My daddy. He lived up north in cottage country but didn't own a cottage.
My daddy. He had a cat that didn't belong to him and a home with only one bedroom in it. It's baby blue on the outside, with a small green lawn and a garden in the back.
He said I could take the bed and he take the couch. He said that I didn't need to talk about my home (or my brother) without really saying anything. He offered me juice. He only had beer and butter in his fridge.
We shared lemon cake amongst ourselves for dinner that night. I'm not sure if this is the first meal I've ever shared with my father.
He wakes me up early the next morning we get up before the sun does and we go grocery shopping. At a local market with a big green flower section on the outside.
He lets me get pink hydrangea's with the promise of planting them later.
He lets me pick my favourite cereals while we shop inside.
He lives near a shiny blue lake and a small brook that connects to it. A river runs underneath a cliff somewhere and woods live in the backyards of homes.
He doesn't live anywhere near train tracks. He has my round face. He has my big head. He has that poison in his touch, that lonesome trying in his bones, that 9-5 exhaustion embedded in his skin.
And, I have a sister from another women, that I'll never meet. Her picture is up on the fridge, she looks like me but lighter and happier. She has a mama that loves her and a brother that's still alive. I took comfort in knowing that we at least shared one thing.
At dinner. He makes frozen pizza. We cook it in an oven that hasn't been used for months. He lets me mix the juice and I pour them into thin yellow cups. The amount is even. Just to let him know where I stand.
After eating he looks at me for a long time and I feel like I'm paint peeling off of walls.
Then he asks,
"why don't you speak much?"
And I ask.
"Where were you?"
The look on his face told me that he still didn't know. The look on his face told me that he was as lost as I.
So like the air in between us we let it slip. Words carried off through the window and planted into the earth.
To be grown again another day.
This garden is pretty, with enough room to grow all around and all around. I sit with the view of my father washing dishes in the window. Bugs buzzing and summer heart making warm noise. Cool breeze from the lake trying to be louder.
My daddy told me I could have it. This garden. It's all mine from fence to fence. The weeds are scratchy and ground plain, but It's mine.
I think I'll root myself in a spot right beside those hydrangea's. Let my braids and body sink into the soil and disappear. Emerge up again, transformed into something of worth.
My daddy smiles at me from his spot and I think we'll both reach the sun faster this way.
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Tis a bit boring and long but look what I did? I made a post. I'm proud.
