letters to felix

twenty three

dear felix

mom was talking with dad on the phone today when i got home from camp. she was in her bedroom, so i listened at the door (shut up) and what i heard was most disturbing.

she wants to go meet dad. to talk things over.

now can i just:

no.

no.

nooopppeeee.

why does no one ever talk things through with me? my parents are so not good for each other it could be a sitcom.

i think at some point or another, mom loved dad.

i remember being eight and watching my mom smile fondly at my dad.

i also remember, however, my twelfth birthday.

my mom and dad had just taken me and my neighbor's daughter out to dinner. it was really excellent. we had red velvet cake afterwards. also excellent.

the not so excellent part was my parents screaming at each other that night when they thought i couldn't hear, saying things like, "heartless asshole! she's your goddamn daughter!" and "little bitch's got something wrong with her anyway!".

there was lots of legal activity and papers to sign after that.

there was also lots of my dad packing everything he owned.

is there something wrong with me?

well, duh, lydia.

but that's not the point. did my parents split up over my lies?

no, cause there was lots of foaming at the mouth before i came along. aunt wendy told me all about that.

now that i think about it, the divorce was when they gave me my drugs.

(which didn't work. sorry.)

maybe i was the reason.

felix, what if i was the reason?