Men, Women & Children (4 page)

A
few blocks away, Tim Mooney finished eating a twelve-pack of nuggets from Chick-fil-A that his father, Kent, brought him home for dinner, along with one for himself. As Tim stood from the table taking his trash with him to the kitchen, Kent said, “Want to toss the ball for a while?”

Kent and Tim would frequently play catch with a football after dinner. It was something they did even before Tim’s mother and Kent’s wife, Lydia, left to live with this man named Greg Cherry in California who was in marketing. But since she left, Kent felt that tossing the ball brought them closer together as a father and son. It was something that solidified their bond as two men who were abandoned. Tim recognized this as well. He thought about agreeing to play catch with his father, and not telling him that he’d quit the football team a few hours earlier, but was unable to. He didn’t want to lie to his father or to participate in any form of charade with his father. He had respect for his father and that respect, he thought, deserved the truth. He said, “Dad, I, uh . . . I quit the football team today.”

The words were difficult for Kent to hear coming from his son’s mouth, but he wasn’t surprised. Since Lydia left, Kent had sensed his son pulling away, becoming more introverted, losing interest in the things that had always held his attention. Kent’s normal reaction to his son’s news would have been anger. Kent would have screamed at his son and threatened punishment unless his son rejoined the football team. But, like his son, since his wife had left, he found it more and more difficult to feel anything other than a certain hollow sadness. Kent said, “Oh. I see. Are you sure?”

Tim said, “Yeah. I just . . . Yeah. I’m sure, Dad.”

Kent said, “Well, I’m obviously not going to force you to play. I mean, I can’t force you to, but I think you should think about it. And I don’t want this to be because of— Just think about it.”

Tim said, “I already quit.”

Kent said, “I know, but, just think about it. You can go back, I’m sure.”

Tim said, “Okay.”

Tim passed his father on his way to the kitchen, where he threw his empty nugget box in the trash and went to his room without saying another word. Kent threw away his own trash, opened the first of what would be seven Bud Lights that night, and sat in for a night of watching the World Series of Poker and, at several specific moments, wondering what his wife was doing in California, which resulted in him imagining her having sex with Greg Cherry, a man Kent had never met or even seen. He pictured him as being small and intellectual, physically weak, probably wearing glasses and appearing slightly effeminate—the opposite of Kent. Kent had difficulty imagining that his wife would leave him for a man who was similar to him in any way. He could only reconcile her decision to abandon her family by assuming she had realized that she wanted something completely different, at least for the time being.

Kent turned his thoughts to his son. He recognized that Tim had become more introverted and moody and rationalized that all kids his age must go through similar periods and that his mother’s absence probably wasn’t helping the situation. He held on to some hope that, after Tim emerged from whatever he was going through, he would return to football. Beyond directly illustrating the benefits of playing football, Kent assumed he could say nothing else to his son to speed this process up, so he decided to leave him alone to work things out on his own. Kent found that dwelling on how badly he wanted his son to rejoin the team left him with less time to think about his soon-to-be ex-wife, Lydia, living in California with Greg Cherry who was in marketing.

Tim sat down at his computer and logged on to
World of Warcraft
, the Shattered Hand server, five minutes before his guild was scheduled to raid Ulduar, the highest-level end-game dungeon in the game at the time. Tim’s main character was a frostfire specced mage named Firehands who regularly had the highest damage-per-second in guild raids. He was a valuable member to his guild, which required his damage output to defeat all of the bosses in Ulduar.

As soon as he logged on, he was greeted in guild chat by other members who would be joining in the raid. At the bottom left of Tim’s screen in the green guild-chat text a series of phrases appeared: “I thought your mom sucked my dick last night but when I reached down and felt stubble, I realized it was your dad. My mistake.” “What’s up, nigger?” “You fuck any junior high pussy yet?” “I wish I was in junior high again, I’d fuck every piece of 7th grade ass I could, even the niggers.”

