A Bedtime Story

He sat down next to me in a dirty old flannel shirt and coughed loudly. He placed a weathered and well worked hand on my head and breathed a crackling sigh.
“Christ on Sunday, I wish I was still a smoker…so then scout, I’ll be guessin’ you want to hear a story. Like the ones your dad tells, eh? Well seein’ as you’re all snuggled under those blankets I suppose I should tell you one. Let’s see… how old are you Tommy? Seven right? Yeah yeah…seven… Alright, tell you what Tommy…I’m going to tell you the last story I ever told your father when he was a kid… I think he was right around seven…Anyway, here goes.
Once upon a time there was a little boy with yellow hair and eyes as blue as the sea. He had everything he could ever want in life; a home, two parents who loved him and a dog named Spot. Spot was a good dog, full of energy and life. He loved the little boy and the boy loved him. One sunny day, Spot and the boy were playing outside by the road, even though his mother had told him time and time again to never, ever play near the road. Anyway, the day was sunny and bright and the boy was playing fetch with his dog. The boy would throw a tennis ball to Spot and Spot would jump up and snatch it right out of the air and the boy would laugh and Spot would bring the ball back. Everything was going fine until the boy threw the ball just a bit too hard. Spot ran after it, straight into the road and under the milkman’s wheel. Poor Spot. Poor boy. He cried and cried and cried and there was nothing his parents could do. They took the boy out of school and he lay in his bed all day, cradling Spots collar and crying and crying. His mother became worried and took time off of work to stay home and look after the poor boy. One day, as the boy lay in his bed crying and crying, there was a knock at the door. The little boy heard a man’s voice talking to his mother and, being a curious tyke, wiped his nose and scurried down the stairs to investigate like only a little boy can. He crept into the kitchen and gasped! The milkman was in the kitchen with his mother, kissing her closely and slowly. The little boy was sad and confused, so he crept back upstairs and pretended to fall asleep. The boy lay in that bed for days, listening for the milkman’s arrival. He came everyday at the same time, and every day the boy pretended to be asleep. One day was different though. One day the little boy heard his father bang open the door and cheerfully shout: ‘I’m home! And look what I found on the way over!’ The little boy heard the yip of a puppy dog and his heart soared. His feet had scarcely hit the floor when the yelling began. He heard the milkman yelling and his father yelling and his mother yelling and the puppy barking and he became scared. He crawled back into his bed and put the sheets over his head and clutched Spots collar close to his chest. He finally fell asleep, and when he awoke the house was silent. He crept downstairs and found his father, all alone at the dinner table with red eyes and foul smelling breath. He looked at the little boy and said ‘Mommy went away for awhile. It’s just you and me for awhile, OK buddy?’ and the boy looked at his father and asked ‘What about the puppy?’ His fathered smiled and told him it had gone back where it had come from, that this home was no place for such an innocent and lovely thing like a puppy. The little boy’s life was ruined. He grew up and never saw his mother again. He went to a state college, received a degree in economics and spent his entire life behind a desk working for a jackass named Mr. Johnson. All of that, just because he played near the road.
There, wasn’t that a good story?” He laughed and turned out the light. “Good night Tommy."