Identity Theft

Tank

The year was 1946 in a small town called Winter, a small town outside the Illinois state line. The weather was frigid, and black ice covered the street and sidewalk. Deep inside a frost-covered window stood a young man who stood tall and strong like an oak tree. His skin was as dark as a coalmine. His eyes were as wide and white as golf balls. His hair was jet black, with ripples of waves like the California ocean on a hot summer day. His teeth lined up like the ivories on a grand piano. As the cold wind blew on the frost-covered window, the young man called Tank wiped the window with a warm towel. “Mother,” he said. “Looks like Jack Frost is out. S’posin’ I should go out and gather some wood before the snow falls,” said Tank as he put on his coat and hat.

“Tank, now why you worrying yourself? Your daddy will be here any minute. Now, take off that hat and coat and get that trunk out of the room so we can pack up your things for college,” said Mother.

“Okay, Momma,” said Tank.

As Tank begin to take off his hat, his mother grabbed his face with her cotton-soft hands and looked deep into his onyx eyes. “I’m proud of you, Tank. You’re the first one to ever go to college,”  said Mother. In that moment, it seemed time stood still as Tank gazed back into his mother’s myopic eyes. Until the phone rang.

Tank answered. “Hello,” he said.

“Hey, man, what’s up?”

“What time we leaving?”

“Eight o’clock.”

“I’ll be ready,” said Tank. As he hung up the phone, he felt eyes piercing his back.

“What you doing talking to J.R.?” exclaimed his father as he gulped down a frosty cold beer. See, Tank and his father were at war with one another. Tank believed his father was always jealous of his accomplishments. After all, Tank was a high school graduate, yet his father never finished the sixth grade. His father had to work at the age of twelve to help take care of his six brothers and sisters. In fact, hidden in the chambers of his heart, Tank’s father resented his mother. His hatred of his mother daily manifested in the way in which he treated Tank’s mother. You see, Tank’s beloved mother was a mother of virtue in spite of how Father treated her. For every curse word Father said to Tank, she seasoned him with accolades. Tank also felt the sting of his father’s wrathful heart when he mocked him whenever he made a mistake. Each time Tank would get any grade lower than an A, Father belittled Tank in front of his mother and his only friend, J.R. Even at Tank’s high school graduation, Father mocked as Tank accepted his salutatorian award. The tension was as thick as black ice in Father’s cold-water flat.