The Electric Chair
Lance C. Burri
“Dinner!” Billy heard his father’s voice, muffled as it reached his room through the floor. He wasn’t hungry, but put down the comic he was reading and went out into the hallway anyway. He could see well enough by the light from the living room on the stairway walls, so he didn’t bother turning the hall light on. The door to his sister’s room was still closed, and Billy pressed his ear against it as he went by. Sometimes he could overhear her talking on the phone. He couldn’t hear anything this time, though, and went on down the stairs.
His father had set up TV trays, one in front of his chair and two more in front of the couch. A second chair sat opposite his father’s, and a coffee table which had been moved to accommodate the trays. A polished wooden plaque on the wall above the television read “Home of The Joneses” in lavender paint. “Sorry dinner’s so late,” said his father. Billy jumped onto the couch, sliding his feet underneath the tray. The lasagna was still steaming.
“S’okay,” he answered. “I had a snack after school.”
They watched Pat Sajak introduce the contestants. Billy drank milk from a plastic cup, waiting for the lasagna to cool.
“Where’s your sister?”
“Her room, I guess.” Billy’s father called upstairs again, then moved his tray, grumbling to himself, when there was no response. He rose and walked to the stairs.
Billy blew on a small fork-full, testing it gently with his tongue before eating it. He could hear his father’s knock upstairs, then his voice, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. His heavy footsteps thudded down the hall, and a minute later the middle-aged man walked back into the living room. He went to the third tray and picked up the plate. “You want any of this?” he asked, his voice hard-edged. When Billy shook his head his father scraped most of its contents onto his own plate, then picked up the unused cup and carried them into the kitchen. Billy heard the milk go down the drain.
His father was pulling his shirttails out of his pants when he came back in. His tie had already come off, draped over the briefcase he had left near the front door. The snap would be next. Billy’s father was always saying he needed new pants, and his mother always said that it was cheaper to lose weight. He pulled the tray up to his lap and began to eat in earnest, barely looking at America’s favorite game show.
Twenty minutes later Billy carefully slid under his tray, ducking his head until he knew he was clear. His father was already finished and had pushed his tray to one side so that he could kick the footrest out of his chair. His 7-up can was propped against the inside of his leg. “Done, Billy?” he asked, glancing at the eight-year old.
“Yeah,” the boy answered, trotting away from his half-empty plate and around the end of the couch. He headed for the stairs, but stopped as the front door opened. His mother followed the door as she pushed it, holding a briefcase and a purse awkwardly in one hand, bracing the door with the same arm and jiggling the key out of the lock with the other. That done, she stepped in and dropped her things.
“Hi, sweetie,” she said to Billy as she removed her coat.
“Hi, Mom. ŒNother late day, huh?”
His mother smiled apologetically. “Yeah. I’m afraid so.” She closed the door and walked into the room. Billy’s father turned around in his chair and acknowledged his wife’s entrance. “Hi, hon,” she said in reply. “You learn a lot in school today, Billy?”
“Naw,” he said. “Jeff hadda go to the office for yelling at the teacher, though.”
“Great,” she said, a sardonic hint in her voice. “Any dinner left?” she asked her husband.
He shook his head. “I just cooked up that frozen lasagna,” he said. She nodded, kicking off her shoes.
Billy headed upstairs. Halfway up, he heard his sister’s door closing, and she passed him as he reached the top. “Watch out,” she said, nudging him over with her elbow. Tanya was fifteen, with straight blondish-brown hair like her mother’s. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans, ripped at the knees, and a tank top cut off at the middle. Billy sat cross-legged at the top of the stairs and peered through the banister, where he could see nearly the entire living room.
“Where are you going,” his father asked as she came down the stairs.
Tanya pulled a windbreaker out of the closet. “To Laurie’s,” she answered.
“It’s getting kind of late,” her mother said, standing by the couch. “How come you’re going to Laurie’s?”
“I won’t be gone long, Mom.”
“Is anyone else going to be there?” she asked.
Tanya finished pulling on her jacket and zipped it, keeping her eyes lowered to her business. “I don’t know, Mom,” she said.
“Kevin isn’t going to be there, is he?”
Tanya slammed the closet door and turned angrily toward her mother, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “Are you ever going to give me a break, Mom?” she asked. Billy pressed his face up to the banister, not wanting to miss the argument he knew was coming.
“I’m just trying to look out for you...”
“Well I can look out for myself!” Tanya interrupted, her voice rising into a screech.
“Honey,” her mother continued, her own voice hardening, “Kevin is not the kind of guy we think you should be dating.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Tanya spat, turning around dismissively.
“Hey, you watch your mouth,” her father called, turning around in his chair. “And you listen to your mother, young lady.”
Tanya just shook her head in apparent frustration and reached for the door.
“Hold on, Tanya,” her mother said, taking a few steps toward her and assuming a stern demeanor. “Have you even done your homework yet?”
Tanya only looked back for a moment. “Christ, Mom, will you get off my case!” She walked out, slamming the door behind her.
Her mother watched the door for a few seconds before dropping her hands in futility and turning back to the living room. She walked around the living room set, dropped herself into the other easy chair across from her husband. “That girl just doesn’t want to listen anymore,” she said.
Her husband shrugged. “What’re you gonna do? Kids are like that all over the place these days.” He lifted the can to his lips, forgetting that it was already empty. He reached out and placed it on the coffee table, disappointed. “Maybe we should ground her, you know?”
His wife was shaking her head. “Maybe we should see a counselor or something.”
She pushed the footrest out of her chair and leaned back with her eyes closed. The man sighed out loud and focused his attention on the television.
“I’m so tired,” said his wife. “I think I’ll just fall asleep right here.”
“Seinfeld’s on later,” he answered.
“Hmmm,” she considered. “Maybe you could tape it?”
“Sure. We gotta tape?”
She shrugged and rolled her shoulders, pressing deeper into the chair.
Billy stood up quietly, the excitement apparently over. He had hoped to hear how his parents were going to punish Tanya, but it looked like they weren’t going to talk about it anymore. He walked into their bedroom and switched on the television there. The Simpsons would be on in a few minutes.
