Just Joe and the Boys

         Joe and Bret waited for the commercial break before running to the kitchen for a snack.  "Dad'll be here any minute," Joe reminded his younger brother.  "Go get dressed."

         "Boys," their mother called.  "Are you dressed and ready for your Father?"  She stumbled down the hallway to the kitchen door, last night's bottle still in hand.  "I want you outta here as soon as he gets here; this is my...hic...weekend!"

         "Looks to me like you've already started your weekend, Mildred," a sarcastic voice stated from the kitchen screen door.

         "Daddy!" the boys cried, running to the door.

         "You're late, Joseph," Mildred shouted, wagging a tipsy finger in his directon.

         "Actually, I'm right on time," he said, hugging his sons and ushering them off to get their clothes.  "Why aren't the boys ready?" he asked, baiting her.

         "How should I know?" she scowled.  "The little brats wouldn't get moving."

         Joe Sr. pushed past his ex-wife shaking his head and wrinkling his nose in disgust at the odor of sour alcohol and rancid perfume that wafted in the air around her.  "Let's get out of here, boys."  Turning back he added, "This time, I'm not bringing them back."

         Mildred picked up her empty bottle and slammed it against the cluttered kitchen counter, unfurling the crumpled towel like a flag.  "You'll never win," she screamed, her voice as shrill as a whistle.

         "Mildred," Joe Sr. pointed his finger down the hall, "our sons are not some trophy to be won or lost!  They're little boys and they deserve better than this."

         Exasperated, he turned on his heel and marched to his sons' room.  "About ready?" he asked, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.  How can I take care of two little boys? he wondered.  How can you leave them with her? the voice in his head argued.

         Joe Sr. opened the dresser drawers.  "No clean clothes again," he announced, a lump forming in his throat.  It broke his heart to see his boys so neglected.  He crammed as much dirty laundry into the hamper as he could. "We'll tackle this when we get home," he remarked, emphasizing the word so that Mildred would hear it through her alcohol-induced stupor.

         "If you don't bring them home on Sunday you'll...you'll..."

         "Go to the car, boys," he instructed.  The screen door banged shut as the boys obediently did as they were told.  "I'll what, Mildred?  What?"  Pain, frustration, and sarcasm touched his voice as he looked around his sons' room.

         "You'll...you'll...have a giant lawsuit on your hands," she spat venomously.

         "You keep telling yourself that, Mildred.  Any judge who sees the way you've been ‘taking care of' these boys will never give them back to you."  Joe Sr. stood, grabbed his sons' backpacks from the doorknob and headed out.

         "Bring them back Sunday!" Mildred screeched after him, grabbing her bottle as she reached the kitchen.

         "Why?  So you can drink your government assistance and child support checks?"  Joe Sr. let go of the screen door, which snapped back with a reverberating bang!

         "Let's go, boys," he said, tossing the backpacks in the backseat.  "We have a lot to do today."

526 words

         This story was written for a contest with a limited number of words allowed, hence the brevity where so much more could have been written.

         I do have plans to expand the story at some time in the future but have other things on the agenda first.

         Thanks to all who have asked what happens next.