Next  DAY 

Another missed call. 

Ace sighed dramatically, dropping his head into his knees. He was sitting on a bath mat in his bathroom, contemplating calling his father yet again. He didn’t expect for it to take so long for the man to calm down. He absent mindedly shuffled the towel on his back to wipe away water. All the condensation from his hot shower made the bathroom steamy and it was starting to make him hot. 

He’s gonna be mad at me. I’m gonna be mad back at him and uncomfortable. So much for not forgetting what mother told me.

He covered his head with the towel, as if hiding himself from the embarrassment he felt. 

If he was here and he saw me like this, he’d tell me off for crying like a little boy instead of facing my problems. 

Instead, memories of a better time came back to him. 

Maman’s laughter floating around. The smell of fresh cookies in the air. His feet dangling off the counter, he couldn’t move from where his Maman sat him. He was her “official taste tester” after all. His Papa’s cologne mixed with the cookies in the air when he walked into the kitchen. His Papa’s face watching them, the usual furrow in his brow wasn’t there. 

“You have a great power inside you, use it Ace”.

He smiled at her, nodding. Not seeing his Papa frown at her words.

That was right before things started to go bad. 

When everything did go bad, he took Maman away. 

He tore off the towel, getting to his feet. He made sure not to look into the mirror, not wanting to see himself. Slamming his hand over the light switch to turn it off, he nearly slammed the door shut before the sound of the tv reminded him yet again that he was not alone. He shot his hand out to stop it and he left it cracked open. 

He quietly crept to his room and went to bed, not in the mood to say goodnight to his guest. 

Of course his lack of socialization would come back to bite him in the morning. 

A knock at his door woke him up in the morning. Mr. Wilson was on the other side when he opened it causing Ace to nearly jump out of his skin at the sight of the man. 

Mr. Wilson looked a bit sheepish, lowering his hand. 

“I wasn’t sure if you would be able to hear me. If um… knocking still works for me”.

“I could hear it”.

The older man smiled at him. 

“Well you can see me, so it’s not impossible to believe you can hear me”.

“Yeah”, Ace breaks eye contact, shuffling his feet.

“Oh! Sorry,” Mr. Wilson laughs, “I wanted to ask if you wanted to make breakfast together”.

“Together?”.

“I can’t eat but I couldn’t help but notice… you don’t cook much and I remember not cooking much either at your age. I married my wife and that issue sorted itself out,” he laughs, “but your generation doesn’t marry like mine did and it worries me you eating like you do. I can help teach you something my wife taught me. If you can indulge an old man?”. 

He still has his smile when he finishes his explanation and Ace is reminded of how his mother always had a smile when she talked to him. He didn’t want to make the old man lose his smile. So he said “sure” despite the knots forming in his stomach.

It didn’t take long for them to have the ingredients assembled and laid out in an organized spread in front of them, much to Mr. Wilson’s surprise.

“You have more than I thought you would”, he beamed.

“My Dad sends someone over every once in a while with stuff”, Ace mumbles.

“He doesn’t come himself?”.

Ace looks away from the questioning look and questioning tone, shaking his head.

“He doesn’t want to come here. He says it’s run down and- he just doesn’t like it”. 

Ace tries to take the heat off his father, something Mr. Wilson picks up on quietly. 

The old man claps his hands together. 

“This is a recipe my wife taught me when she left to help our daughter, Allie. She just had a baby and my wife had a little bit of vacation time saved up. I used all mine up when I threw my back out taking out some old furniture my wife wanted to get rid of”. 

He stood over the ingredients, raising his finger in the air.

“ ‘If nothing else, you can start your day with some food. A hearty omelet with cheese, ham’”, he gestured to Ace, “or bacon if we don’t have ham ‘and spinach for health’ she would say”. 

Ace nodded even though the older man wasn't looking.

“Now let’s get it done!”.

The first mistake was not greasing the pan and so they had to start over when the  eggs burned.

Then Ace cut his hand while chopping the spinach and the two had to run around looking for a band aid, only to realize Ace did not have any and so they looked for a substitute. 

And the second round of eggs burned during the fray. 

Thankfully the third time is always a charm. 

Part of the reason they messed up was Mr. Wilson’s drifting eyes. He had mainly seen Ace in passing and after Ace cut his hand, he began to quietly notice the thin lines fading around Ace’s wrist, like he had worn cuffs for a long time. With his staring he soon noticed the scars sticking up to Ace’s collar, almost barely visible. His mind drifted to where the wounds could have possibly come from, none of the ideas were good. Even now as Ace smiled down at their creation with a small smile, the elder man’s eyes still drifted.

An omelet, a little bit charred on the sides but it was cooked and overall looked decent. 

“You gotta work to eat young man”, the old man smiled.

Ace looked up at him with a beaming smile for the first time ever.

