Dirk took the Long Way home after work. The Long Way home consisted of cutting through Crumplebottom Park, turning the corner of the mini-mart, trailing the long sidewalk to the house on the hill, and making a left to climb downhill to his humble abode.
As he was nearing the mini-mart, he waved to a longtime friend of his: Gavin Newson.
Gavin had moved into the place above the mini-mart a while ago with his macabre of siblings. His sister—Ginger—was Janie’s best friend. And, from what he had heard, Ginger sort of liked him.
“Hey, D.”
“Hey, Gavin.”
“Getting off of work?”
“You bet.”
Gavin nodded. “Going home?” With a more mischievous smirk, he added, “Taking the Long Way, are we?”
The Long Way was also special to the horde of teenagers and children in Pleasantview. For the children, it meant stealing the fruits that the trees in the backyards of neighbors and playing in the playground at Crumplebottom Park. For the teenagers, it was a different story.
If a couple took the Long Way, they would have nearly forty five minutes of make-out haven as they walked. At one of the houses of the Long Way, teens and adults could get their fixes of whatever you could name. Across from that house, a DJ lived and was known to host atrocious parties that when you woke up from one, you’d be sleeping in the fireplace with a lamp in your arms and a donkey next to you. Somehow, you’d have on only a pair of undies.
Dirk had good memories of the Long Way. The walks with Lilith, the easy kisses during the forty five minutes it took to walk her and— of course—the naughtier things of their relationship that happened in the tree house of Crumplebottom Park.
“Were you just there?”
“Of course. The free fruit is worth every penny.”
Dirk shook his head, a grin lining his face. “You live in the same building as a mini-mart…”
Gavin shrugged. “It’s not like the mini-mart is going to throw out a bag of fresh and free oranges at me and supply me and the others for the rest of our lives.”
“I can’t wait until the trees stop their harvest and become barren.” Dirk turned to look through the window of the mini-mart. He noticed his neighbor—Mr. Picaso—looking apathetically at the fridge of frozen TV dinners.
It was probably then that he saw her.
“Who’s that?” Dirk asked, motioning to the girl who was working the deli.
“You don’t remember? She was in our eighth grade class…”
“Refresh my memory.”
“It’s that girl with the long name and last name…We call her Susie.”
Now that he had heard her name, he instantly remembered who she was. When he had lived in the old house, the house across from theirs had five girls and one boy. They were Asian…Some kind of Asian.
And, her name was hard as hell. “I think her name was Sunsanee?”
“It’s been such a long time since we’ve called her Susie that I forgot what her name was…” Gavin sheepishly admitted. “She’s in my Calculus class.”
She turned a bit, and caught the guys looking at her. She stared back at them, her black eyes seemingly asking what their problem was.
She certainly was Asian—and it wasn’t only her eyes that begged to differ. But…she was a pretty Asian…
She quickly turned away to service Mr. Picaso who was probably going to order his usual roast beef sandwich with extra pickles…
Dirk continued to watch. She was the complete opposite of the group of friends he had; for one, she didn’t have any neon colored streaks or piercings that exceeded the image of a civilian. And, secondly, her beauty was a natural kind of beauty.
Without him realizing it, he had stepped into the mini-mart. His eyes were glued on to the sandwich station and the girl making that roast beef sandwich.
When she saw him, he quickly strode off to the drink station. Gavin quickly came.
“Dirk…”
“What? I’m hungry.”
“…I don’t trust you. I don’t like that look in your eyes…”
Dirk shrugged it off. “I am seriously hungry.”
“…Yeah, yeah. See you at school.” Gavin walked away, but Dirk didn’t see the look Gavin gave him.
Summing up his courage, he walked to the sandwich station.
“Hi, what can I get for you?” Susie asked as she looked up from the almost ready sandwich. She stared wide-eyed at Dirk.
He stared back. “Uh, I…i-it’s the first time for me and…uh…well, what do you recommend?”
She looked down and finished wrapping the sandwich. “There’s a recommendation list to your left…”
Now that Dirk took a look, she was right. He felt himself go red and his lips go chapped. “I-I didn’t see it.”
She called out Mr. Picaso’s order. After he paid, he quickly left.
She took off the paper-hat she was wearing, set it down, and sighed. “Do you need another minute to look at the menu?” The smile she gave was terribly forced.
“N-no, I’m fine. I-I’ll have the uh…the uh…shrimp avocado…”
She gave a smug nod. “Hm, shrimp avocado…Moment please.” She grabbed her hat and began to prepare this shrimp avocado sandwich.
Now that Dirk re-thought about it, he realized how much cholesterol could be hidden in every bite of that sandwich. “Uh-.”
“Yes?”
“…Easy on the mayo…”
She nodded. She must’ve seen what he was actually thinking about the sandwich. Luckily, she didn’t say anything.
She finished and handed him the packaged sandwich. “Seven dollars and fifteen cents.”
He paid the price.
“…I suggest that you order the grilled chicken next time…”
He looked at her and they smiled. “Yeah. Next time.”
Deanna stared at her brother as he ate his…green and slightly brown paste stuffed between two pieces of bread, soggy lettuce, and perhaps a brownish tomato.
Dirk knew what she was thinking. And, he was thinking the same thing: Why are you eating that?
“It’s good.” Dirk tried to smile.
“Is that so?” Deanna asked.
“…Once you get pass the…repulsive color…then, it’s okay.”
Deanna jumped out of her chair and walked to the fridge’s door. “…Mom didn’t put Denise’s picture on the fridge…” She seemed to be staring outside. “…They barely talk…and…and they don’t look at each other anymore…” She was mentioning her parents.
