The Gay Gatsby

Chapter 16: Aly Cries and Callaway's Chill Dies

Author's note: Well this chapter did not go as planned: plot wise and quality wise. But I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 16: Aly Cries and Callaway's Chill Dies 

"I couldn't forgive him or like him, but I saw that what he had done was, to him, entirely justified."

- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Chance

I stepped into my house with ease, sliding off my winter jacket, mittens and scarf. I spent a moment pulling deftly at the laces of my soggy sneakers, tugging them off as well.

"Dad!" I called to the house. "I'm home."

A familiar voice replied, "Dinner's ready in the kitchen, Chance."

At the remark, I ambled to the kitchen, instantly being met with the view of my dad pouring milk into some cups at the table. I stepped over, pulling out a chair glancing at the spaghetti that my dad and made.

"Looks great, Dad," I smiled as I sat down.

My dad beamed at me as we began eating.

We sat in silence for a long time. I surveyed my dad as he gazed out into the dim light of a nearby window, sighing every so often as he scooped his pasta.

His pale eyes shine with a tight exhaustion, a expression that was all too familiar to witness on my dad's face. My dad was only 47, but his demeanor held an inexplicable elderliness. I guessed that his tough years had conjured him into becoming wiser, thus realizing the burdensome effort in life. It was everlasting fear of mine that one day his weariness would overtake him, leaving him bare of weapons for the war of life and survival.

My speculations were interrupted by my dad clearing his throat, "So, Chance..."

I stifled a laugh, while I scooped at my pasta, "Yes?"

He pushed at his classes before continuing; "I found this brochure for an engineering program at this -"

"Dad, can we not talk about this now?" I sighed, frowning. "I don't want to be an engineer."

My dad took on a stern expression. "Don't be so adamant to be against any of my suggestions, Chance. You're going to have to go to university next year. You need some type of plan -"

"I have a plan," I asserted. "I'm going to get a Bachelors of Arts and -"

"And, what? Become an artist?" My dad scoffed. "We both know very well how that will turn out."

I stabbed at my spaghetti with a little more force than necessary. "It's a start, okay? At least it's something I want to do."

My dad exhaled exasperatedly, "I understand, you know that I do. Can't you just look at the brochure?"

I stared pointedly at my plate, huffing, "Fine, if it'll make you happy, I'll look at the program. But that doesn't mean I'll be interested in enrolling."

My dad pursed his lips, "Alright, I'll take what I can get."

We finished our spaghetti and meatballs in a tense silence.

I could understand where my father was coming from; being an artist was not the most rational choice. It was low paying, if paying at all and traditional artists had a difficult time finding jobs, due to the abundant preference for digital drawing/computer generated art.

My dad had been an artist once, and it had ruined him in multiple ways. His wife - my mother - had left him due to it and he had been obligated to take multiple jobs to take care of me. He had been urged to abandon his art, and instead, was now almost done his studies to become an accountant.