Natasha’s Father by Aron Feingold

Every day when Kenneth Stein came home from work, he did exactly three things before he took his nap, and always in the same order. First, he gave his daughter’s dog, Aragorn, a swift kick in the butt. One time when Aragorn was a puppy, Kenneth had not been prepared for the black lab’s rambunctious greeting and had been knocked off his front porch. Unfortunately for Kenneth, he lived on a hill and had rolled down his driveway, with Aragorn chasing after him and barking, until the collar of his jacket caught on the fire hydrant in front of his house and stopped his descent. Since then, Kenneth always prepared for what he referred to as “Aragorn’s daily attack.” Now, as the dog sprinted towards him, tongue dangling from his foaming mouth in his excited anticipation of Kenneth’s return, the humorless Kenneth geared up and kicked his daughter’s lab directly below his tail.

When he was finished dealing with the dog, Kenneth charged down the stairs into his only daughter’s bedroom. He was fifty-seven when his now seventeen year old daughter was conceived. Kenneth had four sons from a previous marriage whom he had not particularly enjoyed fathering, and had absolutely no intention of having another child. However, one night after four Bloody Mary’s, his second wife informed him that she wanted to have his child before he got too old to “get it up. If you’re not already too old,” she added, stroking his chest with her index finger.

Now, Kenneth knew that he was a man with several limitations and shortcomings, but he did not believe that his performance abilities were among them. While Kenneth was not particularly concerned by his reputation as a bad father, a curmudgeon, and a creep, he was invested in the rumors of his exceptional abilities to satisfy women. He had, after all, created four boys, he often thought to himself. It takes a pretty big man to do that. Anyway, after his wife’s challenge, Kenneth showed her exactly how capable he still was: he performed exactly seven times that same night. The next day, Kenneth was a little sore, but very pleased with himself, as was his wife with herself for tricking her husband into conceiving a child.

It was in this way that Natasha entered the Stein family. When her father returned home from work every day, she could anticipate his every movement up until his daily nap. First, she heard poor Aragorn’s shriek, then she heard Kenneth trudge down the stairs and into her bedroom.

“Good afternoon, honey. How was school?” Before Natasha could respond, Kenneth added, “So, have you considered that nose job at all? You know daddy will pay for it.”

Ever since Natasha could remember, her father had been perplexed by his daughter’s remarkably oversized schnozz, as he called it. Since she was eight, he had told her every day after school that he would be more than willing to pay for a nose job. Natasha had once asked how he would pay for such a surgery, and Kenneth had replied, “Well, out of your college money.”

“Don’t I need that money to go to college, daddy?” Natasha had asked.

“Honey, you’re not going anywhere with a schnozz that size,” her father had replied.

Because Kenneth had offered Natasha an all expenses paid nose job every day after school since the first grade, Natasha eventually ceased to respond to him at all. Sometimes, if she was feeling light-hearted, she would drape a sparkling red clown’s nose off the tip of her nose, which always annoyed her father. Beginning in high school, she started flipping him the bird about three times a week after Kenneth uttered his daily question.

The third and final thing which Natasha could always count on upon her father’s return from work was the buzz buzz buzzing of Kenneth’s electric nose hair clipper, and the Mariah Carey CD that he always played along with it. “That you would always be miiine,” she heard her father croon. His voice usually cracked on “mine.” Occasionally, Kenneth dropped his electric clipper, which was usually followed by “motherfuck a bitch!” Only after these three tasks were completed, could Kenneth prepare for his afternoon nap.

The two hours in which her father napped were Natasha’s favorites of the day. Shortly after Kenneth’s daily nose hair trimming, she heard him drop his slacks as his belt buckle clinked against the floor, fumble around removing his briefs as he never slept in underwear, and change into his “types of contraception” t-shirt in which he always napped. His eldest son had been a sexual education teacher and had sent his father this t-shirt from a conference. “Diaphragm, condom, female condom, the pill,” Kenneth read from his new t-shirt after he received it, noting the pictures drawn next to each name. “The only thing they’re missing is a real ugly chick.” Despite what he considered to be a major shortcoming of his t-shirt, he nevertheless liked it enough to wear it every day.

When she heard her father’s deep snores echo through the hallway, Natasha became truly elated, knowing she had the house entirely to herself for two hours, before her mother’s return from work and the end of her father’s nap. Sometimes, she wrote letters to one of her seven pen pals, who spanned across the United States, and one of whom lived in Canada. They were all lonely men in their forties or fifties, whom Natasha believed needed her emotional support and companionship.

