Unavoidable Cliches [4]

Augie Emerson succumbed to a fresh bought of coughing, bent over double. Chico licked his nose inquisitively and Augie straightened up, rubbing his ears. He continued to flip listlessly between the channels, searching for something to do. He had called the night in sick, which Matilda seemed undully pissed about, despite the fact that he felt like he was dying of his preasent flu symptoms. He shifted positions, groaning at his sore muscles. So much for getting a shot at the free clinic.
He lingered on some reality television show for a moment before flicking the T.V. off and rolling onto his other side gingerly. He could feel the cough syrup he took beginning to kick in and he hoped he could catch a few hours more of sleep before the sun came up.
He contemplated the mystery of the argumentative nun. He still hadn't figured out how Chico happened to be his or how come, if the bus driver's account was to be believed, he was arguing with a St. Magdalene's sister on the corner. He gritted his teeth, imagining the worst. After his episode in the second to front-most row of pews, his prospects were not promising. He drifted off, hand on Chico's rump, ridiculous scenarios of nuns with ninja stars confronting him parading across his imagination.
***
He awoke to his cell phone ringing again. He took stock of the situation and noted that he really felt much better. He picked up his decrepit little phone and looked at the caller I.D. Dad. Again.
And maybe it was the fact that he could breath out of his nose for the fist time in 48 hours, or maybe it was the soothing sound of the raindrops on the window which seemed to be perpetual these days, or maybe it was just time but this time Augie decided to take the plunge.
“Hello, Dad.”
“Augie?”
“This is who you’ve been trying to reach for the past three months, isn’t it? Or were you just desperately trying to get ahold of one of your investors?” He hated himself even as the words came out of his mouth. This never used to be him; sullen and disagreeable.
“Of-- of course. But you can’t blame me for being surprised that you picked up the phone!”
Augie made no response. He didn’t quite know how.
“Well how are you? Where are you?” his father forged on, the strain in his voice apparent.
“I’m fine. It’s not important where I am,” he responded, moving over to the streaked window. The rain persisted and he fancied, even though he knew it impossible, that he could see the coast from which the bleak gray clouds rolled in. It was ironic, really, that here he was so close to where he was born and his father and so-called mother didn’t even bother checking here. Then again, it was a long way off from glamorous Orange County. Maybe they figured they shouldn’t bother.
“Well, we miss you, Aug. We want you to come home,” his father said, blunt and to the point.
“Well tough titties said the kitty,” Augie replied almost automatically.
“Your mother misses you, Aug,” his father said.
He avoided the cliche ‘she’s not my mother’ line, instead opting with the less obvious.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
There was a few seconds of silence which his father seemed to be using to gather his thoughts.
“Look, dad, you and Amy never bothered to tell me that I have a... mother. How can you expect me to want to return to my happy little life, in our big imposing mansion and just move on?”
“Well Amy and I were planning on telling you in due time. You always had such a hard time as a kid anyways, remember how you used to sit around and mess with the insides of calculators and clocks and things?”
“And is that such a bad thing, dad?”
“Well, it’s not...normal.”
Augie fell silent again, fuming. This is the kind of thing he never liked about his dad. Because he liked playing with motherboards he was a freak. Sometimes it seems as if Augustus Emerson Sr. lives under a rock.
“You know there are entire schools for--”
“Son, come home. You’re talking nonsense. You have a mother and she’s right here at--”
“She’s not my mother!”
And there it was. Everything seemed to bubble and froth around in Augie’s head. This is why he never answers that buzzing box. Because when he thinks about his life in Orange County he feels a posion sinking through his veins. Too many what ifs, too many unanswered questions. And too much sadness. Augie Emerson does not do sadness.
“Dad, I’ve got to go.”
“Will I talk to you later?”
“I just don’t know if I can-- yes. Okay. Yes.” he answered, not even aware of what was coming out of his mouth, just sure he “neded to end this now.
“Bye, son, we love you.”
He shut the phone before he had time to reply. Trouble is, he wasn’t even sure if he would if he could.