Fook (2 page)

Bill showed little interest in the erotic
threat, however; a look of concern and intense concentration
dominated his serious face as he continued to listen to the faint
patter of raindrops striking the skylight overhead. “Are you sure
we’re doing the right thing?” he suddenly broke his long silence
with a recently common question that confirmed she was on her
own.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, yes.
Besides, it’s a little late now,” Jennifer responded, trying to be
as comforting as she could, knowing how worried Bill had been about
his new role as a father, but at the same time a bit annoyed at the
thought of having the same conversation yet again.

She loved children, she always had. The
youngest in a family of eight kids, Jennifer thrived on family and
the sounds of chaos and family interaction. Every job she’d had
since the age of fifteen had involved some form of child care; from
babysitting for the Johnsons back home in Jacksonville; to working
in a daycare all through high school; right up to college where she
obtained her masters in education at Florida State. There was no
doubt in her mind that she was ready to be a mother. Bill on the
other hand hadn’t been so sure.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like children, but
growing up an only child in a house where his father was often out
of town on business and his mother a bit on the over protective
side, he’d never really had what most would consider a typical
childhood. He’d had very few friends since his mother had always
thought the neighborhood youth far too corrupting for her little
angel. The only interaction he’d ever really gotten as a child had
come from relatives and family friends at least thirty years his
senior; so it was understandable that he’d never really seen
himself as a father, a fact which he’d been very forthcoming about
as soon as they’d both realized the seriousness of their
relationship. But, he loved his wife and knowing how much being a
mother meant to her, the two had decided to try for a family almost
as soon as they’d been married. Unfortunately, the Lord had
formulated a different plan for them and after nearly a year of
unsuccessful attempts, they’d sought out the help of Doctor Huller
who’d informed them that children, at least in the traditional
sense, would never be an option. For some reason, which they still
struggled to understand, Jennifer’s ovaries were incapable of
producing eggs and, therefore; would never be able to produce the
genetic material needed to generate life.

Understandably, they’d been devastated by
the news; Jennifer from of the loss of her only real dream in life
and Bill from having to watch the woman he loved suffer such
devastating news. For the next year, either out of denial or just a
stubborn refusal to accept what they both knew deep down to be the
truth, they’d continued to try and a year later, they’d remained
childless. That year of refusing to accept reality, however; hadn’t
been a complete loss. It had allowed them to grow closer to one
another. It had acted as a form of therapy and somehow had made the
thought of not having children, though not ideal, somehow okay. It
was at that point that they’d began to consider adoption and
eighteen months and one unwanted teen pregnancy later, Oliver had
entered their lives.

“You’re going to be a wonderful father,”
Jennifer continued to reassure her worried husband.

“But how do you know? I hardly knew my dad.
For all intents and purposes I didn’t have a father at all. What
makes you think that I can take care of a child? How do you know
that I won’t leave Oliver in the backseat of the car instead on
dropping him off at daycare on my way to work? How do you know that
I won’t back over him with the lawn mower one day?”

“Really?” Jennifer responded, caught a bit
off guard by his gruesome examples of bad parenting.

“What if I—”

“—Listen, you’re going to be a wonderful
father. You know how I know? Because you’re a wonderful, loving
husband who’s taken care of me every second of our relationship and
Oliver is blessed to have someone like you to call his dad.”

He was still terrified, but somehow hearing
those words of loving encouragement was exactly what he needed. At
that moment, convinced by Jennifer’s reassurance, Bill really did
believe that everything was going to be alright.

“Now, forget about being a father for a
moment and think more about being my husband,” Jennifer renewed her
attempts to bring pleasure to what had become a very heavy moment
by gracefully sliding her right leg across Bill’s lower torso and
coming to rest face to face in a straddled position on top of her
husband’s excited partner.

