Backtracker

Chapter 8

Chapter 8Dave's father was asking The Question again.

The Question took many forms, but what it boiled down to was this: What are you going to do with your life, son of mine?

Dave heard The Question more and more often these days, and he was sick of it. With high school graduation now less than a month away, he certainly didn't need to be reminded about the important decisions he would soon have to make. The future and all its implications loomed large in his mind, frequently occupied his thoughts.

Naturally, Dave's father and mother meant well when they asked him The Question. They were good parents, concerned with his welfare, and Dave knew that they didn't mean to nag. Like Dave, though, they were first-class worriers, and they were as anxious about his post-college plans as he was, if not more so.

Whenever they asked The Question, Dave knew that their hearts were in the right place. He knew that they weren't trying to push him, that they didn't want to force him into making hasty decisions. He knew that they worried too much, and thus tended to ask The Question more often than they should have. Knowing all this, though, Dave still grew annoyed when they brought up the topic of What To Do Next.

This time, The Question was introduced during supper. As usual, the family was sitting in the living room, eating while watching a sitcom rerun on television. The four of them occupied their usual posts: Dad was on the big recliner which was catty-corner from the TV; Mom sat on the easy chair beside the recliner; Dave stretched out on the sofa, along the wall between the easy chair and the TV; and Dave's younger brother, Jeff, sprawled on the loveseat along the wide front windows. The arrangement formed a rectangle with Dave and Jeff on two sides, Mom and Dad at one end, and the TV and fake fireplace at the other end. Though the family had never sat down and drawn up a seating chart, they always gravitated to this particular set-up at suppertime.

When Dave had cleared about half the food from his plate, his father asked him The Question. Though it was disguised, arranged in a new configuration, it was still the same fundamental Question which Dave had heard time and time again.

"So, Dave," Dad asked casually, his plate in his lap, a glass of milk in his hand. "Did you finish your résuméŽ yet?"

Translation: What are you going to do with your life, son of mine?

"Just about," lied Dave, clearing a thin bone from a white hunk of chicken. In reality, he hadn't even started a résumé, and he didn't know when he would get around to it. Though he didn't habitually lie to his folks, he fibbed now to allay their worries; they had been asking him about the résuméŽ almost every day for at least two months, and if they were to learn that he hadn't even started it, they would pester him even more.

"Are those résumés of mine any help?" wondered Dad, drinking some milk.

"Uh-huh," nodded Dave. "I liked the format you used on the one, so I'm using it for mine."

"Good," said Dad, placing his glass on the end table beside the recliner. "I think I have about twenty different kinds there."

Dave's mouth was full of chicken, so he just nodded in reply. His father had become quite an expert on résuméŽ writing since the big layoff five years ago. After fifteen years at the local steel plant, Bob Heinrich had been put on waivers, along with hundreds of other workers. At first, he'd thought that he might be called back, but the layoffs had continued, and the corporation had finally shut down the plant altogether. After a period of intense depression, Bob had gone on a job hunt, cranking out résumés and sending them all over the area. Unfortunately, thousands of other unemployed millworkers had been seeking jobs at the same time, and Bob had been unable to find work for many months. In the end, he'd gotten a custodial job at a Methodist church, and Dave's mother had taken a full-time secretarial job at a local bottling plant. The souvenirs of this crisis, hundreds of résumés and job applications, had been turned over to Dave, ostensibly to prepare him for his own upcoming job hunt.

Dave believed that the résumés had been given to him for another reason, as well, that they were meant to remind him of what his father had gone through after the layoff, all the brick walls that he'd run into because he didn't have a college degree. 'Get your diploma!' cried the impotent résumés, the dozens of duds which had failed his father. 'Get a job in a high-paying and secure profession! Don't screw up like your dad did!'

In truth, Dave didn't need to be reminded or warned. He was all too aware of his father's misfortune, and its uncanny similarity to his grandfather's fate.

His grandfather had been a coal miner for most of his life; he'd made a respectable amount of money, and had built the house in which Dave's family now lived. When the mines closed, though, the only job that Dave's grandfather had been able to find had been in the same field in which Bob Heinrich now worked. He'd become a janitor.

Two generations of janitors. It was no wonder that Bob and Ann Heinrich worried about their son; they didn't want him to be the third generation to end up mopping floors and cleaning toilets.

Dave didn't think that his parents would ever stop worrying. He didn't think that they would stop asking The Question until he was finally a successful doctor or lawyer or stockbroker...or until he was dead.

