Oh, father.

[Ari Gold]

Andrew sternly walks into his father’s cool, dungeon-like office. Gideon’s study is a very quiet, dusty room. The piles of books on his book-shelf seem to be producing dust at will; the pens on his smooth, tarnished mahogany desk most likely have no ink remaining; the two leather-bound desk chairs stationed either side of the desk creaked at every slight movement. The peeling white walls emit a sense of abandonment, as if no one ventures into this office. In a sense, that’s correct; Gideon runs a private psychiatric practice and performs most of his work there. The only time he’ll ever venture into this room is if he was bed-ridden and was desperate to complete some urgent work.

 

The soft, timber floors ooze and creak under Andrew’s feet as he calmly paces towards one of the two leather-bound chairs either side of Gideon’s desk. Short, piercing rays of sunlight illuminate the chair adjacent to the window, while the glare perpetuated from this light left the chair on the far side of the desk dark and ignored. Battling the acute glare, Andrew reservedly sits down onto the chair and began to wait patiently for his non-punctual father.

 

Gideon was always a very unyielding person. Growing up in a poor Jewish family in a small hamlet in New Jersey, Gideon always experienced difficulties while growing up. He never discussed his childhood that frequently with his son, but Andrew was well aware of the struggles his father had to go through; the young death of his parents, the times living in neglected poverty, the struggle through medical school. Gideon had dreams of a perfect life with a perfect family; a picket fence house, a trophy wife, playful yet loyal children, a set education for them: the American dream. When Gideon married his wife, he began to open up his heart to the environment around him; his dream was beginning to come true.

 

Along came Andrew. Gideon named Andrew after his own late father and made a promise to himself and to his wife to raise Andrew to be “the perfect man”, with the right environment and necessary support from the two of them. However, things began to turn when, as a child, he developed signs of overly-excessive anger and ADHD; he was a very dishonest, rowdy child, often screaming at Gideon and his mother, and he often made an effort to deliberately disregard Gideon’s advice and orders.

 

Gideon often considered prescribing him medication, however his wife wouldn’t let him even think about; her father had developed dementia and was completely reliant on antibiotics and painkillers, and she couldn’t bare seeing her son suffer a similar fate. “He’s not normal, that kid,” Gideon would often say to his wife who remained relatively tempered during Andrew’s childhood. Andrew’s mother possessed natural love for her child, but she never went out of her way to make a significant change to Andrew’s life. Whether this form of neglecting contributed to Andrew’s role in the incident which left her mother paralysed, no one knows. It was at this time that Gideon started prescribing Andrew’s dreaded medication.

 

Andrew continues to wait patiently in his father’s office. The smell of old, matured whiskey consistently drifts around the room, homage to Gideon’s love of the drink. He was never an alcoholic, but while Gideon himself was finding ways to cope with his own troubles, he found alcohol to be an excellent relaxer of the nerves. Throughout Andrew’s prospering adolescence post-incident, Gideon became more and more misplaced himself; he’d often turn up late to work, he’d sleep in often, he’d leave referral reports for GP’s to the last minute. He had lost his punctuality, so it was no surprise to Andrew that Gideon did not even both following him into his office.

 

However, as Andrew began to rise from the chair, it’s clear to see that Gideon’s ignorance is reflective of their relationship. Despite Gideon’s burgeoning dreams and proxy happiness within the family, the household was still colder than the Antarctic. The two only ever talked to each other when something was urgent, such as the passing of his mother, or to wish each other a happy birthday or a happy Hanukkah. The Largeman’s weren’t very strict Jews, so even calls on Hanukkah were pretty rare. But nonetheless, Andrew really had no reason to talk to his father. Ever since Andrew packed up and moved to LA, the relationship between the two essentially fragmented from a rich, juicy cookie into small, tasty crumbs.

 

As Andrew slowly paces out of the room and quietly closes the creaky door behind him, he catches a glance from Gideon. An empty glance, the types of glance that people give each other when they’re urging to express themselves yet don’t have the courage to do so, and then… that was it. They both look away. Andrew continues on to the living room where he parks himself on the couch and begins to watch ESPN, and Gideon returns to rummaging through his closet looking for a jacket to wear.

[Vercetti21]

0 replies is depressing so I'm not gonna let that happen.

 

I liked it. Reading through it I felt like the tone was a little bland and unexpressive, but towards the end when I realized this was based off Garden State I could see why you were doing this. Because medications cause this character in particular to be in a constant cold, unemotional state I think this piece would have worked a lot better as a first person narrative. But it still reads well, and the descriptions and imagery are intriguing.

 

Favorite part was when you compared their relationship to a crumbling cookie. For this reason I'd say definitely up the use of metaphors in your next piece.

[Tyler]

You know Stefche, I haven't read this until now. I'm really regretting that decision. The detail you took, whether purposefully bleak and down or not, really sets the right mood for the story. I found it hard to flow with all of the description ranging, but I have a weird way of reading, so don't take that personally. I hope you roughed it out pass the low replies and started working on a second chapter, because I'd definitely see where this goes.

[Prasdana]

this is have a potencial

[Mati]

Yeah. Looks pretty good

[Vercetti27]

a fantastic vocabulary you have there. the way you described every scene made it easy for the reader to imagine. great work