there
until I’d given some to my mother. It was late summer here, so all
the scraggly wild ones were long since withered in the blistering
heat.
I kneeled down before her stone. My father
had been cheap in that, too. It said only Geraldine V. Law, and the
dates of her birth, and death. No “Beloved Wife.”
No “Beloved Mother.”
I’d taken crayons once, and written “Beloved
Mother” on the stone. But when I’d come back the next day, it had
been scrubbed clean. Later my father had spanked me. Groundskeepers
couldn’t fucking weed a grave, but God forbid a stone had
“graffiti” on it.
I took a Sharpie from my pocket, and wrote
“Beloved Mother” on the headstone. “It’s the best I can do,” I
whispered. “I’m sorry it’s not more, Mom.”
I sat there for a while, and gathered my
courage. Then, I went off to see my father.
The trailer looked even smaller than it had
the last time. To my surprise, it was also abandoned. There were
some cracked picture frames, some beer bottles, and enough condom
wrappers to make me realize high school kids were using this as a
pad to fuck. But no Dad.
I headed to the local bar. His local
bartender would know where he was, even if no one else did.
I asked around. By seven, the night bartender
came on, and pointed me in the right direction. I hitched a ride
with a decent guy, who took me to where my father was living
now.
Jesus, that man is
lucky. I walked up a long stone paved driveway to a house so
new I could almost smell the cedar planking on the wraparound deck.
There, lying next to an Olympic sized swimming pool, sipping a Bud
Light, was my father.
He looked at me, and did a double take.
“Sunny?”
“It’s me, Dad,” I said, forcing a smile. “You
win the lottery?”
“Yeah! Well, kind of,” he said, giving me his
most affable and heart-melting smile. “I met Sheryl, and she’s
rich!”
She must be in a coma, or a hundred.
Or both.
My father got to his feet. He’d kind of gone
to pot in the years I hadn’t visited. Sure, his face was still
good, and his body wasn’t bad, for a man in his late fifties. But
he was overweight, and he didn’t wear it well. “Come and meet her,
Baby Girl,” he said, putting his arm around me. “I want you to meet
her.”
He brought me inside, and to say the place
was opulent was doing it a disservice. It was so over the top that
it almost looked fake. There were chandeliers, polished wood, and
paintings on the light-hued walls that had to be originals. And
mirrors; there were fancy mirrors everywhere, on every wall, and of
every imaginable size.
“Do you like it?” a sensuous voice asked
politely.
I turned to see a small woman in her late
forties, heavily made up. She was fully dressed, and the clothing
was expensive. To my surprise, she wasn’t ugly; she was very
pretty, even with all that thick makeup.
“This is my daughter,” my father explained.
“Sunny, this is Sheryl.”
“A pleasure,” the woman said, offering an
insincere smile.
I detected right off she was either pissed I
was here, or ill at ease. “It’s good to meet you.”
“Are you staying?” she asked politely.
“Would you mind?” my father asked her, before
I could say anything. “Usually when she visits, she stayed at my
place. It won’t be long.”
The latter was true. But the first part was a
lie; I’d never stayed with him, ever. Why is he
lying?
“A few days aren’t a problem,” Sheryl said,
after a pause. “But I’ll need you exclusively for the weekend,
darling.”
“Then I’m there, babe!” my father said
enthusiastically.
“I’m going to bed,” she said, her eyes
flicking to me and then away. “You probably want some time with Sun
tonight.”
“Nah,” my father said, predictably. “We’ll
catch up tomorrow, or the next day. I’ve been waiting all day for
you to leave your office, hon.” He put his arm around her waist. “I
need some loving.”
Sheryl smiled, and after they showed me to
until I’d given some to my mother. It was late summer here, so all
the scraggly wild ones were long since withered in the blistering
heat.
I kneeled down before her stone. My father
had been cheap in that, too. It said only Geraldine V. Law, and the
dates of her birth, and death. No “Beloved Wife.”
No “Beloved Mother.”
I’d taken crayons once, and written “Beloved
Mother” on the stone. But when I’d come back the next day, it had
been scrubbed clean. Later my father had spanked me. Groundskeepers
couldn’t fucking weed a grave, but God forbid a stone had
“graffiti” on it.
I took a Sharpie from my pocket, and wrote
“Beloved Mother” on the headstone. “It’s the best I can do,” I
whispered. “I’m sorry it’s not more, Mom.”
I sat there for a while, and gathered my
courage. Then, I went off to see my father.
The trailer looked even smaller than it had
the last time. To my surprise, it was also abandoned. There were
some cracked picture frames, some beer bottles, and enough condom
wrappers to make me realize high school kids were using this as a
pad to fuck. But no Dad.
I headed to the local bar. His local
bartender would know where he was, even if no one else did.
I asked around. By seven, the night bartender
came on, and pointed me in the right direction. I hitched a ride
with a decent guy, who took me to where my father was living
now.
Jesus, that man is
lucky. I walked up a long stone paved driveway to a house so
new I could almost smell the cedar planking on the wraparound deck.
There, lying next to an Olympic sized swimming pool, sipping a Bud
Light, was my father.
He looked at me, and did a double take.
“Sunny?”
“It’s me, Dad,” I said, forcing a smile. “You
win the lottery?”
“Yeah! Well, kind of,” he said, giving me his
most affable and heart-melting smile. “I met Sheryl, and she’s
rich!”
She must be in a coma, or a hundred.
Or both.
My father got to his feet. He’d kind of gone
to pot in the years I hadn’t visited. Sure, his face was still
good, and his body wasn’t bad, for a man in his late fifties. But
he was overweight, and he didn’t wear it well. “Come and meet her,
Baby Girl,” he said, putting his arm around me. “I want you to meet
her.”
He brought me inside, and to say the place
was opulent was doing it a disservice. It was so over the top that
it almost looked fake. There were chandeliers, polished wood, and
paintings on the light-hued walls that had to be originals. And
mirrors; there were fancy mirrors everywhere, on every wall, and of
every imaginable size.
“Do you like it?” a sensuous voice asked
politely.
I turned to see a small woman in her late
forties, heavily made up. She was fully dressed, and the clothing
was expensive. To my surprise, she wasn’t ugly; she was very
pretty, even with all that thick makeup.
“This is my daughter,” my father explained.
“Sunny, this is Sheryl.”
“A pleasure,” the woman said, offering an
insincere smile.
I detected right off she was either pissed I
was here, or ill at ease. “It’s good to meet you.”
“Are you staying?” she asked politely.
“Would you mind?” my father asked her, before
I could say anything. “Usually when she visits, she stayed at my
place. It won’t be long.”
The latter was true. But the first part was a
lie; I’d never stayed with him, ever. Why is he
lying?
“A few days aren’t a problem,” Sheryl said,
after a pause. “But I’ll need you exclusively for the weekend,
darling.”
“Then I’m there, babe!” my father said
enthusiastically.
“I’m going to bed,” she said, her eyes
flicking to me and then away. “You probably want some time with Sun
tonight.”
“Nah,” my father said, predictably. “We’ll
catch up tomorrow, or the next day. I’ve been waiting all day for
you to leave your office, hon.” He put his arm around her waist. “I
need some loving.”
Sheryl smiled, and after they showed me to
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