Debates Before Dinner
Roger felt the urge to tell Amelia that she was wrong, but he kept his mouth shut. He turned the steering wheel, his hands firmly at ten and two, and arrived in his driveway. There was a tension in the air as Amelia waited for his response, but he didn't say anything. He wondered if she'd stay that way until he said what he was thinking, but she didn't.
"What do you want to do then?"
Roger didn't think the question was quite that innocent, after all they had just come out of argument on where to send their four year old for kindergarten, and while Roger felt a private school could award their son with a better education, Amelia felt it would alienate the child from diverse experience.
"I don't know what I want for dinner. You obviously don't want Italian, again, and that was my choice, but you didn't sound to sure that's what you wanted." Roger took a breath realizing he had unloaded his response in one breath, without any air to consider his tone, he was sure had come off rather rash, and abrupt.
"I didn't say I didn't want it, again, but you're right, having it, again, would be too soon. You know how your stomach gets when you eat pasta, you have a gluten intolerance."
"I do not have a gluten intolerance." Roger realized he sounded more defensive than he had meant to and he didn't one-hundred percent believe his own statement, he shook his head and took a deep breath, "Let's just do what you want to do?"
"You always pass it off to me. You always want me to make the choice for you."
"Because," Roger stopped, closed his eyes, considered his answer and said, "You will end up making it anyways, I said Italian, you said we already had that, which is fine, though I don't think there's a rule about eating the same thing two days in a row. I said I wanted to sent Walt to that private school uptown and you said you didn't like the atmosphere, so."
Amelia unbuckled her seat belt midway through Rogers rant in anticipation of her retort, she turned her body to face him, "Wait, when did this come back to Walt. You said you didn't mind sending him to public school."
"We aren't talking about that, I just meant it as an example, like lets just talk about dinner." Roger unbuckled his seat belt and went to open his door to leave.
"We weren't talking about that, but apparently its all, connected." Amelia wiggled her fingers in the air to emphasize the magical implications of connectedness. "So, we may have been talking about dinner, and not getting Italian food, again, but apparently we now are talking about Walt."
"You think just because you took an education class in college, and learned the dangers of charter schools, and their segregation, implications, or racism or whatever, that you know all about every single one of them, but the truth is, whether we like it or not public education is gutted, its dead, dying, gone. It doesn't award the same opportunity."
"Oh my god. That's why."
"What?"
"Because of people like you," She sits back with mouth agape, "Because people like you abandon it, shut it out, adopt the bullshit, because of people like you."
Roger scoffs to himself at his wife's absurdity, "I'm not the bad guy here. I just want our kid to have all the opportunities he can have."
"And i don't? You're so full of shit Roger." Amelia lets out an exasperated sigh as Roger stares stoically ahead, she opens her door, eyes still locked on him and steps out of the car. She slams her passenger door and opens the back door.
She leans in and unbuckles little Walt's seat belt and takes him out. "Come on sweetie, lets get you cleaned up."
"Hey don't forget his blanket," Roger says as he opens his door. "You know how he gets without it."
She keeps walking toward the front door, and Roger opens the door to the back seat and collects the knitted blue blanket his mother had made for their son.
He shuts the back door.
And follows them into their home.
Roger felt the urge to tell Amelia that she was wrong, but he kept his mouth shut. He turned the steering wheel, his hands firmly at ten and two, and arrived in his driveway. There was a tension in the air as Amelia waited for his response, but he didn't say anything. He wondered if she'd stay that way until he said what he was thinking, but she didn't.
"What do you want to do then?"
Roger didn't think the question was quite that innocent, after all they had just come out of argument on where to send their four year old for kindergarten, and while Roger felt a private school could award their son with a better education, Amelia felt it would alienate the child from diverse experience.
"I don't know what I want for dinner. You obviously don't want Italian, again, and that was my choice, but you didn't sound to sure that's what you wanted." Roger took a breath realizing he had unloaded his response in one breath, without any air to consider his tone, he was sure had come off rather rash, and abrupt.
"I didn't say I didn't want it, again, but you're right, having it, again, would be too soon. You know how your stomach gets when you eat pasta, you have a gluten intolerance."
"I do not have a gluten intolerance." Roger realized he sounded more defensive than he had meant to and he didn't one-hundred percent believe his own statement, he shook his head and took a deep breath, "Let's just do what you want to do?"
"You always pass it off to me. You always want me to make the choice for you."
"Because," Roger stopped, closed his eyes, considered his answer and said, "You will end up making it anyways, I said Italian, you said we already had that, which is fine, though I don't think there's a rule about eating the same thing two days in a row. I said I wanted to sent Walt to that private school uptown and you said you didn't like the atmosphere, so."
Amelia unbuckled her seat belt midway through Rogers rant in anticipation of her retort, she turned her body to face him, "Wait, when did this come back to Walt. You said you didn't mind sending him to public school."
"We aren't talking about that, I just meant it as an example, like lets just talk about dinner." Roger unbuckled his seat belt and went to open his door to leave.
"We weren't talking about that, but apparently its all, connected." Amelia wiggled her fingers in the air to emphasize the magical implications of connectedness. "So, we may have been talking about dinner, and not getting Italian food, again, but apparently we now are talking about Walt."
"You think just because you took an education class in college, and learned the dangers of charter schools, and their segregation, implications, or racism or whatever, that you know all about every single one of them, but the truth is, whether we like it or not public education is gutted, its dead, dying, gone. It doesn't award the same opportunity."
"Oh my god. That's why."
"What?"
"Because of people like you," She sits back with mouth agape, "Because people like you abandon it, shut it out, adopt the bullshit, because of people like you."
Roger scoffs to himself at his wife's absurdity, "I'm not the bad guy here. I just want our kid to have all the opportunities he can have."
"And i don't? You're so full of shit Roger." Amelia lets out an exasperated sigh as Roger stares stoically ahead, she opens her door, eyes still locked on him and steps out of the car. She slams her passenger door and opens the back door.
She leans in and unbuckles little Walt's seat belt and takes him out. "Come on sweetie, lets get you cleaned up."
"Hey don't forget his blanket," Roger says as he opens his door. "You know how he gets without it."
She keeps walking toward the front door, and Roger opens the door to the back seat and collects the knitted blue blanket his mother had made for their son.
He shuts the back door.
And follows them into their home.
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