I lied," I say still looking at his lips, he opens his eyes and gazes over at me.
"Uh oh," he whispers, not breaking eye contact. I am suddenly aware of his lingering stare. He looks at me everywhere, every inch, there was no hiding from it. His ga...
I CAN ONLY IMAGINE HOW WEIRDED OUT HE MUST BE. It was silly and inappropriate of me to text him that. I'm just grateful he's not treating me any differently because of it. I shouldn't have lied, but I was dying of embarrassment. My phone was still locked away in my closet, where it would stay for at least for the rest of the weekend.
Ezra sits beside me on the sofa, while his dog makes himself comfortable on my moms white area rug. Who gives a fuck about Jackie's dumb area rug?
Me. I did, because me and dad used to put together 1000 piece puzzles on it and do school science projects and sit and talk about our favorite Radiohead songs.
Dr. V said at my last meeting that I had attachment and abandonment issues. I told her she was completely wrong, I told her that I did the abandoning first before it could be done to me, I told her that I let things go easily.
I'm sure very soon Dr. V would pick up on my lying issues as well very soon. Did it count as lying if you only lied to yourself?
I denied my attachment issues, but I am secretly very aware. It scares me. On dad's last day, he got Starbucks. He didn't finish it, he never did, no matter what size he got. He left it on the kitchen counter for either me to finish it off for him or for mom to throw it in the trash.
I kept the cup. But i'm sure so would the next person, this doesn't mean I have issues. It stays in my room, it stays in my room on my desk, next to the photo of my dad and I. The cup is stained brown from coffee and the receipt paper with my dads name is long faded.
My heart twitches with pain at the thought. He was fading. I have forgotten the sound of his voice. If I'd heard it now, of course i'd know it. I'd know it like the back of my hand, i'd know it the same way I know my own body. The same way I knew my house, or and old friend.
I talk to him sometimes. I never tell anyone this though. I talk to him when I feel him slipping away from me. When I feel like a few days go by and he's not mentioned, I talk to him because I can't let him go, won't let him. He wouldn't until he was put in a grave next to me and then in the afterlife he would join me again.
Children should not have to bury their parents. I want to talk to dad right now, I want to tell him I still feel him here. Remind him that he's not forgotten. Remind him that he still has a place in this home. I hiss at Jackie each time I come into the house and there's less of his stuff lying around each time. No big man shoes kicked off by the door, no illegally burned CD's of songs that remind him of me, no 1,000 piece puzzles sitting on the dining room table anymore.
His clothes don't smell like a person vacates them anymore either, they just smell like clothes. Mom has gotten rid of some of his clothes, why is it so easy for her?
