The Wings Of A Caged Bird | First Draft

side-stories | dale; aster

DALE'S FAMILY

The air in the Lockwoods' living room is thick with tension.

Or maybe it's just Dale who feels that way. Right now, he is sitting on one side of the couch, while his father is sitting across from him on one of the one-person sofas. A coffee table separates the two.

Mr. Lockwood looks quite awkward and fidgety, his hands unable to stay still. Dale isn't surprised. He hasn't had a proper, normal conversation with his father in what seems to be ages. Even decisions related to Dale's university and major choices, he discussed them only with Mrs. Lockwood, because Mr. Lockwood was out in the sea, leading an entire ship. In truth, he has rarely managed to be a part of the most significant moments of his children's lives.

"So," Mr. Lockwood begins, clearing his throat, "what did you want to talk about, Dale? It sounds really important."

Dale glances at the entrance door of the living room. Isn't she going to come? When he walked up to them and said he wants to talk about something, for the first time in his entire life, didn't she get the hint that it is genuinely important? Dale turns back ahead, eyes on his lap. He is not going to speak until she comes. This is going to be the last time she has to hear from him anyway.

Just as he is thinking this, she enters, slippers stomping on the ground. He recognizes the sound of those footsteps like the back of his hand. Much of his childhood was spent keeping his ears out for that sound from inside his bedroom, though he never truly did anything bad in secret. Still, when he would hear those footsteps approaching, he would sit up straight on his chair, lean closer to the textbook, and pretend to be much more concentrated on the content than he actually was.

Mrs. Lockwood sits down beside her husband on another sofa. Dale has sensed that things between them have gotten better. In his vague, nearly disintegrated childhood memories, there are broken images of the two of them embracing, holding hands, even kissing. As he grew up, he could see them get more and more detached from each other, and himself more and more detached from them. 

"What is it you wanted to talk about?" Mrs. Lockwood asks. The usual coldness of her voice, these days, is replaced by a deep hint of exhaustion.

It's now time. Dale straightens his back. His heart begins to pace faster, but he keeps his expression normal. He goes through everything he planned to say in what order once again in his mind.

"I am going to start working as an assistant researcher in Telois from next month," he announces.

Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood glance at each other. Mr. Lockwood breaks into a smile and says, "Oh my, that's wonderful, Dale. It means you have proven your capabilities to your professor."

An overwhelming feeling washes over him, but he pushes it down, unwilling to admit to himself that the man's words provided him a little bit of happiness. Instead, he glances at the woman, whose expression hasn't changed much.

She asks, "And what about your Master's degree?"

"I will study alongside."

"Won't that become too hard for you?" Mr. Lockwood asks.

Dale can't help but snort. "Don't worry, she has trained me well."

The small smile on Mr. Lockwood's face falls.

"Is that all?" Mrs. Lockwood asks.

Dale links his fingers together on his lap. "No." He gulps once, before saying, "I'm going to move out."

Silence.

Last night, Dale spent a lot of time mulling over what words he should say, and what possible responses those words will garner, and what possible outcomes may appear from the conversation. But he doesn't know these people too well, so he can't predict their reactions properly, which is making him anxious.