Breakfast With Dad

Dropping By, Part 2

After handing me a large coffee which had lost the allure of being near boiling, Buddy started wandering around the duplex, package under his arm. He was looking for something.

I asked, “Who was the meeting with?”

I wanted to ask him to leave, but he was so far from the door that I didn’t trust his instinct to follow a direct request. I would have to rely on the coffee to get me back to effortless writing.

“My old man. He’s been dropping by my place too often. I thought I’d plan something to stop that.”

“Your old man? I like your old man.”

“Yeah. He always wants to meet early when I suggest that we get together. Since he knows that I don’t like getting up, he drops by whenever he wants.”

“You can’t interrupt me like this Buddy. I’m in the middle of work.” I walked into my office. He continued elsewhere. I carefully folded up my project materials and put them back into the project box. I put my pens in their drawer and blew out my desk candle.

I followed after Buddy. He was in the refrigerator.

“Looking for something?” I asked, wondering if he was going to grab a beer.

“Cream?”

“Skim milk.”

“Cow piss.” He shut the refrigerator, leaving his coffee black.

“You are interrupting me,” I said.

“I thought you’d like some coffee.”

“Morning is the time I do all my writing,” I explained. “Even Dee knows not to call me even if it’s important. Really important, you know? I need to be left alone to work.”

“What the fuck? You drop by my place all the time.”

“You never seemed to complain. I’m complaining.” I walked into the family room. I hoped that we’d walk over to the front door.

“I do complain. You just never listen.” He sat on the couch and set his coffee down. “You always have some kind of serious excuse when I say what the fuck.”

I bring cases of beer. I bring food. I help straighten the place. I know that I’m welcome. You never complain.

“So why are you here?” I asked.

“I wanted to put my coffee on your coffee table. It’s rarely used properly.”

“Whatever.”

“I was cleaning up and thought I’d bring something by,” he said. “It’s one of the first paintings I ever did of Ambrosia.”

I was surprised. “Shit. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Here.” And he handed his package to me.

“Ambrosia was a much better name,” I said as I unwrapped the package. “Didn’t we kill her in one of our last comics?”

“You had the idea that she’d get hanged.”

“She’s beautiful,” I said. “I forgot how well you draw her.”

“You hanged her,” he continued. “We had to contrive something silly so that her superpowers didn’t interfere. Her blood drained to the ground as it happened.”

“That was grusome.” It was Rob and Buddy that executed the hanging even if it was my idea at first.

“And pointless. You can’t kill the thing that fuels desire.”

“Could she come back?” I asked.

“Of course. We had those Elysiun fields of flowers as a last imagine of her.”

“Flowers?”

“Tulips actually. With the odd broken tulip splashing contrast in the fields of uniform color.”

“Was that cliched or beautiful? I couldn’t figure that out.”

“Yes,” he answered. “Her blood was the liquor for the Gods after all. Rob thought we could use the nectar from those flowers to bring her back.”

“How?”

“A god-inspired alchemist perhaps. I don’t know.”

“Didn’t we have God kill her?” I asked as my memory became more clear.

“Which one?”

“The God,” I said. “He was angry at her.”

“We never did explain that.”

“No.”

“The God, Rob created that character.”

“Yeah.”

… continued

——

Dropping By

Part 2: Breakfast With Dad
Part 1: This Is Too Much