They certainly wouldn't stop tonight. Now that Dave's father had gotten the ball rolling with inquiries about the résuméŽ, Ann Heinrich entered the conversation.

"Did you get any of those grad school catalogues yet?" she asked Dave.

"Uh, not yet," replied Dave, his attention divided between his mother and the TV. "I haven't had time to go to the career center and get them."

"Well, you better not wait too long," said Mom. "You probably have to apply soon if you still want to start in the fall."

"I'll get over there tomorrow, if I can," Dave answered noncommittally. "I've just been too busy with all those tests and papers and stuff." In reality, though he'd been busy lately, Dave had delayed getting the graduate school catalogues for the same reason that he'd neglected to write a résumé: he couldn't decide what he wanted to do after graduation, so he wasn't preparing for any course of action. Though he was on the verge of completing his Business-Economics degree, he didn't know what he wanted to do with it; he couldn't decide if he should try to get a job right away, or if he should go on to grad school. For that matter, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to have anything more to do with Business-Economics, or if another field might better suit him. Initially, he'd pursued Business-Econ because he hadn't had any better ideas and he'd heard that a B-E degree would virtually guarantee that he would get a good job. Now, after four years of courses in accounting and finance, business law and management, he was losing interest in it all and having second thoughts about working in the field. He just didn't know what he wanted to do, and his indecision bothered him, and his parents were pressuring him...so he did next to nothing. He'd taken the standardized grad school entrance exam, and he was finishing the requirements for his degree, but other than that, he was stalled.

"Make sure you get everything you can on financial aid," suggested Dad.

"I will," nodded Dave.

"Are you still thinking about Penn State?" asked Mom.

"Mm-hm," Dave grunted through a mouthful of chicken.

"Well, we ought to drive up there sometime and talk to some people," she continued.

Giving up on trying to watch TV, Dave swung his feet from the sofa to the floor and turned to his parents. "I can't do that for a while," he told them, setting his plate on the coffee table. "I've got classes during the day and work at night, and I'm sure the offices up there aren't open weekends."

"You'll just have to fit it in somehow," said Ann. "You can't keep putting it off."

"Well, I'll have to see," sighed Dave.

"Tell you what," pressed Mom. "We'll pick a day for next week or the week after, and then we can all arrange to get that day off work."

"Good idea," agreed Dad, scratching the curly salt-and-pepper hair over one ear. He was mostly bald, except for a fringe running above his ears and around the back of his head.

"Jeff ought to go, too," nodded Mom, looking at her other son. "We've been meaning to take him up to Penn State anyway, so we could kill two birds with one stone."

"Huh?" grunted Jeff, eyes glued to the TV. Apparently, he hadn't yet heard a single word of the conversation going on around him, and had only stirred at the mention of his name.

"We were just talking about going to Penn State for a day, so Dave can look into grad school. We were saying that we should take you along, since you're thinking about going there." There was a trace of annoyance in Mom's voice, a hint of irritation at having to repeat herself for Jeff's benefit.

"I don't know," muttered Jeff, still concentrating on the TV. "I'll have to see what's going on." His disinterested tone made it clear that he didn't want to be bothered. The seventeen-year-old didn't seem to care at all about college, though his parents frequently pressed him to make plans for a college career. He had other things on his mind nowadays, like hanging out with his friends and having fun and chasing girls. Bob and Ann thought he ran around too much, and they wished that he would work harder in school, because he was only pulling a "C"-average. Since Dave had always gotten "A's" and "B's" in school, Mom and Dad expected the same from Jeff.

"I'm sure you can spare one day to go with us," said Mom.

"I said I don't know," resisted Jeff, shifting restlessly on the loveseat. Testily, he dropped his empty dinner plate to the carpet, then dug down into the cushions and folded his arms across his chest. Too tall to stretch out on the loveseat, he had to lie with his legs bent and knees in the air.

"When we go up there, you're going with us," Mom declared firmly. "It won't hurt you to spend one day looking around a college."

"Mom!" Jeff snapped curtly. "Don't push me! I said I'll have to let you know, all right?"

"Hey! Don't talk to your mother like that," ordered Dad, raising his voice.

"I'm just trying to watch TV here!" flouted Jeff, flapping his hands at the set. "I can't even hear what's going on!"

"Calm yourself down," Dad said threateningly. "You don't need to get all bent out of shape just because we want you to do something with the rest of the family for once."

"I'm not getting bent out of shape!" hollered Jeff. "You're the one who's getting bent out of shape!"

