The Tesla Gate by John D. Mimms Read Free Book Online Page A

favorite cereal bowl. His favorite bowl was not one that brandished children’s pop culture idols, icons, or slogans on its porcelain sides. Seth’s favorite bowl was a plain blue one given to him by me on my return from a business trip last year. I don’t even remember where I got the damned thing, probably some airport trinket store, but it was special to him. Ann said it was a distinct favorite to Seth because I had given it to him. He had a broad collection of pop culture bowls and cups, but that didn’t matter: this was the only one he used. It was an unassuming blue bowl with “#1 Son” painted on the side.
    I entered the kitchen to see him staring in puzzlement at the cabinet. I was about to ask him the obvious question of how he could possibly be hungry when a sudden recollection pierced my stomach like a hot blade. I had been very stubborn about anyone touching Seth’s room. In my grief clouded mind, I thought it was wrong. I wanted to keep it just the way it was. Why? Because he would be back? That pitiful hope of the bereaved now seemed ironically laughable under the circumstances.
    When my friends from work came in to help me take care of such matters, I had forbid entrance to Seth’s room. They spent most of their time downstairs packing away all the kid themed dinnerware, utensils and cups. I wanted to keep everything but after a lot of convincing from Don Lewis, my boss and best friend, I decided that the bedroom would suffice as an altar to my sorrow, for now, and agreed to let everything else go to Goodwill, Salvation Army or some other worthy charity. Seth’s favorite cereal bowl had unfortunately been a part of that donation.
    Seth turned to look at me as I entered the room. A frown and puckered bottom lip underscored sad little eyes.
    â€œDaddy, where’s my bowl?” he asked, sounding pitiful.
    The red-hot blade in my gut seemed to twist and lodge in my throat as I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. I started to lie and tell him it had been sent out for special cleaning but I knew that I must be honest with him, no matter how painful it may be.
    â€œSeth,” I began, my voice hoarse, “I thought you weren’t coming home, buddy. I gave it to charity so some other kid could enjoy it.”
    I wondered if I had made the right call when I saw the silvery tears streaming down his cheeks again. They disappeared through the beige tile floor just like his bedspread, leaving no evidence of their sorrowful existence.
    He didn’t say a word for several moments; he just looked at me with disappointed eyes. My heart burned with unnatural fervor, the combined emotions swirling inside felt like a tempest ready to explode. How could I reconcile my natural parental instinct with the horror of the circumstances? I decided the only thing I could do is go with what I know, go with what I have had a little over six years of experience. I would put my apprehension behind me and be what Seth required. He needed his dad.
    â€œYou can use one of my bowls buddy,” I said as I opened the “adult” cabinet above the microwave. I produced my favorite bowl, a cardinal red one with a handle, giving it the appearance of an oversized coffee mug. A line of Razorback hogs formed a single ring around the outside of the bowl, completing the red and white color scheme of the University of Arkansas.
    Seth smiled and said, “Woooo pig, sooieeee.”
    I smiled and gently placed the bowl in his small hands, bracing myself for the shattering impact on the floor when the bowl sunk through his fingers, but no crash came. He happily took the bowl and carefully placed it on the kitchen table, then moved to the cereal cabinet to retrieve the box of Chocolate Berries. Luckily I had purchased a new box shortly before Seth … well, before he left, so it was more or less a full box.
    He poured his favorite cereal until about three-quarters of the bowl was full, then set