“You have an emotional connection to these guys?” Kenneth barked when he had first intercepted one of her letters. “Those perverts probably just imagine going to bed with you.”

Natasha paid no attention to her father’s objections, and in fact knew that he was mistaken. When she was fifteen, she spoke often over the internet with a forty-two year old gentleman named Harry. They chatted about all sorts of topics – their favorite vacation spots, favorite foods, movies, books, or the perfect date. After about five months of this, Harry insisted that they meet, and Natasha agreed because she believed they had such a strong bond. They met in a hotel room, and not only had Harry offered her crack, but he had also tried to have sex with her. Ever since this upsetting incident, Natasha decided that the internet was far too impersonal, and that she could only truly understand men’s feelings through their hand-written words. She also knew that after this mishap, she would always be able to identify the bad men who only wanted sex.

Other days, she watched Friends, her favorite television show, which she owned all ten seasons of. Curling up with Aragorn by her side and sipping a hot chocolate, she had practically every episode memorized. She loved to think about New York City, where she had never been, laughed at Chandler and Joey until her sides hurt, and imagined herself as one of the six friends whom she enjoyed watching so much. Natasha always thought she was most like Phoebe, because Phoebe is so funny and quirky, just as she saw herself.

Usually, however, Natasha used her peaceful two hours to study the linguistic theories, diagrams, and the Elvish alphabet printed in J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings Trilogy. She had read each Lord of the Rings book at least ten times, in addition to at least thirty viewings of each film. Natasha enjoyed her constant retreat into the fantastical world of Middle Earth, the epic battles, and most of all the handsome and heroic men and elves. While she had named her dog after Aragorn, the ruggedly good-looking and brave man, her true favorite was the crafty elf Legolas. Natasha dutifully studied the Elvish language, imagining that if she were ever to come across an elf, he would be completely accepting of her ridiculously large and pointy nose, because his ears would be equally unusual.

Today, when Kenneth confirmed his unconscious state with his deep, body-shaking snores, and his occasional sleep talking (today he muttered, “Yeah, baby, right there, let me put it right in there,”), Natasha already knew she would spend her favorite two hours brushing up on the Elvish alphabet. Tonight, she had scheduled a post dinner coffee meeting with her favorite teacher, Mr. Patrick. Although Natasha had a very difficult time making friends her own age at school, she was close with many faculty and staff members. She first had Mr. Patrick for her ninth grade history class, and was overjoyed to discover he was teaching a linguistics elective this term. A double history and linguistics major from Yale, Mr. Patrick was a bona fide genius. Natasha and Mr. Patrick became close when they discovered their mutual love for the Lord of the Rings. In fact, upon the theatrical release of the third film, Mr. Patrick, Natasha, his paraplegic wife, and a few other students from his ninth grade history class waited in line for six hours together to get tickets.

Tonight, Mr. Patrick and Natasha would meet at Café Roma to discuss her extra credit project on the Elvish language for the linguistics class. Natasha tried to study her Elvish, but she was far too excited to concentrate, so she decided to lay out her clothes for her coffee get-together. Natasha wanted to look as nice as possible for Mr. Patrick, as she hoped he would deem their meeting a very adult and erudite interaction. Rummaging through her closet, she pulled out what she considered to be her most chic and sophisticated clothing: a black wool pea coat, which unfashionably fell to only three inches above her ankles, a striped light green and white knitted sweater, navy pinstriped slacks, a baby blue Gap scarf and leather black boots with a one-and-a-half inch heel. He will love this outfit, she thought.

When she had finished applying her apple green mascara, which she believed would be a great match with her sweater, she heard several excited barks from Aragorn, and seconds later her mother opened the front door. Setting down her briefcase, her mom walked down the stairs and into the bedroom to awaken Kenneth so that they could prepare dinner together.

Natasha walked to the doorway of her parents’ room and watched her mom kneel on the bed beside Kenneth, but before she could wake him up, a long, loud farting noise woke him up instead. Natasha chuckled, as she had slipped a whoopee cushion beneath her mother’s side of the mattress after she had gotten home from school.

“Janet! Control yourself!” Kenneth bellowed as he awoke with a snort. “Jesus Christ, woman.”

Another loud, sighing fart echoed from beneath Janet, as she shifted uneasily on her knees unable to understand where the noise was coming from.

