2. Hank
HANK
There’s a reason the most famous video game hero in history is a plumber.
It’s because in real life, we plumbers are heroes. We go where most people dare not go. We journey into treacherous pipes and vanquish substances that would make the average person recoil in horror. And we do it all with a smile on our faces.
Has Captain America ever unclogged a toilet? I don’t think so.
Currently, I’m unscrewing a pipe underneath the Kinczyks’ kitchen sink on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. All of their dirty dishes from the big feast are stacked on the counter. The husband and wife, both in their sixties, watch me from a few feet away, fear and hope dancing in their eyes.
“I always remember to take off my wedding ring before I do the dishes,” Elsie says. Her husband Karl hugs her to his chest and pats her shoulder. “I was so tired after Thanksgiving, I forgot.”
“All that turkey,” I say from under the sink. “My mom was the same way. She couldn’t go to bed with dishes in the sink.”
I remove the pipe from under the sink and dig my fingers into the grimy opening, digging around the muck. My fingers come into contact with something hard and smooth. I nudge around the object, tracing along its circular shape.
A few seconds later, I pull out a gunk-covered diamond ring.
The rock sparkles through the grossness.
Feeling the weight in my hand, I try to remember what it felt like to wear a ring.
It seems like an eternity ago that I was twisting one around my finger when I was nervous or listening to it clang against the doorknob.
Elsie and Karl recoil at the sullied sight of her jewelry.
“Just like new, huh?” I joke.
I’ve been a plumber since I graduated high school. I had no idea what to do with my life; all I knew was that college was not for me. I’d sorta checked out of school in eighth grade. Once you learn algebra, do you really need the rest of it?
My mom and dad, rest in peace, suggested I learn a trade. Dad’s friend was a plumber who drove a BMW convertible and smoked cigars; that was all the motivation my eighteen-year-old self needed to be his apprentice and learn the plumbing trade. (Did I mention it was a red BMV convertible?)
Some people have lofty career ambitions, but I’m grateful to do a job that I never have to take home with me.
Unless my own pipes burst, which thankfully hasn’t happened.
I like helping people. I like knowing that no matter how much our world changes, I’ll always have customers because people will never stop using the toilet, shower, or sink.
I like that I never have to join a Zoom conference call. Those sound terrible.
I wipe away the remaining grime to reveal a beautiful silver wedding band. Gratitude lights up their faces.
“Does this ring moonlight as a taser? Because it’s stunning!”
“Hank, you’re a lifesaver!” Elsie squeals. For a moment, it looks like she’s about to hug me before realizing what’s all over my shirt and hands.
“My pleasure.” I stand up and wipe my hands on a rag. I place the ring on a paper towel on the counter. “I know people have fancy ring cleaners, but all you need is some warm water and some dish soap. Really. A few drops of Dawn, scrub with an old toothbrush, and it’ll be good as new.”
I scooch back under the sink and reassemble the pipe, then put all their cleaning products back in an organized fashion. I run the water to ensure no leaks. As usual, my work is immaculate.
“All right,” I say. “That about does it.”
“Thank you so much, as always,” Karl says.
“Anytime,” I tell them. “You know where to find me.”
Elsie shuffles over to her desk and pulls out a checkbook. “How much do we owe you?”
I wave it off. “This one’s on the house.”
“Are you serious?” She plants a hand on her hip, scolding me the way I’m sure she once did to her classroom of second graders.
Karl crinkles his brow, his crow’s feet getting extra deep. “Hank…”
“It was a ten-minute job. I was on my way home. You called, I came. Easy breezy.”
They exchange a look, unsure what to say. I’ve done lots of jobs for them over the years. If my business had punch cards, they would’ve been eligible for a free job a while ago.
“Use that money and buy your grandkids an extra present for Christmas.”
Elsie hugs me and kisses my cheek. “You’re a good one, Hank. A real good egg. To think how Cathy treated you…” Her sweet grandmotherly features turn hard.
I shrug, not wanting to get into the muck and grime of my personal life. “It’s in the past.”
“Maybe this Christmas, you’ll find a sweet girl, one who actually appreciates you,” Karl says with conviction.
“Tis the season for miracles.” I pack up my gear and haul to the front door. “Happy Holidays!”
“Wait!” Elsie exclaims. “We have tons of leftovers. Take some.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“I insist!” She shuffles to the fridge.
