His father was furious, face switching between different specters of sorrow and anger and disappointment and old age curved with experience.
Tommy resented his father’s attitude, expressing it inwardly to avoid getting whacked. The last time he voiced his resentment he got slapped so hard his head kept buzzing like it had seven beehives in it.
“You make your choice,” his father growled, flipping through the pages furiously. “Whether you want to think about school or women!”
With that he drew a red line on the sentence ‘but I love you, I swear I do, for by your side is when am complete- completely insane, in love…..’ which was a dialogue in a short story he was working on for submission. The red Bic pen, a tool to channel his anger, tore into the notebook viciously.
The power of the pen, Tommy mused. He uses it to express his anger; I use it to give life to my thoughts. We are so much alike, father, if only you knew!
His father never seemed to comprehend why his son wanted to be a writer and not a teacher like him and his grandfather, may he rest in peace.
Tommy made up his choice that moment. He would be with the women who formed the characters in his stories and maybe, just maybe one day he would write about his father.