Applebee’s and The One Who Loved Me

Seth Kirby

Yesterday

     I really wanted to work on a story that would make Daddy laugh. Nothing hard, just a couple of ideas that would be cool to write about. One of them had this boy who couldn’t stop eating, and had a growth spurt that sent his head through the roof of his house. I had another story where a man in space swallowed up the sun. Daddy said that he was interested in that one, so I was trying to get it finished, hoping that I could make him proud.

Van

     The van we got in didn’t take long to warm up. It was one of those cars. The cars with seat warmers that Daddy said “showed how much love went into the metal.” I had a pencil poking out of my pocket, but I forgot my notebook under my spiderman bed covers. I ran inside the house again, grabbing the notebook by its spirally spring. I ran back out, once without my shoes and once with them on, and Daddy yelled at me for taking so long.  I sat next to him, his firm father hand rubbing the sides of the wheel. I looked up at him, his face was red tomato ketchup. Daddy sighed away the red from his cheeks. “Applebee’s?”

Straight

     The lines we drove on were straight, like the dashes on my paper where my words sat, except yellow and covered in ice. He glanced over to the white notebook in my lap. “Done?” he asked. I stared between the letters. “Not yet.” I slid my fingers down the thin pole of a pencil, yellow and covered in dents and bite marks. Perfectly straight. 

Road

     The man in my story has just swallowed the sun, and is thinking about eating the moon too, but he throws up on the side of the road. The puke is slush, ice melted from the sun (probably), but it’s still slush because even the sun can’t stop winter. Daddy agreed, dodging slush-filled potholes and icy turns even though it was morning and the sun should have melted it by now but the sun couldn’t. “They really need to fix the road,” he said. I looked down, wishing the sun would do more than just reflect off of the snow.

Q-P-O-N

     “No, that’s not how you spell it,” Dad said. “C-O-U-P-O-N.” He pronounced each letter with a tired dignity. He told me that we needed to use this coupon because we wouldn’t have had enough money to buy Applebee's. I had never heard the word, so I tried sounding it out. It sounded like a gift on the side of a slushy road, dirty yet blessed. I thought that the man eating the sun might use a coupon to take a trip to the moon. 

Minute

     “When are we going to get there?” I asked. I already knew the answer. “In a minute.” It’s always a minute when we go to Applebee’s, because it’s my favorite place and Daddy tries his best to get there fast. 

Lots

     Or, it’s because I ask lots of times. 

K

     I finally finished my story: the man tries to swallow the moon after taking a trip there, but then can’t because the sun puts too much pressure on his stomach and the sun eats him. “K,” I yawned. “I’m done with the story.” Dad frowned from behind his weathered eyelashes. “Don’t read it yet, bud. I’m driving.” I frowned. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I was so excited to read this, and he just turned me away. I stared at the page, a little wet from the snow I tracked onto the seat. I read it anyways.

How old I am

     I’m nine. No, not ten, not twelve. Nine. Why can’t you let me go? I’ve already told that nice man back there I didn’t hurt him, told him lots of times. So why can’t I go? Where is he?

Excerpt

     The sun he should not have swallowed swelled up in his chest. It started to grow, enlarging his belly, growing his toes and fingers, stretching every part of the man until he couldn’t take it anymore. He jumped off of the other part of the moon he hadn’t gotten to eating and fell down into the starry space. He exploded. 

Done

     “That’s Enough!” Daddy shouted. “Stop, Elliot, I’m driving.” I wasn’t listening, absorbed by the power of my story. “Seriously Elliot, do you want me to crash?” He raised his voice. I hate it when he shouts. “Elliot I swear to God we will not survive this if you keep it up.” I stared out the window, ignoring Daddy, and read the sign ahead. It read /ROAD MAY BE ICY/SLIPPERY CONDITIONS ON ROAD TODAY/ROAD MA/

Crushed

     Daddy stretched his hand out, taking his eyes off of the road. The lights on the sign blinked. He made me yelp. He shifted, drawing back again, for another. His foot was further into the pedal. I breathed, holding in something: puke or slush or goodbye? I clenched, anger in my thighs, red-hot in my cheeks, red-hot everywhere. But I was still sad. I love Daddy. I love him so much. He was just under some stress. Yes, I still love Daddy. I have to.

Because 

     He was taking me to Applebee’s.

Backwards

     The road was spinning around our car, unless we were the ones going backwards. That wasn’t possible. Daddy was an excellent driver, too. Also, Applebee’s was just around the corner. I looked down at the spinning wheels and the spinning sky and the spinning everything. A wheel hit a hole in the ground that made the car rumble. It was filled with slush. “Watch out!” I cried, even though I didn’t think it would mess things up. Nothing could go wrong. Daddy was taking me to Applebee’s.

Applebee’s 

     Daddy didn’t make it to Applebee’s. But the car did.

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