His father was unusually spontaneous and insistent when he told him about the tickets. “I have choir practice Saturday afternoon,” he protested. “Sing on Sunday,” his father retorted.
On the drive to the stadium he tried discussing the game, but his father was dismissively curt, again unusual.
They ascended to section 553 in silence. From their seats the players stretching on the field looked like brightly-colored decorations on a large sheet cake.
After they bought their beers minutes before the game started, he asked, “what’s wrong?”
His father snorted. “Your mother wants a divorce. This time, I’m not fighting her.”
Friday Fictioneers is a weekly flash fiction contest.