Dephon’s father had a power--a super power. Singleton Johnson had the amazing ability to blend seamlessly into the sofa.
Dephon wasn’t sure if it was due to his father’s fourteen-plus years of practice or some innate ability, but on days when his father wore his cream cardigan, beige cargo pants, and faded white socks‑‑which was everyday‑‑he almost disappeared. Dephon could always tell his father was there from the black remote gripped tightly in his hand.
As far back as Dephon could remember his father had always been on the couch. So of course, on March 26, when he entered their two-story Tudor-style home through the underground passage that linked the school’s sewer system to his home, he wasn’t surprised to find his father in his cream cardigan, beige cargo pants, and faded white socks‑‑on the couch.
“Hello, Dephon. How was school?” his father asked in an uninterested monotone.
Dephon really wanted to tell him the truth, that school was a nightmare. The thugs on the football team had filled his locker with urine again. Kerry Dorsey thought it would be hilarious to put a dissected frog from the Biology lab on his seat during English class. And to top it all off, he’d gotten a D-plus on his Math test.
He decided to settle for, "Same as usual."
"We need to talk," his father said, his monotone even flatter than usual. "Sit down."
"Hm?" Dephon looked over at the recliner and realized the usual tell-tale copy of "Us" magazine was missing. Not believing his eyes, he swept the pleather with his hands. Nothing. But . . . where was his--
"Son, your mother has moved out."
"And this is Rochelle. She'll be staying here awhile..."
"Hello, Dephon," said the reading lamp, which, Dephon now noticed, was wearing a leopard skin halter-top.
Opening: Folami Morris.....Continuation: Anon.