“Thank you Mr. Wilson. I haven’t cooked with someone since my Maman. She would always say the food was better when you made it yourself,” he smiled wider, “you could add your own love”. 

A memory flashed in the old man’s head.

 His son, Jensen, waddled up to him on his small legs, carrying a fish that he had caught.

“You caught this Daddy!?”, he nearly tumbled over from the weight of the fish.

He bent down to take it away only for the boy to pull away with his face scrunched up.

“I wanna be cool like you Daddy! ‘You gotta work to eat’, right?”.

He laughed, bending down at the waist.

“Yes you do, son”.

The old man wiped away his tears, looking at the young man with a smile.

Ace’s smile was gone, replaced with a look of concern.

“I’m sorry if I.. did something to make you upset”.

Mr. Wilson laughed quietly. 

“You did nothing Ace. You’re a good man. It’s just… you reminded me of my son for a second. When he was young”.

Ace looked down at the omelet, sounding small when he spoke next.

“Is that good?”.

“Good?”.

“... did I remind you of bad memories? I’m-”.

“No young man. All good memories. When he would come up to me and our relationship was better. … when he was better. Just like you probably went up to your own Dad”.

Ace shifted his eyes back and forth, still not making eye contact but he nodded unsurely. 

Mr. Wilson tilted his head to the side. 

“I’m sure you have some good memories with your Dad, Ace”.

“Yeah. Some are good”. 

“Oh. Then you're like me, huh?”.

The Old Man ran a hand over his face feeling tired, but he kept a small smile in place for Ace.

“You should eat your food before it gets cold. A man should be able to enjoy the fruit of his labor”. 

Ace hesitated a bit, but cut a small piece and took a bite.

“It’s good”, he said under his breath, looking up at the older man. 

The sight that greeted him made him stop in his tracks.

Mr. Wilson was crying silently, turned away from him so Ace couldn’t see his face, but the gentle shaking of his shoulder gave him away. 

“I’m sorry Mr. Wilson”.

He got another bout of laughter. 

“My son always apologizes when he messes up. But I can’t for the life of me figure out what you did wrong for you to be sorry for”. 

“I don’t know either but … you’re upset”.

The Old Man turned his head to the side, addressing Ace but not fully showing his face.

“It’s just - my son. I went wrong with him somewhere along the line and you remind me of him before things went wrong. I- I couldn’t give him the help he needed and now he’s strung out on drugs and he kil- he … murdered his own dad… strung out on drugs. It was an accident, he just needed money but my granddaughter was there and my money goes to my grandkids now so I couldn’t help him. I’ve been helping him all his life. I just- I don’t- I didn’t have it in me anymore”.

The old man broke down, placing a hand on the table to steady himself.

“I always had to pull myself up by the bootstraps but he never could. I just thought he needed to figure out his problems himself so I never- I never talked to him and he sought help somewhere else. … my granddaughter was there … she saw her Daddy kill me- she saw everything and she was screaming her head off. Not understanding why her Daddy wasn’t acting himself, “ he sobbed, “ he just needs help before the police get to him and he’s not gonna go get it and the cops aren’t gonna- they’re not-”.

He falls slowly to his knees, lifting his arms to his chest, sobbing. 

He stays suspended in the air, but Ace tries to reach for him. And again he stops short, not knowing what to do properly.

“I can help him”, Ace blurts out without thinking. He just wants to be helpful.

Mr. Wilson doesn’t hear him at first. So he leans in closer, speaking more forcefully.

“I can help him, Mr Wilson”.

The old man gets up halfway, sitting on the back of his legs. He’s still facing the other way, but he shakes his head. 

“You should find your Mom”.

Ace recoils back as if the older man had shouted at him. 

Silence passes between them for a few moments. follows his words.

“That's not fair on you. I was-  all of this was too much for me. I shouldn’t have asked you to help, it’s not fair on you”.

He places a hand on the counter, getting to his feet. He still faces away from Ace.

“It’s too late for me to do anything about my situation but… he'll end up going to jail where maybe it will get him clean. He needs serious help,”.

He turns to face Ace, halfway.

“You can try to find your mother … that would be better for you to do. I’m sure she would want to see just how much her boy grew into a young man with his superpower. He’s like a hero, helping those in need”. 

Ace stared at him for a long while. Long enough for the old man to falter and look away. 

Ace looked away as well.

“It’s been a long time. I don’t know - I should help you first ... so she can be proud of something”.

He looked away awkwardly.

Mr. Wilson laughs.

“There’s no way for you to help me Ace. Unless you talk to the cops and find my son so he can come in peacefully. But- he might get himself killed. On drugs and talking to the cops after killing- after … what he did”.

The old man places his hands on the counter, taking in a deep breath. He looks beaten down by the severity of everything. 

But he forces a smile, for a split second.

“Help yourself Ace. You're a nice young man, you don’t deserve to get caught up in my mess”.

Ace nods. 

His father didn’t raise him to talk back after all.