"Then Just Like That" by Alan Gerstle

          Ralph stumbled through the front door of his ex-wife's apartment. Wendy, his eight-year-old daughter, followed cautiously behind. Ralph turned, and regarded her through his drunken haze.

  “What you afraid of, Wendy? There’s nothing absolutely......" Ralph collapsed on the sofa.

  Wendy ran to the dining area, and sat down on one of the chairs set around the white Formica table, which was illuminated by the home association approved chandelier. Wendy picked up the book that lay open before her and began to read, assuming the pose of an obedient school girl. Except her face was buried in its pages. It seemed to Ralph a pane of smudged glass separated them.

  “Are you reading reading or are you pretend reading?” Ralph said. He felt his words slip from his mouth like thin slivers of ice. Ralph pushed himself up to a seated position, and scrutinized his daughter. Through the blur, he could see tears dribbling down her cheeks.

  “Goddamn. What are you crying for?” Ralph said. He pushed off from the sofa, and approached his daughter. His legs teetered as though he were standing on a loose tightrope. Ralph pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, reached out, and tried to wipe his daughter’s tears. The cloth was dirty and made a dark smudge on Wendy’s cheek. Wendy pressed the book to her face as a shield.

  “You’re gonna get me in so much trouble. You want that?” Ralph panted. He wobbled in front of the table. Wendy clutched the book tighter.

  “Bitch!” Ralph yelled. He made a dismissive gesture, turned around, and staggered back to the sofa. 

  “You can take the damn book off your face.” Ralph said. He rose again, hobbled over to Wendy, grabbed the book and threw it on the floor.

  “I want my mommy,” Wendy cried. She escaped from her chair, ran towards the bedroom, and slammed the door behind her.

  Ralph approached the bedroom door, gave the doorknob a turn. Wendy had locked it. Ralph kicked the door, kicked it again. He left ugly scuff marks.

  “Fuck your mother. Fuck your mother and fuck you.” Ralph lurched to the front door, then doubled over, hugging his stomach.

  “I’m sick,” Ralph hollered. Doesn’t anyone care about me?” He limped back to the sofa, sat down, then tilted his head so his neck rested against the top of the back pillow. The ceiling seemed a great pale expanse. The breadth of its whiteness alarmed him, as if he were lost and alone in a giant void.

  “I need help, goddamn it.” Then he began to cry.

  Earlier that day, Ralph had shown up just as Wendy and Stacey were finishing lunch.

  “You get ready to go with daddy,” Stacey said. “Daddy and I are going to talk for a minute.” Ralph and Stacey eyed each other as Wendy skipped to her bedroom.

  Stacey produced a pen in her right hand, a printed piece of paper in her left.

  “Sign it,” Stacey said, handing the pen and paper to Ralph. Wendy came back from her room, wearing a thin silky athletic jacket, a cursive “A” imprinted on the front.

  “Good girl,” Stacey said.

  “Let's not forget pretty girl,” Ralph said. Wendy stood beside her mother, and played with a handheld video game.

  “What’s the game?” Ralph said, while his eyes returned to the paper. Then he looked back at his daughter.

  “You like it?” Ralph said. Wendy pressed closer to her mother.

  “Something I wrote up,” his ex-wife said, pointing to the paper.

  “You and your lawyers,” Ralph said.

  “No lawyers. I wrote it myself. Then in a whisper, “It says I find you drunk when you take Wendy out, that’s it. No more visiting privileges. Period.”

  Ralph examined the paper, frowned, then began to read it. Stacey watched impassively. With each line, Ralph’s expression grew more pained. When he was done, he looked up towards Stacey and smiled, as if trying to gain some sympathy. Stacey remained deadpan. Ralph sighed, and looked at Wendy, then back to Stacy. His eyes shifted to the chandelier hanging above the dining table.

  “My death sentence,” Ralph whispered. Suddenly his face brightened.

  “I almost forgot,” Ralph said. He rooted around his jacket pocket.   “Here we go, Wendy. Look, I got you a little present. A kaleidoscope.”

  “A Clyde-a what?” Wendy said.

  “A kaleidoscope. You hold it up to your eye, look in it, and you’ll see lots of beautiful colors. It makes the world magic.”

  “You can take it, Wendy,” her mother said. Ralph smiled as he held out the gift for his daughter. Wendy took it cautiously and began to peer through it.

  “Are you going to sign?” Stacey whispered.

  Ralph watched Wendy. She had a bright, inquisitive expression. If Ralph could always bring a smile to his daughter’s face. Could always make the world magical. So that when he wasn't there, he'd know that when she thought of her father, she’d miss him.

  Ralph flattened his palm, and with the paper pressed against it, signed his name. He adjusted the paper, so the place to record the date was supported by his hand. Then he scribbled it in. He extended his arm so the sheet was within comfortable reading range, but Stacey pulled it from his hands.

  Ralph’s stomach had settled a bit now. He sat straight up on the sofa, took out a mint, and popped it in his mouth.

  The front door opened. Stacey walked in.

  “You call that parking? Your car is half on the sidewalk. What’s wrong with you?”

  “I’m sick, goddamn it. Don’t you have any pity?”

  Stacey turned, looking for her daughter. “Where’s Wendy?”

  “She’s fine,” Ralph said. “Just fine and dandy.”

  Stacey rushed to the bedroom door. Turned the knob, but stopped when she heard her daughter crying. She glared at her ex-husband.

  “It’s OK, Wendy. It’s mommy. Don’t be afraid.”

  “Tell him to go away.” Wendy’s voice registered severe distress. “Tell him to go and never come back.”

  “How did those marks get there? Stacey said, pointing at the door.

  “Yea, right. I’m always the bad guy,” Ralph said. “And you’re so innocent. But me. I’m evil, right? Pure evil. You want to see evil? Fine. I’ll show you evil.” He got up, and pointed a threatening finger. Tracey opened her purse and pulled out a revolver.

  “Get out of here,” she screamed, aiming the gun at Ralph. She took a deep breath. Then quietly: “The door. Get out of here and don’t come back. Ever.” Ralph moved cautiously, his body bending away from the gun barrel. Stacey kept the weapon trained on him. Ralph walked to the front door, his eyes facing the carpet, his arm cradling his stomach.

  “Tell her I hope she likes the kaleidoscope,” Ralph said. He waited for a reply. But even if he stood there forever, he wouldn’t get one. Then just like that he left. Stacey waited a moment. She went towards the door, peered out, closed it and locked it. She returned the gun to her purse.

  “It’s OK now, Wendy. You can come out. You’re safe. I promise.”