The two stood apart from each other; looking at one another across a room. Refrigerator hummed and colored pictures of naked women hung on the walls. Their eyes were focused. They did not make a move.

A gun was on the table next to the old man, and a butcher’s knife was held by the son. The radio played an old Tom T. Hall song. The father hummed along. It was a song that went, And I love you too….the boy’s hands were sweating.

Go on boy, dad said. Come at me. I’ll shoot you just like I did your cousin. Blood don’t mean a thing to me. Just as soon see you dead, he told him. The old man picked up the gun.

You had no right to kill that boy, the son said. Not even out of high school, he yelled.

Shhh, Pop said. That boy was stealing from me. He’d come over here and make nice, then rob me blind. Meth heads. All they do is ruin things. Families, communities. This trailer park was a lot different before they started cooking that shit up. Kids played on swingsets in the park. Now they don’t come out at all. Moms walk them to the bus stop.

He needed help.

Horse shit. That’s what they all say. And we’re supposed to feel sorry for them, the boy moved in closer to the old man. He could smell the beer on his breath.

Put the gun down dad.

Put that knife down, the boy shook his head. I guess what we got here is a real Mexican stand-off, the old man laughed.

You shot him in the back.

He was getting away.

I’m going to walk out of here. Are you going to shoot me in the back?

Have you stole from me? the boy shook his head. Then you got nothing to worry about.

The boy opened the door. Tossed the knife on the table. It bounced to the floor. The old man picked it up. His son looked at him. Asked, do you believe in forgiveness? the old man whispered no.

He shut the screen door behind him. Got in his Dodge. The old man watched him drive away.