Forgetting all worries, at least for the
moment, Bill reached up, grabbing the back of Jennifer’s head, and
pulled her in for a passionate kiss. Like gasoline on an open
flame, the touch of Bill’s lips caused an explosion in her loins as
Jennifer began undulating against her desired playmate, undeterred
by the pair of lace panties and thick pajama pants currently
obstructing maximum pleasure. It was a barrier that stood little
chance of keeping them apart and like second nature, within seconds
Jennifer managed to free her partner from his cotton prison and
slip him past the lacy guard standing watch outside the palace
walls.

“Boom!” another thunderous crash exploded
from the night sky.

“What was that?” Bill once again allowed
himself to be removed from the moment of ecstasy.

“It’s just thunder,” Jennifer continued her
undulating dance as she attempted to keep her husband’s attention
focused on the task at hand.

“No, I know I heard something this time,” he
insisted, removing Jennifer from his lap and sliding off the bed to
his feet.

“What did you hear?” Jennifer, frustrated,
watched as he fixed his pants and quickly made his way to the
doorway, disappearing into the hall.

He wasn’t sure what he’d heard but he knew
that it wasn’t just thunder. Driven by adrenaline, Bill made his
way along the dark hallway, the absence of light doing little to
prevent him from making his way toward his son’s bedroom. The
nursery door was shut, just as he’d left it, Oliver’s name proudly
displayed on the plaque created by Jennifer’s oldest sister and
given to them during the baby shower two weeks earlier.

Bill placed his ear to the door, fearful
that his worried imagination had created the sound and that he was
about to burst into his son’s room unnecessarily. The room seemed
quiet and then there was a faint thud.

“Bill, there’s a noise in Oliver’s room!”
Jennifer cried from the bedroom.

That was all he needed to reaffirm his
suspicions. Quickly, Bill burst through the door, no longer worried
about waking his sleeping son. The room was just as he’d left it.
The fluffy white clouds, painted across the bright blue walls,
seemed to dance around the room as always; their soothing presence
topped only by the abundance of stuffed animals innocently resting
upon the shelf lined wall beside the dresser and changing table. At
the far end of the room stood Oliver’s crib, the very same crib in
which he’d spent
his
first years of life, nearly thirty-six
years earlier. In it rested the colorful, Loony-Tunes bumper they’d
picked out to prevent young Oliver from hurting himself on the
wooden rails. Above it dangled the matching, animated mobile to
provide sleep inducing comfort, and beside it stood a man, dressed
in black, who was leaning over the low rail with a stuffed bunny in
hand, suffocating the young child who had been innocently trying to
sleep.

“Hey!” Bill yelled as he charged his son’s
assailant, struggling to pull the man away from the crib.

Seemingly undeterred by his discovery, the
man continued to hold the soft pink bunny over the child’s face,
struggling to stand his ground as the angry father delivered blow
after blow to his ribs and head. In the meantime, beneath the large
stuffed animal, the young child’s little legs seemed to slow in
their struggle, the lack of oxygen finally taking its toll on the
infant’s failing lungs.

Panicked by the noises she’d heard, Jennifer
appeared in her son’s doorway to find the strange man standing over
her son and her husband doing all he could to free him from the
stranger’s murderous grip. She screamed.

The distraction of the blood curdling scream
seemed to momentarily startle the mysterious assailant, allowing
Bill to finally pull him away from the crib and knock him to the
floor with a swift right hook. With the intruder temporarily
separated from his son, Bill turned back to the crib but Oliver was
gone. Only the plain white onesie he’d been wearing remained in his
place.

Quickly the assailant got to his feet and
scrambled for freedom, knocking Jennifer to the floor as he
scurried toward the front door before Bill could even process the
impossible disappearance of his son.

More concerned with her son’s well being
than the man who’d attacked him, Jennifer got to her feet and ran
to her husband’s side, baffled by the empty crib.

“Where is he?” she cried.

“I don’t know! He was just here!”

Just then, the unmistakable sounds of a
terrified infant echoed from across the house. Both Bill and
Jennifer turned simultaneously and ran from the room, following the
new, yet familiar cries of their son.

