THE OLD MAN TAKES A SHOWER
When he hung up the phone, Ted hurried down the hall to the bathroom where he'd heard the smashing of glass. The bathroom door was locked; he pounded on it. "Open the door, pop? Open the damn door!"
"Give me five minutes, son."
"What's all that noise?"
"Accident. Just a little accident." The sound of glass crunching underfoot. Ted could hear his own heartbeat.
Through the door, his father said, "Just a few minutes, son, it's all I need."
"Open this door before I break it down."
"Do what you will, boy, do what you will." Then a moan of pain.
Ted shook his head. "Jeez, pop." He brought a dime out of his pocket and fit it into the keyhole and twisted, the doors were cheap in this condo. When he heard the click of the lock, Ted turned the knob, swinging the door wide.
The first thing he saw was the broken mirror. It looked like it had been punched in the center, sending rays of broken glass outward. Four shards were missing. On the floor were three of them, slightly chipped. Bloody footsteps led Ted to the shower, its curtain drawn. Ted held his breath as he went over. No, pop, don't have done this, don't have gone and sliced yourself open. He pulled the shower curtain over all the way back, tearing it from the rod.
His father was hunkered down in the shower. His hands were cut and bleeding. He held a fat slice of broken mirror between the fingers of both hands. It was triangular; he was pressing one end of it against his throat.
Winston Adair looked up at his son and said, "Just a few minutes and I'll be done. Then you'll believe me, boy, then you'll see it's true." But he was not slicing into his throat. He sat there immobile, the sharp mirror fragment beneath his wattled chin. Ted squatted down beside him, reaching over. This kind of thing was becoming a normal occurrence -although the Old Man was getting more creative with the instruments. He'd gone from a kitchen knife to a screwdriver to a pair of scissors, and now mirrors. "Jesus, pop." Ted grasped his father's hand between his. "Drop it! Drop it." The Old Man's hand opened, silver glass clattering against tile. He looked up at Ted, his eyes staring dully, his face devoid of expression.
"I wouldn't have done it, boy, I wouldn't have done it. I'm as scared of what comes after life right now as I am of life itself. I wouldn't have done it."
"I know, pop."
Sometimes I just wish you would go ahead and do it. Like a cat cleaning itself, Winston Adair began licking the blood from his fingers, rubbing his damp hands across his face.