Dirk swallowed the mush. So, she had noticed.
“I think they don’t like each other anymore. They’re kind of like Natasha and Angel. Those two always fight about little things.”
Natasha and Angel were classmates who came from old-rivaling families. Rivaling was in their blood.
“They had a fight this morning…Well, actually, the lady who calls us—Miranda’s mom—and mom seemed to have a fight. Mom asked her a lot of questions…then Dad stopped her.”
Dirk clenched his hand, letting the paste drop out of the sandwich and on to the paper wrapping. He hated that his father was being unfaithful to his step-mother. He hated that it seemed that his father was obsessed with Cassandra—even when his mother was alive. Now that he thought about it, his old doubts resurfaced. Perhaps it was because of his father’s obsession with Miss Goth that drove his mother to-. “I’m sure that they wouldn’t fight.” Not in public.
Deanna shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t care; really. I think that if they divorce, I would be okay.” She turned to face Dirk, her father’s blue eyes shining. “If they would divorce, maybe they wouldn’t fight. And…and maybe I wouldn’t have to see them fight…”
Dirk set down his sandwich and offered her a hug. She hugged him back.
“Dirk? If they do get a divorce, can I move with you to college?”
Dirk kissed the top of her head. “If only…if only…”
Deanna let out a slow cry that had started with tiny sobs. The innocence of her tears brought even more tears to Dirk. He didn’t want this once happy family to split. Why did Darren have to accept Cassandra back? Why couldn’t they go their separate ways? Why was he going to have to lose another mother?
The kitchen door slightly swung open, but the siblings didn’t see it. Neither of them noticed the other crying woman who had heard every word of that conversation.
At her class table the next day, Denise set to work with a red marker. The first two figures drawn on her paper were a stick-man and a stick-woman. She was engrossed into her work, figuring out the sad and angry faces that this stick-couple gave to each other.
The house behind them seemed to be on fire. The group of siblings—including her—stood by the side, little ovals representing tears falling from their faces.
Denise was young, but that didn’t stop her from seeing the real world. She was only in kindergarten and her eyes seemed to analyze the essence of existence. She would be an amazing person.
The teacher—Mrs. Gavigan—came and had a look at Denise’s work. Mary Gavigan truly worried about Denise: She was part of the gossip group of Pleasantview and she had heard about the Dreamer family’s problem.
“How…how beautiful, Denise.”
“…It’s not, Mrs. Gavigan…”
“Why not?” Mary bent down to face Denise. “Who are these people in red?”
“Mommy and Daddy.”
“…And is this you and your brother and sister?”
“Yes.” Denise sighed. “And, the house is on fire because Mommy set it on fire. That’s what I saw in my dream: Momma set the house on fire and she ran away from Daddy and us because they had a big fight…And…and Momma was crying so much…” As she said the last part, she drew her understanding of tears onto the red female figure. “It makes me sad…very sad…” She took a moment to stare at the picture. “If Momma leaves, then…then who’s going to take care of Daddy? Daddy can’t even make his own breakfast…”
The look in the child’s eyes was enough to make a person weep. Mary reached out to touch the picture.
“…Can you take the picture, Mrs. Gavigan? I…I don’t want Momma to see it. If she sees it…then she’s going to tell Daddy and they’ll fight again.”
“Oh, honey…” She gave a smile full of pity. “I’ll take it.”
Denise picked up her picture and gave it to her teacher. “Don’t tell Momma. Promise?”
“…yes. I promise. Why don’t you go with the other kids? It’s lunch time.”
Denise jumped out of her seat and ran to the lunch room.
Mary took a long time looking at the picture. It was truly terrifying how a child depicted life. It was even more horrific how simple words, simple colors, simple drawings could evoke these feelings of utter sadness, loneliness, and fear.
“I’m sorry, Denise,” she whispered. “I-I have to tell your mother, no matter what.” She folded the horrifying scene and tucked it into her pocket.
She walked the long hallway to the office. Once inside, she took a seat and sighed as she reached for her phone and the phone book. She pressed the buttons, and every button pressed seemed to prick her finger.
“Hello?” the other line answered.
“Mrs. Dreamer? This is Denise’s teacher, Mary Gavigan…”
Darren had come home early, and he was surprised to see his wife sitting on the couch. She gave him a quick glance and went back to watching Oprah.
Darren instantly stiffened and headed to the bathroom. After doing his business, he came out and made way to the kitchen.
“…Denise’s kindergarten called,” Danielle croaked.
“What’s wrong?” he squeaked.
“…Her teacher thinks she is having problems.”
“At school?”
“…At home…”
The words forced Darren to come to an abrupt stop. “…A-at home…?”
“Her teacher wants us to set a meeting. And…and she wants both of us there.”
Darren played with his hands; something he had a habit of doing when he was nervous or frustrated. “…I-I see…”
“We can go Wednesday,” she whispered.
He nodded and quickly changed directions to his study. Inside, he quickly locked the door, leaned against the door, and fell to his knees.
It could’ve been anything; anything but his children. It was the one thing he wanted to avoid for the remainder of his life: To never make his children sad; to raise them with happiness and love. And, deep down inside, he knew that Denise’s problems—whether they were there or not—had been brought because of him.
He crawled to his easel, where he reached for his paint brush. Like a reaction, he chose the red. Slowly, he outlined the contours of three faces. The sadness emitted from the paint brush and came to life with the expression of his three children’s portrait in red. The red tears fell down their cheeks, and he knew that they were going to be the ones who would hurt the most…
He left the portrait to dry, but the tears rolling down his cheeks refused to dry.
