A crowd surrounded him. At first, there was mild concern that he was hurt. That seemed to quickly fade into curiosity about any injuries he might have incurred. Then someone spotted the giant wet spot on his crotch, pointed and screamed it out for the whole world to know.
After that, all the other kids called him Jeffie Pee-Pee Pants.
His second grade teacher, Miss Guidry, didn’t notice a thing for the last two hours of school, but that didn’t surprise him. She was older than dust. She probably couldn’t even smell any more.
He didn’t tell his mother about the incident, but she figured it out easily enough when he came home reeking of urine. She shrieked at him that he was a disgusting, dirty little boy, that he was just like his father and that he made her sick. She smacked him in the head several times, then hauled him to the bathroom by his hair. In the bathroom, she pushed him roughly into the bathtub and turned on the shower. He yelped at the cold water, but she gave him another smack, so he kept his mouth clamped shut. She never adjusted the water temperature, letting the ice cold water rain down on him as he sat huddled in the bottom of the tub, shivering. After what seemed like hours, she switched off the water and asked him if he learned his lesson.
“Yes, Mother,” he answered, because he knew it was the right thing to say. He didn’t know what the lesson was supposed to be, other than don’t pee your pants at school, but it was too late for that lesson to do him any good.
Still, maybe his daddy knew the answers to that, too. Maybe he could help him. Tell him how to deal with the third and fourth-graders (and, truth be told, most of the second-graders, too and a few of the first-graders) that made school so miserable. His daddy could teach him how to fight. He was in the Navy and that was like the Army and everyone knew that soldiers knew how to fight. Heck, that was their job.
His daddy was coming home.
He’d know how to handle the pee problem. He’d teach him to fight those bigger kids. Or maybe he’d smack them around himself. Maybe he’d show up in his uniform and grab Hugh Jessup by the collar and give him a bare butt spanking for everyone to see. And then he’d tell them all that Jeffrey was the best kid in the school and they better believe it or he’d be back.
So he sat by that rain-splattered window every day, looking out at the gray Seattle street, knowing that at any moment, his daddy would appear. He waited for the sailor uniform to appear in the parking lot. He watched for him to stride up the steps to the second level where they lived, carrying a wrapped present in his arms (or maybe a bike! That would be so cool!). He’d jump into his daddy’s arms. His daddy would smell like Old Spice, just like in the commercial on T.V. He’d hug him and his daddy would hug him back and say how much he missed his little boy.
Everything would be better.
That was all that mattered.
So he watched and he waited.
November 1977
One week before Thanksgiving, his patience was rewarded and his faith destroyed, all in the same day.
He sat by the window in late afternoon, more out of hopeful habit than anticipation by that point. He read his favorite book, Dr. Seuss’s Green Eggs amp; Ham, over and over again. Something about the way that the little guy was able to finally convince the grouch to change his mind about those yucky looking green eggs and green ham appealed to him.
Finishing it for the second time that afternoon, he glanced out the window. The full rain clouds above Seattle seemed to be almost trembling with the weight of all that water. It reminded him of how it felt to wake up in the middle of the night just a second or two before he had to pee. It was always a battle to push away all the sleep and scramble out of bed toward the bathroom in time to make it.
He was about to lower his eyes back to the book for a third go-round when he saw the jaunty stride of a sailor coming through the parking lot. His pea coat and sea bag slung over his shoulder were unmistakable signs of a Navy man.
Jeffrey dropped the book and pressed against the glass, staring.
Was it his daddy?
He wanted to scream out to his mother, to God, to the world, but all he could manage was a low whimper. Then a chilling thought struck him. What if it wasn’t his daddy? What if it was someone else’s relative? It was a large complex with lots of neighbors. Maybe-
He reluctantly tore his eyes away from the figure and fixed his gaze on the only picture of his daddy in the entire home. He didn’t know how old the picture was, but it showed a rough and tumble sailor outfitted in his uniform, smoking a cigarette and eyeing the camera lens with an expression that Jeffrey couldn’t entirely read.
After studying that face for a moment, he snapped his head back to the front. The sailor was closer now. In fact, he was coming directly toward the apartment.
This apartment.
Jeffrey whimpered again. It might be. It might be.
Once the sailor reached the stairs, he took them with a steady confidence, swinging around the corner on the first landing. As he turned toward the apartment window, he looked up and caught Jeffrey’s eye.
It was. It was.
He was older than the picture, but when he met Jeffrey’s eye, it was with the same expression. He paused a moment, looking at the boy almost as if he’d forgotten about him. Then a rakish grin spread over his face and he tipped him a wink.
Jeffrey smiled and waved frantically. His daddy was home and he winked at him and he was going to make everything better and tell his mother to be nice and stop the kids at school -
“What are you in here whining about?” his mother snapped from behind him. “I’m trying to take my nap and all I can hear is you making noi-”
Jeffrey turned from the window to face her. “Daddy’s home!” he squealed.
Her face registered surprise for a moment, then her features sank into their customary hardness as she watched the figure pass in front of the window and try the door knob. It was locked.
“Aren’t you happy, Mother?” Jeffrey asked her.
“Thrilled,” she answered in a flat voice.
Jeffrey didn’t think she sounded too happy, but he was too excited to worry about it. When his daddy discovered the door was locked, he began pounding on it with his palm. Jeffrey sprinted for the door. His little hands fumbled with the lock on the doorknob, then he slid the chain aside and flung open the door.
“Daddy!” he squeaked.
His daddy’s eyes narrowed at the sound. “Is this my son or my daughter?” he joked gruffly.
Jeffrey’s jaw dropped. He felt as if someone had just kicked him in the stomach.
His daddy laughed uproariously and pointed. “Oh, that’s classic. You should see your face, kiddo.” He laughed, looking up at Jeffrey’s mother. “Really, Cora, you should get a look at this kid’s face when I said that. You’d think I took away his teddy bear or something.”
“Come in,” was all his mother said. “You’re letting in the cold.”
“S’pose I am,” he agreed, and stepped forward. He brushed past Jeffrey as he entered. The smell of cigarettes and sweat wafted over the boy, but instead of being repelled by the odor, he soaked it in. That’s how dads are supposed to smell, he figured.
“Close the door, Jeffie,” his mother said.
He obeyed, turning the knob lock and setting the chain. He turned around to see his mother and daddy eyeing each other in the living room. Jeffrey could feel the electric tension between them, even though he didn’t understand exactly what it was or why it was there. This was a mommy and a daddy. Aren’t they supposed love each other and hug and kiss and stuff?
“Glad to see me?” his daddy said.
“It’s been a long time,” she answered.
“Navy’s a tough life,” he told her. “You knew that when you signed on.”