“He’s down
at the local pub, he’ll probably be back around bed time,” mom smiles as she
sits a glass of cold hot chocolate in front of me.
It’s funny,
she always seemed to remember the strangest little details about me. I can
drink hot chocolate all year, but in the summer, I let it sit out until it’s
room temperature. I’m surprised she randomly had hot chocolate in the cabinets.
Did she expect me to pop up and visit? I sit and drink with her, fill her in on
my life. She’s upset I haven’t found someone to get married to yet. She’s
craving a grandkid by blood or adoption, she just wants one. All of her friends
have them, and she feels left out. When I mentioned Renan she tells me to go
“apologize to the nice boy,” and adopt some kids. I wonder what she’d say if
she knew I was only here because of a chat with a prostitute. It’s moments like
this when I realize I really do love my mom. Sometimes I’m not sure, I always
felt she put everyone else before me. She just expected me to handle everything
on my own, and I’m still kind of mad about that. I’m still very mad about that.
I’m even irate some days. But, when we get these moments and she actually wants
to hear about my life, I get excited, I feel like I’ve got the love I’ve been
waiting for her to give all my life. It’s childish, but I can’t help it.
I didn’t
come here for mom, so I promise to visit again before I leave Earth. I came
here for dad, to get to the bottom of our issues, one way or another. I don’t
care if we solve them, but I’m going to at least understand him. I didn’t need
to ask mom for directions to the local bar, I knew where it was. Chaka’s in the
same place it’s always been. I’ve only been here once, when I turned 19, he
brought me to his favorite bar. I had my first drink with him, then he sent me
home and spent the rest of the night there by himself. My father isn’t an
alcoholic, he only drinks on Fridays and Saturdays, after eight. But, from
eight until closing you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between him and
a seasoned alcoholic.
I take the
elevator to the 11th floor and enter into a dimly lit room, filled
with the scent of cheap liquor and cheaper food. The terrible pictures on the
wall haven’t changed since the last time I had been here years ago. Tucked in
the corner at a table that has only his chair I spot my father. The wrinkled
face that looks so similar to my own with the mean old eyes focused on some
sports news.
I make my
way over to the bar tender, “hey, give me two shot glasses and whatever the old
asshole in the corner drinks.”
“You don’t
want to mess with him,” the bartender hesitates.
“That’s
exactly what I want to do.”
“It’s your
funeral,” he hands over the bottle and glasses as I pay. “If you don’t die, you
pay for whatever gets broken,” I smile at warning and head towards my dad.
I sit the
glasses on his table before dragging a chair over. I don’t even greet him, just
take a seat and pour two shots of the crystal whiskey the bartender provided.
Crystal whiskey is expensive, but this is bottom tier, just barely qualified to
be called crystal. I didn’t think he’d favor something so expensive, but it
explains why he drank so rarely. He didn’t need much to get drunk off of this.
I down my shot and wait for him to stop staring. He takes his shot slower,
probably wondering why I’m here.
“Why are
you here,” he grumbles after finishing his shot.
“I’ve come
to see my dear old dad.”
“I thought
I was done with your damned visits.”
“Nope.”
“Well I
don’t have anything to give you.”
“I don’t
want anything but some of your time and since I’m paying for the drinks, you
owe me that.”
“Then pour
another shot,” he demands.
I pour two
more shots and quickly drink mine, “what is your issue with me and Edan?”
“You’re
weak. You both keep hanging on like you need me to hold your hand. You’re grown
men, he calls your mother four times a week and you’re starting to visit once a
week and that might be worse.”
“I never
asked you to hold my hand. I asked you to be a normal father who doesn’t avoid
his children only to piss on their lives and existence the moment they make eye
contact.”
“Did you
not have a home to sleep in and food in your belly? Did I not provide for you?”
“That’s
what you’re supposed to.”
“Shot.”
“You’re
also supposed to help guide your children through life, not leave them to fend
for themselves.”
“I said
shot damnit,” he raises his voice and waves off the bartender.
I pour
another shot for him, and one for me. “Instead you were always concerned about
somebody at the job, trying to guide the future of the company. Meanwhile your
sons were starving for some attention. I know we weren’t rich but you worked
way more than you had to. You damn near avoided us.”
“Shot,” he
demands, I oblige with another shot for each of us.
“We can
drink all night,” I finish my shot, “but you’re going to talk.”
“I got a
question for you,” he asks.
“What the
fuck would you do if you suddenly had a family you hadn’t planned for? You
looked up one day and had four people depending on you?”
“I’d do the
best I could, I would do everything but run away or hide.”
