Happy

Chapter 6.

Sawdust wandered aimlessly through the air like ashes drifting from the remnants of a burnt home.

The carpenter, a brawny Italian man in his early forties, steadily drug a plank of wood through the spinning blade of the table saw set directly past his waist. Torn leather gloves hid the arthritic trembles that convulsed through his hands and behind the yellow goggles shielding his eyes was a mess of oily, slicked back hair.

Heavy alternative rock blared from the radio set up on a tall stack of large tiles next to what was soon-to-be a kitchen counter. Although he'd normally consider this much ruckus to be a safety hazard, he advised his crew that they could leave early and to enjoy the rest of the weekend off. He just decided to stick behind for a couple of hours so that their project was closer to being back on schedule, as lately it had seemed they had been falling a bit behind.

Set up around him were several fogged plastic sheets, stretched from various sides of the room—that is, if one would consider wooden beams held up by nothing but a few wall studs a room. It was a temporary wall of sorts, meant to both keep the scorching Texas heat out and the wooden particles clouding the air in. Draped over his wife beater was a plaid button-up and, as he continued to split the board with one hand, he used the other to wipe the sweat from his brow with the hem of his tattered shirt.

Meanwhile, he didn't notice the distorted shadow approaching from behind, slipping through an opening between two of the elastic curtains as it snatched something from a nearby table, and it took no more than a matter of a few seconds for the figure to close in on him. A voice called out, drowned out by the saw, as the person reached out for the man's shoulder.

He spun around as he, in a natural state of defense, pulled the portable table saw from it's mount and wielded it in the air—nearly slicing into the young man's neck if not for a couple of mere inches between them.

"Dad!" Enzo took a step back, arms tossed in the air. "What the—"

"Fuck!" His father flicked a button with his thumb, causing the spinning blade to roll to an abrupt stop. Dust settled in the air as he tossed it back onto the table. He then lifted up a remote to power off the radio. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?!"

Enzo shook his head, staring at him unbelievably. His father never was the best at apologizing but this was a entirely new level. Dark chestnut hair covered his forehead and, just below his maroon eyes was a thin constellation of freckles spreading inconsistently across the bridge of his nose. "I called out to you like five times."

"Rule number one if you want to be work in my line of duty..."

He doesn't. Never did. Enzo just fed into that lie to get his father off his back but, after his high school graduation two years ago, his father has been more eager than ever to push him to work for his company. But Enzo would much rather keep working at the campus book store over something that involves manual labor. Not to mention a lot of sweat. It wasn't so much his thin frame holding him back but more so his indolence. At least that's what he tells himself, although truthfully he just doesn't think he can handle it. Especially not on top of four college courses.

"Power equipment and sneaking up on people do not go hand-in-hand." He continued, "Unless you want to risk losing that hand."

"Okay, I get it. My bad." Enzo rolled his eyes and, from behind his back, he sneakily slid a set of keys underneath a partially opened newspaper.

"So what's up?"

"Nothing. Just wanted to drop in and check up on my good ole dad to see how he was doing." An awkward smile crept upon Enzo's face. "How are you doing today?"