The Arcade

Cosmo talked to his dad a little of the party on the way home, describing some of the high points, such as the band, and the gifts – especially the motorcycle. Mostly though, he sat and looked out the window and thought about what he had been shown of the future tonight.

Joe Phillips didn’t think too much of his son’s silence, attributing much of it to fatigue from the night’s festivities. He did note, however, a more solemn overtone to his son’s moods of late. He didn’t know what the cause was, or how to approach him about it, so he chose instead to observe, and make himself available if his son needed to talk.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, son?”

“If you knew that you could change something – something big, and you knew that you would never get the chance again” Cosmo turned to look at his father “ – would you do it, knowing that you could never explain why you did it?”

“I think it depends on if it was for the better or worse.” Replied his dad.

“It’s definitely a good, good thing.” Cosmo turned back to the window. “A very good thing…”

“Well then, absolutely I would. Why do you ask?” Joe looked at Cosmo again.

“I just wanted to know what you would do, dad – that’s all.”

Joe took a deep breath. “Does this have anything to do with Holly?”

Cosmo looked at his dad, eyebrows raised. “Huh?? Oh! No, dad, no – nothing like that. Just something came up at school, and I want to do the right thing – that’s all.”

Nodding, Joe replied “I see…” clearly unconvinced. “Well, you should always try to do the right thing, even if you can’t always explain why it’s the right thing.” He looked at his son. “Sometimes you just have to follow your gut.”

“Thanks dad,” Cosmo turned to his father “that’s what I needed to hear.”

It was after two in the morning when they pulled in to the driveway of their house. Very little was said as Joe and his son walked into the house together. Mrs. Phillips had long ago turned in for the night, and both Cosmo and his dad were tired enough that the only things said were “goodnight” and “love ya, dad/you too, Cosmo.”

Cosmo made the seemingly endless trek up the stairs to his room, wondering briefly how he could possibly have chosen to live on the third floor of a condo – despising stairs as he did. Who wants to climb that many stairs when you’re this tired?

Tossing his jacket on the chair, he sat down heavily on his bed. Pulling off his Vans and wiggling his toes, he was just about to crash when he heard the last voice he wanted to hear at this hour of the night.

“So kid, how was the party?” Sal was removing the jacket from his head, where it had landed.

“Aw jeez, Sal – really? Don’t guardian whatever-you-are’s sleep, too?” Cosmo groaned. “It is way too late, and I am way too tired to talk right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. So how’d it go?” Sal pressed.

“Fine, Sal – it went fine. Live band, lotsa food, many many gifts for the birthday boy. The band was some locals calling themselves ‘Creamed Spinach’ - sounds vaguely obscene if you ask me, but they were pretty good.”

At the mention of gifts, Sal leaned forward “Gifts? What sort of gifts? Anything stand out?”

Cosmo lay back on his pillow, feat still hanging off the bed. “ Oh the usual, you know – clothes, gift certificates, cash, a walkman, tapes…oh yeah – and a motorcycle from his grandfather.”

Sal practically jumped out of the chair at the mention of the motorcycle. “Did you say motorcycle?”

“Yup. A dirt bike, actually. And next Saturday he’s planning on taking it for a test-spin.”

Sal jumped out of the chair and practically shouted “You’ve got to stop him, Cosmo! You can’t let him ride that motorcycle next Saturday! Do you understand me? You mustn’t!”

Cosmo sat up in bed, startled by the panic in Sal’s voice. “I hadn’t planned on it, Sal – in fact, I was planning on stopping him. That was the day when a car pulled out in front of him, and –” Cosmo stopped. Realization dawned on him in that moment, and he pointed a finger at Sal. “It was YOU! You were driving the car that he ran into after he ran that red light – weren’t you? Holy Moses!!”

Sal sunk back in to the chair, and weakly nodded his head. “That’s not the worst of it, my boy.”

“What do you mean? How can it possibly get any worse? He DIED, Sal! That’s about as bad as it gets!”

Sal swallowed, and took a shuddering breath. “It gets worse, trust me.”

“How, Sal? How much worse does it get?”

Sal shifted in the chair. “Not now. I can’t tell you just now.” He leaned forward to grasp Cosmo’s hands. “You just have to promise me that he doesn’t get on that thing come Saturday – promise me!”

“I promise, Sal! I already told you – I’m gonna make sure he doesn’t get killed again, but you gotta explain some things to me – like why it’s so important to you. I don’t understand…”

“I will all in good time. Trust me, Cosmo. But it’s a long story, and as you said, it’s late.”

Cosmo lay back down, crossing his hands behind his head. “It sure is late,” He said, yawning so wide his jaws cracked “and I am absolutely wiped out. Hey – why did you want to know what he got for his birthday, anyway?”

“…”

“Sal?”

Cosmo looked at where Sal had been sitting, and saw the chair empty.

“Jeez, I hate it when you do that…”