Tim had become used to the tone and content of his guild’s chat. He believed that none of these people were actual pedophiles, homophobes, or racists, and he found humor in their explicit chat messages, understanding that most massively multiplayer online games had evolved a similar style and tone of communication within their player bases due to the fact that a large number of the players had spent so much time digesting the Internet’s most base content that they were now desensitized to nearly everything most people would consider offensive. Even though Tim had never known the real names of his guildmates, he considered them his friends based on the frequency of their interaction, which was daily. He had no conversations of substance with these people and their exchanges involved little beyond
World of Warcraft
, racial humor, and explicitly sexual anecdotes that were rarely true. He had told none of them about his mother moving or about his decision to quit playing football, which were the two most important events of his life thus far. Tim enjoyed the surface-level communication he had with his guildmates. He didn’t want anything more.

He knew Chucker only as the protection-specced paladin who was the greatest purveyor of fake racial hatred in the guild. He would never know that the person on the other end of the computer was a twenty-eight-year-old loan officer in Annapolis, Maryland, who had to beg his fiancée to let him play
World of Warcraft
virtually every night and more often than not waited until she fell asleep so he could sneak off to the computer in their office and play the game.

He knew Baratheon only as the dwarven shadow priest who would respec to holy before every raid and then fail to properly heal the tank on at least one boss per instance, causing a wipe. He would never know that the person playing Baratheon was a six-foot-five, three-hundred-twenty-pound half-Korean, half-French Canadian college student studying engineering and accounting in order to make his parents happy even though he really wanted to play football.

He knew Selkis only as the night elf rogue who could out-damage most of the mages in their guild. He would never know that the person playing Selkis was a twenty-six-year-old perpetual college student who had no intention of ever graduating, ate a Wendy’s Baconator at least once a day, and lived with his parents and their five cats.

At a chat command from the guild leader to “Get on Vent,” Tim logged on to the guild’s Ventrillo server, a third-party program that allowed the members of the guild to actually talk to one another using microphones; he put on his headphones; and they all entered the instance. Tim was happy not to think about his mother in California with Greg Cherry or his father sitting silently in the living room wishing he would play football again or the pointlessness of any of it for the next four hours.

A
few blocks away, Carl Benton was uneasy about his daughter spending so much time with her boyfriend, Danny Vance. Carl was aware that his daughter had inherited much of her physical appearance from her mother, which meant that she would likely be the first sexual fantasy of many of the boys she went to school with. And more than a fantasy, she would likely be Danny Vance’s first sexual experience. Carl did not like this. As he ate dinner with his wife, Sarah, and his seven-year-old son, Andrew, he said, “She spends a lot of time over there. Should we be as okay with this as we’re acting like we are?”

Sarah didn’t mind Brooke spending time at the Vances’ house. She and Carl had known the Vances for several years, and their son, Danny, was among the less threatening boys of his age. Brooke had never cried as a result of anything he had done, which, as a junior high school teacher for many years before she retired, Sarah knew to be rare. She said, “I think we should be more than okay with it. She’s having fun—let her be.”

Andrew said, “Can I go eat dinner with the Vances?”

Carl said, “Very funny, turd.”

After they finished dinner, Carl helped Andrew with his homework and then put him to bed. Then he went into his own bedroom to find Sarah reading a book he had never heard of. He said, “Honey, you’re really not worried about Brooke and Danny?”

Sarah continued reading as she spoke. She said, “No. I’m really not.”

Carl said, “She’s getting older, you know what I mean?”

Sarah said, “Yes, I know exactly what you mean. If you’re afraid she’s going to start having sex, then talk to her about it.”

Carl said, “That’s not a father-daughter conversation. That’s a mother-daughter conversation.”

Sarah said, “We’ve already talked to both of them about sex. She knows better than to do something stupid.”

Carl said, “Yeah, but we talked to them when she was still a kid. She’s not anymore. Have you looked at her lately? Boys are going to be beating down our door pretty soon.”

Sarah said, “Then we should be happy that she has a nice boy like Danny Vance to keep them away. She’ll be fine.”

Sarah put her book down on the nightstand and turned off her reading lamp. Carl went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. When he came back, Sarah was asleep.

