  “No!” Frank lowered arms around her waist and pulled her close. “Don’t talk like that.

  “But you’re accusing me of being an ogre, someone who abuses her children. What must the neighbors think? Does she or doesn’t she?” She wept.

  “They don’t think any such thing, we have wonderful kids.” Frank gently tipped her head back and thumbed the tears from her cheeks. “The neighbors are probably wondering what we think.” He kissed her nose then softly kissed her lips.

  The doorbell rang.

  “That must be Bobby,” Frank said.

  Joan stepped back and took a deep breath. “I’ll be fine.” She cleared her throat and pulled a paper towel from the roll.

  Frank turned on the porch light and tentatively peeked out the curtain before opening the door.

  The young man was wearing a white tee shirt. The fringed brown vest partially covered the big yellow smiley face on the front of his shirt. His threadbare blue jeans wouldn’t have upset Frank except that he was wearing his hair long as well, all the way past his ear lobes.

  “Bobby,” Frank said as he extended his hand. “You can leave your skate board outside.”

  Bobby looked at Frank’s hand as if he didn’t know what to do with it, and then finally gave it a shake “Mr. Beal?”

  “Melinda will be down in a minute.”

  Bobby sniffed at the air and curled his upper lip. “Meat?”

  “Roast beef night,” Frank said proudly.

  Bobby wandered around the living room picking up knick-knacks and nodding knowingly. “I haven’t eaten anything with a face since I was six,” he said.

  “Me either,” Frank said. “I’m more of a rump man myself.”

  Bobby gave him a half smile and flopped down on the couch. He smoothed a hand over the splashy design on mustard color velveteen fabric. “Nice couch, my parents have one just like it in green.”

  Frank turned and stared at him through narrowed eyes. “Have a seat.” He walked over and sat down in his recliner directly across from Bobby. He smiled, leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. “What else do they have?”

  Bobby gazed around the room. “Pretty much the same stuff.” His eyes stopped at the piano. “Except for the piano. They don’t have one of those.” He looked back at Frank. “And my dad doesn’t wear a jacket in the house.” Bobby’s gaze dropped down to Frank’s Nehru jacket.

  “Groovy,” Frank said and smiled.

  Bobby frowned slightly then smiled uncomfortably.

  “Hello,” Melinda said cheerfully as she clomped down the stairs.

  Bobby’s head jerked up in her direction. “Hey, Mel.”

  “Is Daddy giving you the third degree?” she asked as she plopped down beside Bobby and threw a leg over his.

  Frank leaned forward and wasted no time bringing his recliner into an upright position. “Melinda?” He waited until he had Melinda’s full attention. “Would you like to put a respectable distance between you and Bobby before your mother comes in?”

  “Oh, Daddy, you’re so old fashioned.” She giggled.

  An edgy, concerned tension seemed to suck all the air out of the room. Up until the present moment, Frank saw Melinda through fatherly eyes, like he always had. Daddy’s little girl. All of a sudden he became aware that she wasn’t a little girl anymore, far from it. What bothered him more was the most obvious; Bobby didn’t see her as a little girl either.

  “Dinner’s ready,” Joan said as she stepped into the living room. Frank turned to see her reaction to Melinda and Bobby pretzled up together on the couch. He watched her blink at them with the slightest confusion. “Melinda, would you like to help me get dinner on the table?”

  “Sure mom.” Melinda untangled herself and hopped up from the couch. All the previous signs of hormone turmoil had disappeared. It seemed Bobby possessed the neutralizing agent for severe mood swings in the form of his own brand of hormone therapy.

  “I’ll round up Susan and Matt,” Frank said as he headed for the front do
or.

  Moods lightened as they all gathered around the dinner table and proceeded to their usual places.

  “You take this seat Bobby,” Joan said as she pushed an empty chair next to her.

  Frank looked at Melinda as she groaned audibly. He gave her a questioning frown.

  “The interrogation chair,” she whispered to him.

  Frank’s head leaned back as an understanding expression sequestered his face.

  “Bobby, what are your plans after high school?” Joan asked as she smoothed her napkin across her lap.

  “I’m going to enter some skateboarding contests unless I get drafted,” he said as his eyes perused the banquet in front of him.

  Joan offered him the platter of sliced beef.

