Finding Tom by Simeon Harrar Read Free Book Online Page A

mentioned before, and much of it is because we are both stubborn as mules and as opposite as can be. My less-than-traditional views and ideas have always placed me somewhat on the fringes, while he has achieved success at every step of our journey together. But again, that is a story for another day. I believe I hear Mr. Calhoun coming with afternoon tea, so I must be going. Take care, Tom.”
    With that, the conversation was over, and I was left to ponder the curious relationship between Dr. Emory and the dean of students. I wondered if I might be a pawn stepping into a long-standing game of chess. But this was not an opportunity I could pass up. Father got home, and I told him the good news. He looked at me and tried to smile but only managed to make his mouth into a straight line rather than a drooping frown.
    “I guess that means you won’t be staying to help me in the shop,” he said.
    “That’s right,” I agreed. “This is something I have to do. I just can’t stay here. This house holds too many memories.”
    “Yes,” he sighed. “There are plenty of those, but we can’t all up and leave, now can we?”
    I thought that was going to be the end of the conversation, as he seemed to strangely retreat into himself, back into a world of memories before mother died. I prepared for him to turn around and walk back to his whiskey. But he looked directly at me, and for a tiny second the sadness disappeared from his eyes, and there was once again that powerful penetrating gaze.
    “Your mother would be proud of you, Tom. Do well for her sake.” That was it. For one instant my father stuck his head out from all his misery and pain and remembered that I was his son, and then he fled back to his inner cave.
    He was right. Mother would have been proud, but I wasn’t going to do this for her. I was going to do this for me. Unlike my father’s world, my world was moving on from the moment of her death. I couldn’t live in the past. Yes, I still felt the sting of her absence, but it no longer controlled me. I was slowly rising out of the mire. But as I rose up, I realized just how deeply entrapped my father was. And I did not know how to pull him out. So I left him to wallow.
    For fear that you think you are missing any significant details of my life, please know that nothing of importance took place from that day all the way through the summer when I worked at the general store, except for the fact that I tried to wean myself off of smoking—with mild success—and I ate enough black licorice that I temporarily feared that my teeth would be stained black. The summer could not have gone by any more slowly. The long, humid days under the slow-spinning fan of the store dragged on at an unbearably cruel pace.

CHAPTER 7
    A Strange New World
    AT LAST, THE DAY ARRIVED for me to depart. Throwing all of my worldly belongings into two worn leather suitcases, I was ready to go. My father had refused to take the day off to see me go, so I swung by the store to say goodbye. We both stood awkwardly before I went to give him a hug. He stuck out his hand instead. His cold, crushing grip swallowed my hand. “Be safe now, and don’t get into trouble.” I looked at him and saw a man drowning in whiskey and sorrows. Paralyzed by his pain and inability to address his emotions, he stood there stiff and tall. There were no exchanges of “I love you” or any pleasant farewells—just silence and a crushing grip. A customer came into the store, and we dropped hands. I picked up my bags and walked out the door. There was no looking back.
    When I arrived at Locklear, I followed the swarms of students and parents, brothers and sisters, and nephews and nieces all moving toward the campus. The world was a giant hullabaloo of conversations and cars honking and people slowly trudging along sidewalks with overstuffed suitcases and all sorts of odds and ends. Coming to college was a true family affair, but there, in the middle of the chaos, I