And, the tears flowed…
It is the weeping hours of evening and I’ve found myself huddled up in my living room enjoying the chirping of birds and whizzing of cars.
It hasn’t been easy healing over the years, but I am trying. I do not always tell you of the pain. You have a younger version of me who truly looks up to you, so I board it up. I keep it in a dilapidated section of my mind.
It is breaking down.
Not up to code.
The city plans on dismantling it.
But, I am here, listening to you, happy to hear me.
“Hey there, baby!”
“How’s it going? Happy Father’s Day!”
“Well, it goes fine now that I’m talking to you. Thank you. What are you up to?”
One by one, the drops fall. I feel them sting my cheeks. You are content in this moment. I think it is beautiful, but I will not tell you this.
“I’m resting. I am sitting in the living room, enjoying a nice breeze.
Because I have yet to give you grandchildren, Jernee is suitable. You care. You are concerned. You recognize her existence. I cry even more. I am silent in between answering because I do not want you to catch on.
You baby me, still.
You were afraid to let me live.
I had an undying urge to get away.
And, get away, I did.
But, not before you left first.
We make small talk.
Always small talk.
You yawn. You are watching a show that will soon be watching you and I tell myself that you need your rest.
“Okay, Dad. I just called to tell you Happy Father’s Day. Did your card come?”
“My Father’s Day card? Well, no. Maybe it’ll be here tomorrow. But, I don’t need a card, hearing your voice is enough.”
“That’s sweet, Dad. Thanks. Love you. Take care.”
“Love you too, baby.”
Today was not the day to shower you with pain, drum up a past that still beats me into submission.