  Bobby held up a hand. “No thanks. I don’t eat meat.” He reached for the bowl of sliced carrots. “I love vegetables though. They’re magically delicious.”

  “What’s magic about a vegetable?” Matt asked.

  “Think about it,” Bobby replied as he scooped large spoonfuls onto his plate. “They have all the vitamins and nutrients you need, and they grow right out of the dirt.”

  Susan stared at him. “The American Medical association says skateboarding accidents are the leading cause of head injuries.”

  Bobby smiled. “That’s because amateurs don’t know how to ride them.”

  “Are you planning on college at all?” Joan asked.

  “Society places too much emphasis on education,” Bobby said as he piled a heap of salad on his plate.

  “Society?” Frank looked puzzled. “What land do you live in?”

  An arrogant smile spread across Bobby’s face. “Yes, there’s way too much emphasis on conformity, and America has become much too materialistic and competitive.”

  Frank reared back in mock horror. “Easy to say while you’re roughing it in your parents’ house in the suburbs.”

  “It’s a new world, Daddy,” Melinda added. “It’s time to tune in, turn on and drop out.”

  “Turn on?” Joan asked. “You’re not experimenting with drugs are you?” Her face fell with concern.

  “Oh, Mother, it’s a figure of speech,” Melinda replied with distain.

  “Besides, there are many more ways of building self esteem than surviving a four year college,” Bobby added.

  “Self esteem is no substitute for a good education young man,” Frank snapped.

  Susan contemplated her scoop of mashed potatoes. “It’s because the wheels are made of clay isn’t it?”

  “What wheels?” Matt asked.

  “On skateboards dummy,” Susan said with a sneer.

  “None of that kind of talk young lady,” Joan scolded.

  Susan looked at Bobby. “The clay wheels don’t grip very well, and it causes accidents doesn’t it?”

  Bobby shrugged. “Got milk?” he asked Joan.

  “I thought you were a vegetarian,” Frank said.

  “I am,” Bobby said with a nod.

  “So, you won’t eat the cow but you’ll drink what’s inside it?” Frank stabbed his fork in the air.

  “As long as I don’t have to milk it,” Bobby added.

  Frank looked at Bobby in the eye. “I see. It’s kind of like spending the materialistic, competitive fruits of your parent’s labor but refusing to go out and make it yourself.”

  “No way Mr. Beal,” Bobby shook his head. “I’m gonna make lots of money in the skateboard competitions.” He scooped up a spoonful of mashed potatoes and tapped them onto his plate. “Sure, I’ve broken an arm and a couple of fingers but all in all, I think it’s going to pay off in the end.” He set the bowl down and licked his thumb. “Just do it!” He dipped his head and shoveled potatoes into his mouth. “That’s what I always say.” He could barely get the words out of his full mouth.

  “Just how much money can you make riding a board with wheels?” Joan smirked.

  Bobby nearly choked on his salad. “Two words Mrs. Beal.” He smiled at Melinda. “Hobie Alter.” He nodded his head as though the secrets of the Universe had just been revealed to them.

  “What kind of Alter?” Joan gave him a puzzled look.

  “He’s talking about that surf bum,” Frank said.

  Bobby scowled at Frank. “Bum?” He chuckled. “Try millionaire bum. He not only made millions by making surf boards and catamarans, now he’s teamed up with Vita-Pakt juice company to sell his skateboards.”

  Frank eyed him with a superior expression. “I thought you were against a competitive, materialistic warped society.”

  Bobby exchanged a knowing glance with Melinda and smiled. “Just like Doctor Eric Berne says.” He buttered a roll and pushed half of it into his mouth.

  “What? Doctor who?” Frank looked around the table for an answer.

  “Doctor Berne, Daddy,” Melinda said matter of factly. “He wrote ‘Games People Play.”

  “So?” The look on Frank’s face was priceless. “What games are we playing? Parcheesi? Tiddlywinks? Monopoly?”

  Matt spit his milk out on his plate and laughed a genuine, big toothed, head thrown back belly laugh. He sputtered and sprayed milk into the air as he held on to his stomach.

  “Oh, my God!” Susan hitched her chair away from Matt’s until she sat at the opposite corner of the table. “You are such a ditz!”

  Joan frowned and half rose from her chair. “Matt, for heaven’s sake.” She looked at Susan. “No name calling young lady.”