A
few blocks away, and a few hours earlier, Jim Vance opened the door and came in with Danny and Brooke. Danny’s mother, Tracey, had already set the table. She said, “Hello, Brooke. It’s so nice to have you joining us for dinner tonight.”

Brooke said, “Thanks, Mrs. Vance. It’s nice of you to have me over.”

Tracey said, “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s Tracey.”

Brooke said, “Sorry.”

Tracey said, “It’s all right. Dinner’ll be ready in about ten minutes. You kids can go watch TV if you want.”

Danny led Brooke into the living room. Tracey turned to Jim and said, “She is such a cutie.”

Jim said, “Just like you used to be.”

Tracey said, “Used to be?” and then spanked Jim, who laughed and kissed his wife before going into the kitchen for a Beck’s.

Once dinner was ready, all four of them took their seats around the table and Jim said, “So, how’s the team looking this year?”

Danny said, “Well, Tim Mooney quit today, so it’s going to be a lot tougher to win without him, but I think we’ll be okay. Coach Quinn is going to let me pass a lot this season and Chris should be able to get down the field, so I think we’ll have a shot at district.”

Jim said, “Tim Mooney quit?”

Danny said, “Yeah.”

Jim said, “Why?”

Danny said, “Coach didn’t say.”

Tracey said, “That’s so sad. I bet he’s going through a tough time with his mom being gone and everything.”

Danny said, “Whatever.”

Tracey said, “Well, Brooke, how are you doing this year?”

Brooke said, “Pretty good. We’re just getting ready for the season to start, too. It’s pretty exciting. I can’t wait to see Danny play. I know they’re going to be awesome.”

The rest of the dinner conversation was about the various junior high schools Danny would face in the regular season and about
American Idol
, with Tracey adding some anecdotes about the neighbor’s cat, who seemed to be defecating on the Vance’s front steps with almost daily regularity. After dinner, Brooke helped Tracey clear the table. Tracey said, “Brooke, would you like a ride home? Jim can take you.”

Danny said, “Oh, we were going to play some
Rock Band
and then I was just going to walk her home, if that’s cool.”

Tracey said, “As long as your mom is fine with you kids walking out after dark, Brooke.”

Brooke said, “Yeah, she’s cool with it. I mean, we’re only like five minutes away.”

Danny and Brooke went up the stairs to his room.

Jim said, “You don’t think they’re . . . having sex, do you?”

Tracey said, “I doubt it. But maybe you should have ‘the talk’ with him.”

Jim said, “Jesus Christ, really? How old were we when we started getting it on?”

Tracey said, “We were in college, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to wait that long. Better safe than sorry. Maybe you should buy him some condoms.”

Jim said, “Oh my god, are you serious? Don’t they just learn everything about sex from TV and the Internet? Do I really have to do this?”

Tracey said, “Don’t be stupid.” She kissed him and added, “Just have the talk with him.”

Jim took a swig from the Beck’s he was currently drinking and said, “I don’t see why I have to do it.”

Tracey said, “I did it with our daughter and you have to do it with our son. That was the deal.”

Jim said, “I know, I know. I’ll do it this weekend. I don’t want to get in his head before their first game.”

Upstairs, Danny turned on his Xbox 360 and raised the volume on his television so his parents could hear nothing but the sounds of the
Rock Band
introductory video coming from his room. Then he sat down on his bed next to Brooke and kissed her. They had been in the habit of pretending to play
Rock Band
or do homework with loud music playing for almost a month while they engaged in various forms of foreplay, never removing clothing, but getting slightly more aggressive with the placement of their hands in each successive encounter. Danny had felt Brooke’s small and still-forming breasts through her shirt; Brooke had felt Danny’s erection through his pants as it pressed against her legs and genitals. Danny had ejaculated in his pants as a result of these encounters once before. Embarrassed, he said nothing about it and pretended that the event never occurred. Although it was strangely arousing to Brooke, she remained silent about the incident as well, assuming that Danny’s silence indicated his unwillingness to address the matter.