Karl puts a hand on my shoulder. “Resistance is futile, Hank. Take the Tupperware.”
A little while later, I return home with two containers full of Thanksgiving leftovers under my arm. Multiple microscopes and rows of petri dishes filled with water cover the surface of my dining table.
A large three-paneled poster sits on the table, with images of the Hudson River and MICROPLASTICS written at the top. Brody is sitting at the far corner of the table hunched over his laptop.
“Should I be wearing a hazmat suit?” I ask my teenage son.
“Sorry, Dad. I just need to test these samples, then I will put them away.” He checks his computer and bites his lip. “Can I have a few more days of taking over the dining table? The science fair is Thursday.”
“Sure thing, pal. I wasn’t planning on using this table until Christmas.
” I put the Tupperware on a cleared-off sliver of table and kiss the tangle of curls atop the head.
He inherited my shaggy hair and his mom’s dark chestnut eyes.
As for his sky-high IQ, my ex-wife and I have no idea where that came from.
“So, what are we testing?”
“Microplastics in our water supply.”
“Wonderful,” I deadpan. “I’m terrified to know the answer.”
“Sourwood’s water supply is within acceptable levels. The Hudson River, though, is another story.”
I grab a pair of plates and silverware from the kitchen.
I make a plate of Thanksgiving leftovers for Brody and put it on an empty chair.
I balance my plate on my lap. I watch Brody in action, testing samples, typing up his findings, eyes moving from microscope to computer effortlessly, his brain working at a higher level than mine ever could.
This kid amazes me every single day. Seriously. He’s at the top of his class. He wins science awards. He knows his way around a computer operating system like I know my way around a septic tank.
But he’s not just smart. He’s personable and warm and dryly funny. He loves comic books and taught himself how to play the drums. I showed him Tommy Boy, and he laughed so hard he fell off the couch. The kid has taste.
I can’t believe that I get to call him my son. Even though it seems as though he’s speaking a different language, I love seeing how his mind works. The hardest part about being divorced is joint custody. When Brody isn’t here, the house is too quiet.
Sometimes I wonder if high school me would’ve shoved him into a locker or called him a nerd.
Despite being part of South Rock High’s championship-winning hockey team and thus very popular, I only shoved two kids into lockers in my whole high school tenure.
In my defense, they both deserved it. One kid heckled us when we lost a playoff game.
The other grabbed Stacy Mancuso’s ass on the lunch line.
Brody shovels turkey and stuffing into his mouth as he hunches over his computer. He’s big now. A man. Seventeen. Going off to college in the fall. He shaves. He’s as tall as me, though he doesn’t have my big gut. His voice dropped.
When did all this happen? Wasn’t I just body slamming his little toddler self on the couch and building Lego Towers with him?
Where did the time go?
“The science fair will have to wear extra padding because this is going to kick so much butt. Ready to win first prize?”
“Dad, don’t jinx me.”
As a hockey player, I know all about jinxes. “Fair enough.”
Brody loves everything I hated in high school—learning, books, tests. I was into sports, lunch, and calling into radio stations at the pay phone to win concert tickets.
He pours liquid from a petri dish into a beaker, then swirls it around studying its contents. He looks up, catches me watching him. “What?”
I shake my head, trying to savor every moment with him. “Nothing. I’m just having one of those ‘I can’t believe my son is grown up’ moments.”
“Dad.”
“I can’t control when these moments come. They’re like my heartburn episodes. And they’re coming more frequently now that you’re a senior and applying to colleges.”
Brody bites his lower lip and shuts his laptop. “Dad, I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”
“What is it?” I drag my dining chair close to him, swing it around, and sit backwards on it, AC Slater-style. I’ve done it since high school, and I have no intention of stopping.
“I know we talked about me going to SUNY Binghamton, but I was talking to my teachers, and there’s another school they think I should apply to.” He looks up at me with his big, brown eyes. “Stanford.”
“Cool. Is that in New York, too?”
“It’s in Palo Alto…California.”
“California as in that state literally on the other side of the country?”
“They have the top computer science and environmental science programs in the country.”
“Doesn’t the state of California burn down from wildfires once a year? And it never snows there.”
“The wildfires are in Southern California, and there are mountains where you can ski.”
Leave it to my son to know everything.
“It’s a reach, but my teachers think I have a real shot of getting in. Stanford’s very generous with need-based financial aid, too.”