Making Dad Proud

A quick story I spewed out of my brain drainage:

            Rubio walked into the sparsely crowded high school gymnasium enveloped by sounds of a basketball game. His snapshot mind memorized fresh faces and body postures of parents and casual observers along with all-age cell phone obsessed non-observers sprinkled along the bleachers and across all four corners of the gym before focusing on the teams at play. The home team wore darkened green uniforms with black lettering, matching their school’s heavily present color scheme, while the away team adorned blue uniforms with yellow lettering.

With every immediate individual accounted for, Rubio re-analyzed all of the entrances and exits, checking for any he may have overlooked in relation to the outer perimeter’s schematics, but every way leading in and out of the building synced with his previous exterior exploration. For now, Rubio could enjoy the game.

Both teams were fundamentally flawed but heavily competitive. The home team distributed the ball evenly, displaying good teamwork. The blue team looked full of individual talent. During a steal, Rubio singled out one of the home team’s players; a young man familiar to his ideas. The young man looked like Rubio’s son – slender but not lanky, sporting crisply cut black hair, and wandering eyes of wonder; heavily thinking, always two steps ahead.  He had good eyes for distribution, he played his role well. He wasn’t good enough yet for the varsity team, but by his senior year, he’d be a critical team member – good in assists, better on defense.

Rubio cheered his son on. “Do your best!” he exclaimed over the crowd. It turned some heads but that was okay. He was proud of his son and would cheer him to the very end. Besides, his real rewarding gift was his brain. He was in the top ten percent of his class, slightly geeky, but capably social when necessary.

The team’s basketball rotation wound up in his son’s hands. He drove into the paint, psyching out his defender with a pump fake so he could bounce pass it underneath to the forward for a successful score. “Excellent!” Rubio joyfully exclaimed aloud.

What was wrong with all of the nonsense-obsessed technological ostriches with their heads buried in a tiny computer screen? Life’s spontaneous excitements passed them by; they should be paying attention to his son.

Rubio thoroughly imagined the consequences of sticking someone’s head in between the flexing beams underneath the bleachers. He wondered how much force it would take to kill someone. Would it merely break a neck, or with proper imposing force, could it decapitate a person? Surely, it wouldn’t be a surgical slice, probably a grisly scene of stretched, torn flesh and outwardly piercing bone shards.

            The grim scenario replayed itself in Rubio’s mind, gently easing him back into the surprising thrill of the junior varsity’s basketball game. As the play intensified during the closing minutes of the spirited contest, Rubio’s purpose entered the gym. Being the figurehead of a school’s administration, every principal’s voluntary appearance at school functions was definitely mandatory. Luke Walters was a town native with out of town secrets that buried him deep within bad peoples’ pockets and deeper into their business, qualifying him as, what Rubio’s client noted, a loose end. That was more than what Rubio wanted to know. All he needed was a name and a face. The rest came naturally.

            Walters paraded around the gymnasium, shaking hands, playing nice; buying trust. After finishing his public rounds, Walters left the gym. Rubio would have to follow him, abandoning his son. The natal compassion that would never materialize, the trophies which he hoped would decorate the hallways – melted down by cumbersome reality. During his senior year, Rubio hoped to take his son to Oaxaca to meet the rest of his family, maybe even take him to the annual reunion of his old platoon. However, as instantly as his son was born, his existence was erased. Rubio had never been married. He didn’t know of any possibly conceived offspring anywhere in the world, and he had traveled extensively. Fatherhood was momentary disguise, killing was how he made his living, and for a moment, Rubio felt good about accomplishing something besides another murder. The fun part was gone, the stalking was over. It was time to kill.