Disclaimer: AA owns everything, but the ideas. They are mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks to AKite and Karen/s, as always.

Story Notes:

Coulda Been Somebody July 2, 2004
By Bridget Cochran

(F/K, PG - swear words)

Summary: Ray calls his dad to offer condolences, and gets a little more than he expected. Answer to current events and the ds_flashfic 'Scar Challenge."

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"Hi, mom."

"Stanley, it's so nice to hear your voice." Barbara Kowalski sounded so happy it was him.

"Yeah, you, too, mom," he said, then cleared his throat. "Dad around?"

"He's watching Entertainment Tonight, sweetheart."

"Yeah, not surprised. He okay?" Ray looked out the window onto the street below, watching daylight start to dwindle and the street light come on.

"You know how it is, honey." She was right, he knew. Like another chapter was closing in the book of life. He smiled at his philosophical flight of fancy. "You want me to get him?"

"Not if it's going to interrupt him."

"Sweetheart, he's already watched this one and Access Hollywood, too."

That sounded about right. He'd probably taped them, too, waiting for Biography and Dateline and Ted Koppel to make a Best of Obituaries tape.

"Yeah, Stanley, how you doin'?" At least, he sounded chipper.

"Fine, dad, great." Ray paused a minute, licking his lips. "I, uh, heard the news, you know, about Brando."

"Yeah, Christ, that's something, huh?"

"Yeah, eighty. Long life." Ray had no clue what to say, none; but he thought he had to say something, make the effort.

"But what a waste. I mean cripes. Nine kids that he *acknowledges*. One kid murdering another's boyfriend. She commits suicide after years of trying. He must have weighed five hundred pounds."

Okay. Ray had no idea what to say to that, so he said nothing. Ragging on Brando. Huh. Wow.

"When he was younger, he, he lit up the screen. You felt what he felt, wanted what he wanted. Then he just..."

Started believing his own press? Ray kept his mouth shut.

"I wanted to be like him so much, Stanley. I walked like him, put the butts in my shirt sleeve. Curled my lip - then I meet your mother. She was such a cute thing, I wanted to make a home for her, give her everything. Good she would settle for not much of anything."

"Dad, she didn't settle." Ray didn't like the way this call was heading.

"Listen, Stanley, I know what I am, what I was. I stunk of blood and animal fat, couldn't do better than a three bedroom row house. She should have had that split level out in Park Forest, like she wanted."

Ray should have interrupted, but he didn't. His dad never talked to him like this, never talked to him like an adult, like a peer. His dad was a tough guy, no feelings, not the important ones.

"Coulda done it. Coulda got a VA loan, but, nah, I says, the payment's too high."

"Did mom ever complain?" Ray asked, knowing she didn't. "She liked that house, the only reason you left it was 'cause of her arthritis."

"Yeah, but we might not of had to go if we had a split level."

"Bull shit, dad, you had to leave. The doctors said so."

"Yeah, so, we get a trailer here. Not even a real house."

"Okay, now you're full of shit. It's a modular, not a trailer, and it's pretty damn nice." He paused, and took a deep breath. What did Fraser say? In for a penny, in for a pound. "You gonna stop feeling sorry for yourself anytime soon?"

There was silence, not even static, over the phone line. He wondered if he were going to hear a dial tone any minute.

"How's the Pontiac handling for you, son."

That was it. Deep, meaningful conversation full of disclosure over. Back to Ray and Damien, real men. "Great, dad. New plugs and hoses last week when I changed the oil. Had her to a Cruise Night near Cicero for Memorial Day. Going down to Champaign tomorrow for the Fourth."

"Great. You winning any prizes?"

Ray chuckled. "Nah, these things are just for showing off. Never thought to enter her in nuthin'."

"Maybe you should, son. You should be proud of that car. I am."

There it was: the metamorph for acceptance. "Yeah, thanks. Me, too."

"You want to talk to your mother, son?" They were done. And they were good.

"Yeah, sure, put her on."

"Take care of yourself, son." I love you.

"I will, dad."

I love you, too, dad.

The end.

End Coulda Been Somebody by BJCochran: bjcochran@epix.net

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