Diaries of the Thick Girl Committee

Tracy 5: Charm Trapped

There is one difference between Liz and me. She doesn't have a child. I can't just drop everything like Liz has. That is way too big a risk. If it was just me, I would have left this place in a heartbeat, but it's not. I have never put my child after me and I'm not starting today.

I try shrugging off this uneasy feeling, but it just sits there. How many reality checks is it gonna take me to actually follow through with my intentions?

Blowing out a breath of air, I tighten my pony tail and head out to the main part of the diner.

I can't sulk about this all day. I should be happy for her, right? She's doing something that I couldn't achieve no matter how hard I try. A piece of me envied Liz and her youth. I envied the ability to drop everything and still move forward.

Walking in the dining room, I see Sams seated at his usual table. I can't help but roll my eyes at the sight. He hasn't spoken a word to me since two weeks ago. The only words that come out his mouth is his order and a thank you. A dry one, at that. As if he doesn't even know me. A piece of me is hurting because he's like a father to me and another knows that he's just testing me. Waiting for me to wake up. I know he's tried splashing water in my face and blasting horns in my ear, but it's more than a deep slumber. I'm in a coma.

“Mornin' Sams” I smiled at him.

He nods his head with a grunt, as he flips the page of his news paper.

See what I mean?

“Really Sams?” I asked unbelievably.

His eyes shoot up at me from under his glasses. Just when I think I had him, he scoffs and averts his eyes back to the paper.

Okay, this is it. Two weeks is long enough. This charade has to stop. I can't take this foolishness anymore. I love this man like my own father and him giving me the silent treatment is breaking me. I miss his smart mouth, rich laugh, and witty jokes. I miss him.

Sliding to the other side of the table, I set my arms on it. I need to get to the bottom of this. I know in that scheming brain of his, he's trying to teach me a lesson, but this.... I can't take this. It hurts.

His eyebrows raise but his eyes stay trained on the black and white page.

Snatching the paper out his hand, I fold it up, in its original four sections, and sit it beside me. One of his brows raise as he sits back and folds his arms. He actually seemed amused. That old trout!

“Sams.” I started. “I know you're not talking to me and I'm fine with that. That means you can actually listen.”

He gives me a glare but still manages a stiff nod of the head.

“Okay. I will start off by saying...thank you.”

I get another raise of the brow.

“You may think your words are going in one ear and out the other, but trust me, they are drilled in deep deep deep. Sams, you know my father was always in and out of my life. I only saw him when he wanted or needed something, and I would break every time, knowing I shouldn't give in.”

I shake my head at the thought.

My father was borderline deadbeat. He was an addict. An addict who used his daughter and her love for him as a crutch. An addict who could barely remember the first letter of his child's name. An addict who once had a perfect happy life and instead chose stupid substance and material that quickly ended it.

“Anyway.” I said. “ What I'm trying to say is, you are my father. Blood or not, you have always been there.”

His eyes softened.