“Well your
best isn’t always good enough. Then what.”
“Try harder
motherfucker,” I pour two more shots. “Drink.”
“You think
it’s easy, but you haven’t had to do it.”
“You keep
saying how hard it was for you, your trials and tribulations. But you never
tried to deal with your own shit so you made your burdens everyone else’s
problem. I can’t blame you for everything that happened in my life but I still
think you’re a weak man. You’re irresponsible, selfish and in denial about the
problems you caused us.”
My dad
pours the shots this time, we drink, he speaks “I’m fucked up, but you’re more
fucked up than me, is that what you want me to say?”
“No, I want
to know why.”
“Why, what?
What do you want to know?”
“I want to
know why you treat us with so much disdain, why you think we’re perfect targets
for your own insecurities?”
“It’s not
because I’m insecure, it’s because you’re all fucking failures. I got a dead
son, a military drop out and a damn criminal.”
“Wrong,” I
slap my hand down on the table.
“How the
hell are you going to tell me I’m wrong?”
“Because
you treated us like this long before Evan died, long before Edan stole his
first candy bar and long before I even enlisted. That’s just bullshit you tell
yourself to sleep at night, but I’m the boogeyman, and I’m not letting you
sleep.”
“You stupid
drunk, did you think that was clever?”
“Yeah,” I
pour two more shots, “now drink.”
“It’s clear
nothing I say will change your mind,” I take my shot, he follows. “You’ve got
your mind made up already. Curse me, with every breath in your body.”
“That’s not
what I want.”
“Then tell
me what the hell you want, because I’m getting tired of your bullshit Efrem.”
“I want a
relationship with my father, but every time I confront him he gives me some
crooked ass answer instead of the truth.”
“I’m
telling you the truth.”
“No, you’re
telling me what you think I want to hear. Just tell me the truth.”
“That all
you want?”
“Yeah, the
truth, then I can move on with my life.”
“Fine, the
truth is I’m fucked up. I always have been. I won’t bore you with all the
details, but my childhood was terrible. I was an orphan, I had been in a gang,
I went to jail, all before 18. Whatever evil things you can imagine, it
happened to me. Drugs, abuse, violence, I was no stranger. That didn’t make me
any less fucked up. Some days I’d wake up, and put my gun in my mouth. Other
days, I wanted to just kill the whole family and be done with,” this is the
first time my father’s been so honest with me. “I didn’t want you boys, but
your mom wanted a family, and I would have done anything to keep her. I
couldn’t bear the look on her face when I asked her to abort Evan then she
popped out two more little bastards that looked like me. Even acted like me.
But Evan, Evan was just like me. He never told me about the mood swings or shit
he was going through. He was good at hiding, too good. But, I could see them in
him every time I looked at him.”
“Why didn’t
you do anything,” I ask.
He pours
two more shots, we toast to Evan, “because I didn’t know how to help him. I
never got help until after he died. That’s why I pushed you two even further
away. I didn’t want you to turn out like Evan, like me. I couldn’t deal with my
shit, and I made it your shit. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry,
I shouldn’t have made you think of that.”
“Nah, you
wouldn’t know. I never told.”
My father
stumbles to his feet as he attempts to stand, gripping the table to maintain
his balance. I can’t help but chuckle. Partially because of how old and frail
he had become while still being this massive monster in my brain; partially
because I knew I’d be making the same movements as I stood. I take the bottle
and finish the half shot left. I get up, slowly, trying to avoid the same
mistakes that I just watched my father make. For just a moment I swear he
smiles, a genuine smile, but then it’s gone. He stumbles across the bar room, I
reach and grab his arm to steady him. He never had a problem holding liquor
like this when I was younger. I’m suddenly realizing he’s a frail old man now,
and I’m not an angry teenager who had just lost his brother anymore. He did me
wrong, but I can’t keep holding onto that.
Outside, I
walk my father home. He doesn’t want me to, but I feel I need to. I’ve been
stuck in the past, blaming him for holding me back. I’m just glad we were able
to clear the air. I wish things could have been different, but they weren’t so
I need to make the best of now. The walk is silent, dad seems to be focused on walking
in a straight line, and I’ve suddenly become a soul searching drunk. I turn to
leave as Dad enters the apartment. He points to the couch and stumbles toward
the bedroom he shares with mom before pausing to remove his shoes.
“Are we
good,” he whispers the words so softly I can barely hear them.
“Yeah,
we’re good dad.”
He just
nods his head and silently enters the bedroom, the door sliding closed behind
him.
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