As Jeff and Dad bickered, Dave sighed deeply and adopted a weary expression. Arguments between his brother and father happened often, and he was tired of listening to them. Though the fights were only shouting matches and never came to blows, they seemed to erupt every time that Jeff and Dad were in the same room for more than five minutes.

Since the age of fifteen, Jeff had grown progressively more rebellious; he'd always been high-strung and precocious, but after reaching fifteen, he'd become downright volatile. Willful and cranky and argumentative, he disputed every suggestion or request from the rest of the family with angry fervor. He resented every intrusion on his privacy and independence, overreacted to every question that his parents asked.

Despite his hot temper and moodiness, though, Jeff wasn't really a bad kid. He sometimes made life miserable for the family, and he was awfully irresponsible, but Dave still liked him. Dave believed that Jeff was just at a difficult age, an age when touchiness and hostility were the norms; he recalled that when he himself had been sixteen, he'd behaved in much the same way, but had mellowed with time.

Dave sincerely believed that his brother would do likewise, that he would eventually straighten up and his better qualities would come to the forefront. Unfortunately, it didn't seem likely that this change would occur in the near future.

It definitely wouldn't happen tonight.

"I told you," hollered Dad, leaning forward on the recliner. "You're going with us!"

"Did I say I didn't want to go?" Jeff flung sarcastically. "No! All I said was that I don't know if I can make it!"

"What else would you be doing on a weekday?" barked Dad. "The only thing you should be doing then is going to school!"

"There, see? If I've got school, then how am I gonna' go with you guys? I know you don't want me to skip a day of school!"

"We'll go when you have a short Friday," interjected Mom. "You'll be done with school by noon, and then we'll pick you up."

"What if I have to work?" asked Jeff.

"You don't even have a job!" shouted Dad.

"Not yet," barked Jeff, "but I will! I already put my application in at a bunch of places in the Mall! You rather I don't get a job, just so I can go to State College with you guys?"

"Now you're being ridiculous," sighed Ann Heinrich, shaking her head. "Stop making such a big production out of this."

"You're the ones who're making a big production outta' this!" Jeff yelled.

Though he didn't want to get dragged into the fray, Dave finally spoke up. "Hey, look," he said sharply. "I didn't even say for sure that I could go! Nothing's definite, Jeff!"

"Well, it sounds definite!" lashed Jeff, his face flushed. "The way these two are talking, everything was settled before I could even say whether I wanted to go or not! You guys always do that to me!"

"What? What do we always do to you?" By now, Dad was furious, his usual amiable expression replaced by a fiery, tense grimace. He looked as if he was ready to leap from the recliner and sock his youngest son in the mouth (though of course he'd never directed such violence at his family and probably never would).

"You tell me what I'm gonna' do before you even ask me about it!" hurled Jeff, angrily yanking off his glasses. "It's like it doesn't matter what I think about anything!"

"That's crap and you know it!" snarled Dad.

"See?" bellowed Jeff, accusingly pointing a finger at his father. "That's what I'm talking about! You never listen to me!"

"Oh, brother," grunted Mom, rolling her eyes.

Finally deciding that he'd heard enough, Dave got to his feet and headed for the kitchen. As his brother and parents continued their combat, he scraped the chicken bones from his plate into the garbage. Opening the dishwasher, he placed the plate and silverware and glass on the racks inside.

As the living room ruckus escalated, Dave realized that he didn't want to stick around for the rest of the festivities. If he stayed in the house for the remainder of the evening, he wouldn't be able to concentrate on his studies; the thick atmosphere of tension would distract him, as would the noise of slamming doors and stomping feet. He had to abandon ship, seek a more hospitable and relaxing location, a place where he wouldn't be trapped in close quarters with a bunch of angry people.

He decided to drive out to Billy's trailer. As long as Billy wasn't entertaining some girl, Dave could stop in and get some work done. Since he and Billy were in some of the same classes, they had the same exams to prepare for, so they could study together. They could drink some beer and eat some chips and compare notes, even shoot the breeze some, maybe plan the next party for the Wild West gang.

Dave left the kitchen and hurried through the living room, moving fast enough to keep from being drawn into the battle. He swept down the short hallway to his bedroom, tossed some books and notebooks into his blue knapsack. Next, he grabbed his keys from the desk and shouldered into his winter jacket. He flicked off the bedroom light and made his escape from the house without having to say more than a few words to his folks.

As he settled into his car, he felt immensely relieved. He really did care about his parents and brother, but on a night like this, he preferred to be far away from them...a fifteen-minute drive away from them, anyway.