Bumblebee

Striking the Set Quiet, urgent steps. The steady bleeps of a heart monitor. A haze of fearful uncertainty. There was a smile, but not for me. Father dropped my hand. “Frankie! Frankie my boy.” Frankie looked good. He could still look good in all new clothes. He moved over to Father and folded Dad’s wrinkled hand into his. “How ya been, Dad?” “How have I been? Pretty lousy. But how have you been. God, it’s been so long.” The old man’s lip began to quiver, just like a kid’s. Frankie’s apologies and lies tumbled out in a passable stew for a starving parent. The beautiful voice, the voice that made you want to believe, spun webs in the air. Truths struggled helpless and silent within them. “So you filmed a...what is it called again?” “A pilot. The test show.” “A pilot, that’s right. When will it be on TV?” “They’re not sure. Probably three or four months. At the beginning of the next season.” Frankie leaned back confidently in the cheap hospital chair, looking like he was on Letterman’s couch. “So it’s finally going to happen. Just like we always planned. I’m so happy!” I could hear the beeps on dad’s heart monitor speeding up. “I just wish you had something to show me right now.” “Me too, Dad. Me too. I’m getting a dub of my best scenes from the pilot for my audition reel. As soon as I get them I’ll come right by.” “Really?” Dad was unbearably child-like. “Because I’d really like to see that.” “You betcha. I’ll call my agent today and see if we can speed that up.” “He has an agent,” Father said to me, beaming at Frankie. “It’s hard to get one of those,” I said. “Damn straight,” said Frankie. I watched the two of them talking, vanishing like I always did when we were all together. Soon, one of them would turn and be surprised to see me still here. The favorite son. The beloved father. Frankie’s farewell was good–probably the best part. It got to me, actually made me tear up. I followed with my familiar promises. Frankie was waiting for me just inside the doors like he was supposed to. “You did fine,” I told him. “Yeah, whatever. You got my money?” I handed the four fifties to him. “Thanks. That made him real happy, you know.” Frankie shoved the money in his pocket. “It was creepy, seeing him like that. He’s not going to last long, is he?” “No, he’s not.” “And you’re sure he’s not leaving anything behind?” Frankie asked, almost making eye contact with me. “It’s all used up, and then some.” I stepped aside as a woman with a huge bouquet of Get Well balloons came through the sliding door. “I never could figure you out. The geezer never gave a rat’s ass about you. You know that, right?” I shrugged. I wanted to say, “I do what’s necessary and you do whatever you want,” but it wasn’t worth it. Perhaps it never was. “Can I keep the clothes?” “Sure, keep it all.”