In the car down the interstate were a father and son deep in a day of celebration. The boy had behaved well, rewarded on his day absent from elementary school with a meal of fast food. With his stomach full and the seatbelt holding him tight in the passenger seat, Gully felt like a king.
  "What's the surprise, Dad?", Gully asked impatiently. "You keep talking about the "surprise". Is it a party?"
  "It's much better than a party, buddy. But even if it was a party, I wouldn't tell you until we
got there first," said the father sporting Ray Bans, his eyes undetectable and mysterious and his voice reassuring and calm. His face was stoic and his hands strongly clutched the steering wheel as the shiny vehicle moved effortlessly into an exit lane.
	Since his father had spoken of the word "surprise", Gully became a brainstormer. The boy, like others of the age, did not exaggerate his utmost desperation to find out what exactly his dad had planned for his birthday.
. . . 
  "My dad threw me a party and made it a surprise," Ashley, a fellow student, bragged at the lunch table.
  "My dad did that last year already," replied a Gully lost in curiosity.
  "If your parents did two surprise parties, that would be pretty stupid."
  "Nuh uh!," Stephen interjected. "You can do different surprises each year."
  "Two surprise parties?," Ashley asked towards Stephen, facing his juice-stained face.
  "Yeah!"
  "You're so stupid!"
  "You're the stupidest!"
. . .
  "Dad?"
  "Yeah, buddy?"
  "Do you ever hear your friends fight?"
  The father paused for a bit, intentionally avoiding making eye-contact with a homeless man with a cardboard sign. "I suppose I have."
  "What do they fight about?"
  "It's a bit too mature to talk with you about, buddy."
  "But," Gully murmured, "do they ever stop fighting?"
  "It depends sometimes. Some people just love to fight."
  "Why do they like doing it?" Gully curiously questioned.
  "We're here, buddy!"
  The car, digital and pristine, looked out-of-place, perhaps stolen, in the littered street, parked in a driveway of chipped concrete and invading blades of grass. Gully came to the realization that his daydreaming in the car had lasted for such a long time that if he did go to class, he would be in math class- the last class of the day in which the boy fought slumber. Gully and Father had already been in the car at 8 AM on the dot- the time typically allotted for Language Arts. 
  "Where are we, dad?"
  "This is a house my friend owns. He said we could be here today while he's gone."
  Gully looked at the building before him, which could hardly be called a "house". He witnessed a plywood door painted white, the chips of wood still visible in their compaction despite the multiple layers of white painted adorned atop the wood. "He lives HERE? It's… small."
  "It feels less claustrophobic when you get in," the father apologetically spoke. In his hand was a large paper bag with handles like shoelaces already ripping the side of the bag, big and red with "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!" printed on the sides in boisterous yellow comic book lettering. Gully could only imagine what presents were in there for him.
  The father unlocked the padlock with a key on his filled carabiner and swung the door open.
  "Dad, who is that?" the boy asked.
  "A friend of mine."
  The man, bearded and dressed in a ripped and dirty clown outfit, looked up with desperate eyes, attempting to work up the courage to scream.
  "Dad?"
	"Yes, buddy?"
  The three people standing in the room only lit by the crack of the door shared in a silence only interrupted by the whimpering of the man on the ground, his voice smothered by a towel. 
  "Don't you think I'm a little too old for clowns?"
  The father froze in place as the man shackled on the ground attempted to crawl through the man's legs and through the cracked doorway. When kicked suddenly by the dad's dress shoe sounding off like a gunshot, he cowered back to his corner, his food bowl empty, his scratches on the walls rendered pointless.
  "Gee, buddy. I'm sorry. I guess I thought this would work better than one of those cartoon costume people that dress up like Disney characters or something."
  "A mascot?"
  "Yeah, one of those. I'm sorry, buddy.", the father genuinely said, his eyes still unreadable under the sunglasses.
  "It's okay, dad. At least now we can get to the fun part."
  "Are you ready, buddy?", the father said as he drew chains and power tools from his son's HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! bag.
  Gully couldn't contain his boyish excitement as he yelled "YEAH!!", jumping up and down.
  "Well, it's your birthday, so you get to choose and go first," the father said as he presented the various objects to the boy with gloved hands. 
  Gully decided upon a chain which fit his small gloved hands snugly and thanked his father for a great birthday present with a warm hug. He dropped the unclutched end of the chain on the ground and dragged it towards the shackled man, his eyes wide and his body shaking.
  "I love you, dad."
  "I love you too buddy," the father said as he stepped out of his son’s way. When the door closed behind the father to let the boy unleash himself in an entirely concentrated manner, he noted how good his soundproofing was as the closed door completely masked the lashings happening inside.