“I’m heading out dad, be back sometime after midnight,” I shouted from the front hall.
“Where ya headed?” he shouted back.
“Going to the movies and probably ice cream after,” I lied.
“All right, hon, have fun. Say, can you grab the mail before you go?”
I finished tying my boots and opened the front door, poking my head out and lifting the flap on our mail box right under the doorbell. I shut the door behind me and looked through the pile of mostly junk for anything with my name on it.
“Anything good?” my dad asked as I walked into the living room where he was watching some boring History Channel documentary.
“Bill, junk, junk, magazine, and… what’s this?” I asked, plucking a letter out of the stack addressed to him from the local clinic.
“Let me see,” he said, taking the pile from my hands. He stared at the letter but didn’t open it. “Probably just results from my physical last week.”
“You had a physical last week?”
“Yeah. I’m finally at the stage where they put a finger up my butt for-”