“That is gross,” Kenneth said, getting out of bed, cupping his testicles in his hands as he crossed his bedroom to his dresser to retrieve a pair of briefs.

Natasha ran back to her room, squealing with laughter at her little prank. She finished getting ready, and when she climbed the stairs, she overheard her parents still arguing about the mysterious fart sounds. As she approached the kitchen, however, their focus quickly turned to her.

“Natasha what in the hell are you wearing?” Kenneth asked.

“Daddy, remember, I’m meeting with Mr. Patrick to talk about my extra credit project for linguistics.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember about Mr. Patrick but it’s seventy degrees outside! What are you dressed like an Eskimo for?”

“Oh, Kenneth,” Natasha’s mom interrupted. “She’s just trying to look nice.”

“Well, she’s a wacko is what she is, Janet,” Kenneth retorted.

Dinner felt like it took an eternity to Natasha. Kenneth read his People Magazine, commenting every so often on some celebrity’s “nice package,” Janet glanced up at her family occasionally from her San Francisco Chronicle, and Natasha studied her Elvish notes.

When dinner was finished and the dishes were washed and dried, Natasha hopped in her silver Jetta and drove over to Café Roma. When she entered the café, Mr. Patrick was already sitting at a table, sipping an espresso shot. She waved excitedly and shrieked at him from across the café, and in her excitement as she rushed over to him, managed to get one of her heels caught in between two tiles on the floor. In a panic, she jammed her foot as hard as she could into her shoe, which caused the entire heal to break off. Thus, she was forced to hobble the rest of the way to Mr. Patrick’s table, as one of her legs was now an inch and a half longer than the other.

This mishap, however, did not interfere with her enthusiasm. “Mr. Patrick! Hi!” Natasha said. “I am so glad you could meet with me about my extra credit project!”

Mr. Patrick grinned in response, his pockmarked face from years of uncared for acne glimmering slightly in the awkwardly lit café, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, and running his fingers through his light gray and dark gray streaked hair said, “It’s no problem Natasha. I’m glad we can talk about your project.”

“So,” Natasha said, diving right into the discussion she had been looking forward to for almost a week, “My very favorite part of the Elvish language is the very intricate and interesting syntax. I think it poses many…”

“Natasha,” Mr. Patrick interrupted. “This is kind of a bad spot to talk about this, don’t you think? Maybe we could discuss your extra credit somewhere else. Maybe in my car or something?”

Not at all catching Mr. Patrick’s drift, Natasha began to laugh loudly and obnoxiously, her usual reaction when not understanding a situation. After snorting three consecutive times, Natasha said, “Mr. Patrick! Don’t be silly, I haven’t even had a coffee yet!”

As Natasha continued to describe the linguistic complexities of Elvish, Mr. Patrick tried to listen, as he had done on so many occasions in his office, but on an impulse, he drew his face close to hers in an attempt to kiss her. At that moment, Natasha was leaning into the table to take a bite of her brownie, and her nose struck Mr. Patrick directly in the eye.

“Mr. Patrick, what are you doing?” Natasha asked, startled.

“Ouch, my eye!” Mr. Patrick said, covering his face with his palm. Natasha handed him her ice water to place over his eye and started to cry.

“Oh, Natasha, please don’t cry,” Mr. Patrick pleaded. “Let’s just forget about this and keep talking about your project.”

“But how can I just forget?” Natasha asked as she began to sob, her body jerking violently with every breath she took. “I thought we were friends. I thought you liked to talk to me.”

“Natasha, I do like to talk to you. I just thought it might be fun to try some other things too. You know, we’re both kind of lonely. I thought this would be fun.”

Natasha wept for about a minute longer, and then added. “Mr. Patrick, you have a wife to do all those other things with. I just like talking with you, that’s all.”

“Well, my wife can’t really do things,” Mr. Patrick muttered. “I’m sorry, Natasha.”

“Me too,” Natasha said, sniffling and wiping her eyes. “Goodbye, Mr. Patrick.” Natasha rose, hobbled away from the table, given her new shoe condition, and hopped in her car.

When she returned home, Natasha planned to march into her father’s bedroom and tell him how she would never get a nose job, how her nose was good for some things. However, as she cracked the door open, she noticed he had fallen asleep naked on top of his comforter. He almost looked peaceful, she thought to herself.

She skipped back to her room and recycled the three most recent letters she had written to her pen pals. Then, she opened the first book of the Lord of the Rings trilogy and was taken away by the story.