  “Okay mom, don’t have a cow,” Susan replied.

  A snort sounded behind them, and they all turned their heads.

  “Gene!” Frank yelled.

  Matt’s face lit up, and he jumped up from his chair to greet him then he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

  “Dad? Why is Uncle Gene wearing a skirt?”

  Chapter Five

  “My number is two; my Tartan is blue, and a royal descendant from the clan of Blackethouse.” Uncle Gene gave them a toothless grin. “It’s a kilt son, not a skirt.”

  “Hey Brother Gene,” Frank said smiling, and he stood to greet him with a hug and three solid pats on the back.

  Gene was a slight man, a smidge shorter than Frank. He had lost his teeth after contracting a serious gum disease while in the Navy and despite the encouragement of family and dental professionals, he staunchly refused to wear his dentures. His gums were tough enough though and with the repeated application of one-hundred proof scotch, they performed as well as any teeth in the tearing and grinding of food.

  “Hello Gene,” Joan said coolly. She gave his attire an evaluating look.

  “Well, if it isn’t the fair Joan, light of my brother’s life.” He walked over to give her a stiff hug.

  “Would you like to join us for dinner?” she asked.

  Gene gazed around the table. “It appears that I have come to where the flavor is.”

  “I’ll get you a chair,” Frank said and walked to the next room.

  “How long has it been?” Gene asked as he looked at each of the children. “Melinda, is that you?”

  Melinda gave him an embarrassed smile and exchanged a glance with Bobby. “And Susan!” Gene’s eyes widened. “I’d hardly recognize you. How old are you now? Ten?”

  Susan tilted her head back proudly. “I’m twelve.”

  “Are you now?” His hazel eyes glittered with mirth since it had only been six months since he had come to visit.

  “Is that official Scottish clothes you’re wearing?” Susan asked.

  Gene walked around the table and stood next to Matt. “You must be Matt. Why I remember when you were born, you were only a wee bit longer than a newborn pup.” He ruffled the top of Matt’s hair.

  “Here Gene, sit here. Matt, move your chair over.” Frank sat the chair down.

  Joan handed him a dinner plate and utensils, and Gene sat between Matt and Frank.

  Gene sniffed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a sit down dinner with family.”

  “Where’s Helen
?” Frank asked curiously.

  Gene shrugged as he placed several slices of roast beef on his plate. “She’s gone now,” he whispered and shook his head sadly.

  “Good God Gene, we didn’t know.” Frank slipped an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you call? We would have come to see you.”

  “I don’t like to burden anyone with my problems.”

  “That’s what family is for,” Frank insisted. “When we were kids we stuck up for each other. We seemed to sense when the other was in some kind of trouble, and we were right there for each other. Remember when I was in sixth grade, and you were in fifth?” Frank looked around the table to make sure everyone was listening. “One day after school, the Thompson brother’s and a bunch of their friends decided they were going to beat us up. They chased us for five blocks before one of them hooked his finger in my belt loop and threw me on the ground.” Frank gave Gene a proud look. “Gene jumped them with fists flying and a war yell that could have woke the dead.” Frank said somberly. “They still beat us up but I remember how proud I was to be Gene’s brother. There wasn’t anything we wouldn’t do for each other back then.” Frank frowned. “What’s changed?”

  Joan’s face held a guilty expression. “How did she go Gene?” she asked softly.

  Gene slathered several spoons of gravy over his meat and mashed potatoes.

  “Greyhound I think, or maybe it was the El Capitan. She loved to travel by train. She ran off with a lingerie salesman who was passing through town. She warned me if I didn’t start wearing my teeth and slow down on the drinking she would leave.” He shrugged as he poured dressing on his salad. “Guess she wasn’t kidding.” He scooped up a fork full of mashed potatoes and held it up in front of him. “Through the gums, look out stomach, here it comes.” The potatoes disappeared into the dark cavern beneath his nose, and Gene rolled his eyes to the ceiling as he chewed. “M’m, M’m good!”

  Joan glared at Gene then shifted her gaze to Frank.

  “Uncle Gene,” Susan said. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “What question was that darlin’?” he asked as he sopped a puddle of gravy with a piece of roll.

  “Is that official Scottish clothes you’re wearing?”