Prologue: 1988

"Alright. This time will be different.” Tom Newman took a deep breath and exhaled. The sweat was pooling at his temple and dripping down his face. What had begun as a cool summer morning, had shifted to a hot and muggy afternoon as the sun moved across the sky. Where was the damn overcast and rain? The wool suit he had carelessly thrown on had turned into a personal roasting oven and judging by the fluid seeping out of his pits, he was ready to be served. Earlier, he had removed the jacket for a brief reprieve from the heat, but upon seeing the sweat stained shirt underneath tossed it back on and endured.

“Keep it together and be confident, Tommy boy. First impressions are everything, and what you project is what they see." His knuckles stung, as they hit the cherry wood door. Great, so their first impressions are going to be, “Look at the jackass in the ill fitting suit. Don’t you know how hot it is?”. He knocked again, and winced in pain. He inspected the damaged knuckles. It had been a long and unsuccessful day, and the skin was starting to crack. Soon he would be leaving a bloody knuckle impression, marking each failure as he went. Guess it’ll be easier to see where I have been, he thought. It had been several hours of going house to house and door to door only to be sent packing. He was determined, however, to show his sons what a hard day of work earned. He gazed at his empty hands sadly. This wasn’t supposed to be how it went today. It was supposed to be a positive learning experience and somehow it had turned into wake up. This is how the world works kiddos, he thought. Sometimes you work all day, and have jackshit to show for it. Worse, it made the long hours and time he spent away from them that much harder to justify. They can’t understand. They’re just kids.

"Dad!" Tom looked over his shoulder, his face visible with irritation. Richard was hanging over the open window, tapping rhythmically on the side of the car door. Tom listened at the door for a moment, then turned and jogged from the steps, keeping an eye over his shoulder to ensure the potential clients did not see him. The boy slunk victoriously back into his seat, thinking that they might be leaving. Tom stopped at the passenger side, and looked into the car.

Richard sat with his gameboy in his lap, while his younger son, Harry, was sitting cross legged writing into his little notebook. Tom smiled at him. He couldn’t help but admire little Harry. It didn’t matter where they were or what they were doing. As long as he had that notebook nothing mattered around him. His eyes moved back to his other son. Richard had his feet propped up onto the dash, and was huddled into himself. Around him lay candy bar wrappers and the waste of the snacks he had brought for the boys to share. It was obvious that he had hoarded the supply and ate it. Great, he thought, another night up because his stomach hurts. Tom shook his head and thought, Richard could stand to pick up a habit or two from Harry. It was hard to believe he was the older sibling. He was still incredibly childish, and impatient compared to his little brother.

"Richard, what did I say.", He looked back over his shoulder, and saw no one had yet come to the door.

"Don’t bug you while you are working?"

"And what are you doing?" "I’m-" "Bothering me while I am working! The one thing I asked you not to do. Why don’t you take a note from your brother and just wait patiently. He doesn’t even have that little brain melter in front him."

Richard rolled his eyes, and looked into the back seat at Harry. "Harry’s a little a-hole-", he looked at his father with hopeful eyes,"Besides you said you were going to take us to Rex’s for pizza."

"Rich, how many times have I told you not to talk like that.” “But I didn’t even say the wor-” Tom raised a hand to stop him. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t call Harry that again. He’s your brother, and that is all that matters. Besides, if I don’t sell anything I can’t take us to get anything, and if you keep yelling for me every five minutes I can’t do that." Tom felt a twinge of anger, but forced it down. You will not be your father.

“But dad, my gameboy is dead.” “Richard, enough. Please sit and be good. I’ll try to be done soon.” He turned and walked back to the cherry door. He wouldn’t let his anger get the best of him. Not today. He would set an example for them. No one had answered, but he felt compelled to knock again.

*****************

Richard sat in the car kicking the seat in front of him. Be like Harry, Be like Harry. Why can’t he be like me?

“Smiling Man!” Harry shouted from the back seat. Richard glanced into the rearview mirror and saw Harry was still writing into his ridiculous notebook. He turned around and stared at the sheet his brother was writing on. It looked like little scribbles, but somehow he seemed to make sense with it. There were little corrections here and there. At the top, he saw the title and it looked slightly more legible. “Door to Door Tom? That sounds like the title of some porn.” Harry shot him a glance, and went back to his writing. Richard grabbed at the book, and pulled it from his brothers scrambling hands.

“Give it back Dick.” Richard felt the redness in his face. “Don’t call me that you little fucking freak.” “I’m not a freak, and you used the F’ word! I’m telling.” Richard grabbed one of the papers in his hand and started to slightly rip the pages. Harry reached a hand out, but Richard smacked it away.

“Ow!” “If you tell, I will rip every one of these pages. Now apologize” “What for?” “You know exactly what. Besides, I’m doing you a favor. This is garbage.”

Harry went for the papers again, this time jumping on top of him and trying to punch him in the sides. Richard grabbed him with both hands and spun him into the seat, sitting on top of him and grabbing his hands.

“Stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself.” “Rich, let go.” “Apologize!” “Fine. I am sorry.” Richard smacked him twice more with his own hands and hopped over to the adjacent seat, smirking at how he got his way. His baby brother was a scrapper, he had to give him that, but he always came out on top.

“Dad, Are you done? Dad?” Richard shouted. He had no desire to sit here any longer, now that Rich was getting an attitude. "Dad?" He wasn’t at the door anymore. Richard stood in his seat and looked up and down the street, and saw no sign of him. “Wait. Where’s Dad?”

“What do you mean idiot, he’s right-”. Richard pointed to where their father had been, but he was gone. He looked to each of the houses, but saw no sign of him.

“Where did he go?” “Rich, where is Dad?” Richard saw that Harry was in a panic, and tried to calm him down despite his own fears.

“He’s probably just in one of the houses. Yah, that’s it. Our old man, the smooth talker. Guess we will be going to Rex’s after all.” Richard wasn’t convinced himself. They waited, and waited. Hours passed, and Tom still hadn’t returned. Harry was toiling through the sheets of paper, looking for something.

“Hare, what the hell are you doing?” Harry was scrambling, around the back seat grabbing at each of the papers. "Hare?" The look on his face was frightening, as his eyes scanned each sheet and discarded each into the pile forming on the ground. Finally he stopped, and Rich could see the fear in his eyes. Harry looked to Rich and handed him a sheet, tears welling in his eyes.

“I didn’t, I didn’t...the man dropped it...." Richard grabbed the sheet from his hand, and looked it over. He didn’t understand. Harry began to cry, and Richard grabbed him. “I didn’t mean to.” Richard looked at the page again. Tom left them on that very day His life on hold or so they say. And though he’s gone, He will return When the choice is made and the lesson learned