The end of the hall opened up into the large
livingroom. The front door stood wide open; the unwelcome visitor
having apparently exited through it only moments earlier, and on
the floor, in the center of the room, lay terrified little Oliver,
naked but unharmed, screaming for the comfort of his horrified and
bewildered parents.

“I’ll call the police,” Bill declared,
frozen by confusion as Jennifer rushed to comfort their son.

TWO

Why do people feel the need to do this to
themselves? What joy can come from a complete loss of self control
and the possibility of making a decision that could utterly destroy
the fabric of one’s life?

These were just two of the many questions
that seemed to always run through Jason Fook’s head whenever he
found himself in the presence of alcohol and it’s enthusiastic
consumers. Needless to say, he hadn’t exactly been big with the
popular crowd in high school. Stereotypes exist for a reason and he
was living proof.

Nerd, Dweeb, Geek, Four-eyes…before
and
after he’d gotten contacts. He’d been the target of all
those names. He’d worn his lunch a time or two and had been sprayed
with water to make it look like he had wet himself. They’d even
tried to hoist him up the flagpole one time. It had been before
school and the flag hadn’t yet been raised, so if they’d been
successful, he at least wouldn’t have had long to wait for the
janitor to come by for his daily morning duty. Unfortunately, the
janitor had been the one to place the hook around his belt loop.
Luckily, Dockers hadn’t accounted for a 128 pound belt so it had
only taken one tug and an inch of air between his feet and the
ground to set him free.

High school hadn’t been the time of parties
and fun that Hollywood always makes it out to be…at least not for
him. He’d gone. He’d excelled in his studies. But when it came to
any real, worthwhile interaction, he really couldn’t think of one
time that he’d stood out in any meaningful way. Looking back on
those four years of his life, he’d often thought of high school as
nothing more than a form of purgatory, a temporary layover on a
road toward greater things, but now he was beginning to wonder if
the layover had ever really ended. Sure he was a senior at M.I.T.
and in a couple of months he would graduate at the top of his
class, but what had he really accomplished. He was almost certain
that, if he were to spend an entire day walking around campus, not
one person would be able to guess his name, even with such a common
name as Jason. And, if someone
did
manage to pull out the
right name it would probably be one of those prick, fraternity guys
who only knew who he was because of his last name’s misfortunate
similarity to the common four letter profanity.

“Yeah! Massive wiener!” a drunken patron
yelled from the other side of the restaurant, drawing laughter and
applause.

“I just don’t get it,” Jason quietly mumbled
to himself. In actuality though, he was grateful for the sudden
burst of vulgarity. Often his brain was his worst enemy. It was
always looking for stimulation and more often than not, when left
alone to wander, it did just that.

The departure of his date to the bathroom
nearly fifteen minutes ago had left him in the situation of
retrospective self evaluation. The short hallway leading to the
bathrooms was in clear view on the other side of the restaurant,
just beyond the bar and its sea of obnoxious lingerers. The door to
the ladies room was only visible whenever it opened outward to
welcome a new patron, or bid farewell to a freshly powdered female.
Thirteen had entered in that time span but only twelve had exited.
That bit of information was the only thing keeping him at the
table, sitting across from a hardly touched, blackened chicken
salad with no onions or tomatoes and a small cup of peppercorn
ranch dressing on the side.

Though sad to admit, this wouldn’t have been
the first time that a girl had ditched him mid-date. Becky Tillmore
had amazingly slipped away in line at “The Back Cracker”, a popular
roller coaster back home in Cannon, Massachusetts...or at least it
had been until a few years later, when it had lived up to its name
and crippled a woman by the name of Margery Millboro. Though just
about everyone equated the accident to the key fact that Margery
was a sixty-eight year old woman who’d just undergone extensive
spine and neck surgery, somehow her lawyers had persuaded the jury
to award her thirty-two million dollars. A few years later, “Cannon
Amusement Park” closed and one more form of entertainment was
yanked away from an already boring little town.