I was playing Xbox with my friends one evening. It was already dark outside and we were getting into this new game, even though all of us were pretending like it was not such a big deal. We sat around the couch, chair and floor all jaded and whatevered as we discovered the new features and DLCs.
When it was no longer my turn, I passed my controller to Jason and sat back. That is when I began to smell roasted nuts.
“Hey, your dad must be home,” somebody said, “He’s cooking something. Smells good.”
“Oh, boy,” I said, “Here we go.”
My dad slithered in through a crack in the door and said nothing, just showed off his blue face for a while. The guys stopped playing and looked at him, mesmerized. Then he spoke: “Would you boys like some roasted nuts?”
“Sure, Mr. D.,” said Jason.
“Stop it, dad, you’re embarrassing me,” I said.
“Let me get them for you,” said my father ignoring me completely. Then he rose to the ceiling slowly, operating in his own weird time dimension. It took an eternity before he touched the white plaster and stuck to it with the antennae of his dead fingers. Clung to it like a wet rag. Crawled all over it like an intrusion of cockroaches. Sang like a choir of schoolgirls on a Sunday night. Then floated to the floor slowly and produced seven (exactly) bowls of roasted nuts.
“Here you go, boys. Enjoy,” he said from outside the room.
“Your dad is a cool guy,” said Jason, “I mean, he’s okay.”
“Yeah, he’s an old dork,” I said.
“You’ll learn to appreciate him one day,” said Jason.
Secretly, I knew Jason was one of my father’s stupid selves. I just hoped the other guys had not figured that out.