Cutting Scenes - The Fine Line

actually thriving. In a little kid’s voice, I tentatively called
out, “Daddy?” When there was no answer, like a detective
securing a crime scene, I quickly swept the premises. Obviously,
nobody was home. I peeked into but was reluctant to closely
inspect my Dad and Mother’s bedroom.
OK, I told myself, remember to breathe. Since it was a
beautiful spring day, Dad would likely have walked either into
town or to the park on the way toward town. I decided to drive
into town first so I could pick up a few things like diet coke,
which he never kept on hand. I parked at the McDonald’s and
decided to check inside, since the restaurant is one of those
destinations for local seniors who cannot afford Starbuck’s.
That was how I came across Dad and Cynthia in their compromised
embrace. I had not intended to spy; it had not even occurred to
me that my father would be making out (gross) at McDonald’s with
that woman.
Oblivious to my lurking as they snuggled up, the two of
them malingered over paper cups of tepid tea used to secure
their extended stay at the restaurant. Dismissing my own
regressive state, I began to muse about the similarities of
mindset in old age and adolescence: the propensity to ignore
consequences, the disregard for societal norms, and the abject
negation of long-standing family traditions. I caught myself
inadvertently bobbing my head to Janis Joplin’s anthem:
Freedom’s just another word for nuthin’ left to lose. Shaking
the lyrical diversion off, I shifted back into disciplinary mode
and quickly retreated from the restaurant. Fortunately, my
father, who only had eyes for Cynthia, had not noticed my
presence.
Returning to the house and sitting on the living room sofa
to await the return of the dynamic duo, I considered my father’s
uncharacteristically neat stack of magazines and selected a news
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