The Silence Between Us ✓

[30] messing with my head

I stood there for a few minutes, attempting to get my breath back. I didn't think I'd have such a violent reaction to seeing who was supposed to be my father for the first time in five years but you know, there it was.

"Oh hello, Via," He took a gulp, the same as Mrs Porter did whenever she was trying to skip over talking about sensitive subjects. I kind of understood it now, "Is – is Theo here?"

I tried not to directly look at him because it just made me want to burst into tears even more.

He was wearing the same faded blue jeans that I remembered from so many childhood memories and it was like for a moment nothing had changed. I tried to remind myself of everything that actually had happened in order to regain a sense of perspective again.

I put my hands up instinctively and then remembered that no, if I did try to sign, he wouldn't comprehend me. I shook my head slowly, racking my brain of things that I could do to try and get him to understand the message that he was a day early.

My notebook. Of course! The idea was like a massive lightbulb on top of my head like you see in cartoons and I rushed to my bag in the kitchen where I brought it out along with a pen. This was going to work, wasn't it? I suddenly had a flush of shame as I thought about the fact that I couldn't even communicate properly with my dad, but then anger set in; it wasn't my fault that that was the case. It still didn't mean that I could get all of those guilty feelings I'd obtained all of those years ago to go away though. Why did he have to suddenly appear out of nowhere now? If he was truthful the last time I saw him and really didn't care for me that much why hadn't he just gone and stayed there instead of coming back to stir everything back up? This was so typical of him.

I walked slowly, about to turn the corner when I heard his voice. Who could he be talking to now? I turned the corner cautiously and saw Noah behind him. This really couldn't get any better could it? Now my father that I couldn't stand to even look at was talking to my boyfriend that might not be my boyfriend after one small conversation. It was safe to say that this situation was not going to end well.
I could see Noah was going to reply until he saw me, his mouth gaping open. He had no idea why I hated my father and that wasn't great knowing how he always tried to make a good impression on people. I loved him for it of course, but at this point in time it would just make everything worse.

"Via," It was the only word he could muster and my father turned back to face me expectantly. I dropped the notebook.

Can you interpret for me? I asked, only looking at Noah and not at the stranger next to him. He nodded his head carefully and I smiled for the first time.

"Theo's not here because he's at a sleepover" He spoke slowly, understanding the movement of my hands. It was refreshing for someone to actually understand what I was saying again, "My mum said you were coming tomorrow?"

I was glad that with Noah translating for me; the hesitation and anxiety wasn't transferred. I wasn't even looking at my father, focusing instead on Noah completely. I think both of them could see that something was up.

"Today is the 8th isn't it?" He asked with his eyebrows raised. He always used to do that when he secretly knew he was wrong but didn't want to show it. It's funny the things you only remember when you see again isn't it?

"No sir it's the 7th" Noah answered before me.

"Oh." He stood there for a minute, probably contemplating what to do next. I didn't even know where he lived now – who knows, he might have had to drive a long way. "What time is your mother coming home?"

"Six o'clock" I replied through Noah. His signing had really gotten good now, and I really appreciated that in this present moment. My father looked at his watch with knitted eyebrows and I tried not to look at him for too long, but it was difficult when I kept recognising marks of who he used to be. The same mop of brown hair that he'd never bothered to change, the slight crease in his forehead that was always brought out when things weren't going quite right, the eyes that had a grey tinge to them. I knew those eyes because I had to stare them in the face every time I looked in the mirror. I resisted the urge to blow up in front of the both of them.