Of All People, You?

The encounter

I woke up early, as per usual, to the rhythmic beep of my alarm clock blaring in my ear. I drearily opened up my eyes and dragged myself out of bed. My daily routine had quickly took into action.

I opened up my wooden drawer revealing rows of evenly stacked and organized patterned/un-patterned button up shirts. I pulled out a neatly-folded plain white one and put it on. Not a single wrinkle in sight. Without a moment to waste I pulled open a second drawer just beneath it containing a wide arrange of sweater vest, once again perfectly organized. I selected the perfect fit for my day, all according to plan.

I had enjoyed the lovely look of a ironed button up shirt with a casual fitting sweater vest over it. The whole simplicity of the fit made it my go to outfit ever since I shook my mother off my back as a child so I could dress myself in the mornings. I've been ready in a dapper look ever since age five. I then finally completed the dressing processing by slipping on neat and clean pants, socks, and dress shoes. Then, topping it off , was a bow tie. I gently fastened it around my neck focused on the mirror, making sure that it was not to short on one side or crooked on the other. Finally it was done.

The rest of my routine wasn't too long or too interesting. The only thing I really had left to be concerned about was making sure my hair was neat and kept. I looked up at the mirror at my reflection of my two baby blue eyes staring right back at me. My mom constantly said that guys with blue eyes always lie. That they can't be trusted. Which was sort of odd because I, her child, had those very blue eyes she seemed to despise.

But I can't seem to remember lying that much at all throughout my life. I found it made things too easy, in a cheating sort of a way. And I always did enjoy a challenge. So whilst gazing at my reflection I slapped some gel on my hands and guarded my light, glistening, blonde hair slick back. Not adding too much like other guys, I dared not to look oily. I liked to only add a little so my hair looked natural. Not all pieces were confined to the gel and some were fluffy adding a sort of sophisticated look. It made me look appealing to the teachers, making them more likely to leave me alone and assume I know what I'm doing in class, which I do. And then after that came breakfast.

I quickly walked down the steep stairs sliding my hand down the railing and to the kitchen. I didn't eat breakfast or really eat much in the mornings. In fact I don't think I eat much at all throughout the entire day. I was and always have been a rather skinny boy. I never really liked candy or sweets. But in the mornings, I did have a big cup of black coffee. A full 8 ounces. No creamers, no sugars, no milk. Just plain black coffee. The bitter taste awakened my senses and the caffeine helped me get a boost for the day.

My mom always believed that coffee stunted your growth, and she would get angry at me when I would attempt to make my own when I was younger, or try to take a sip of hers. But I'm as tall as a tree now. Well that's an over exaggeration. I am just a little over average which is considered tall. I'm taller than my mother at least.

My mom is on the short side so I think I inherited my height from my father. But I wouldn't know because I've never met him before. He left my mother and I when I was five so I don't remember him at all.

We tried to contact him for years after he went away but had no answer or luck. My mom would never describe him to me when I asked about him or tell me much about what he was like. She does say that I remind her of him a lot though. And I feel bad for that reason.

Sure my mother and I disagree on lots of subjects, but she's still my mom and I still love her. And I can see the pain in her eyes when she looks at me sometimes. Because when she looks at me she sees the painful reminder of my dad who left her without warning or reason or indication of return.

If my dad for some magical reason or possibility returned today I don't think I would be able to forgive him or even look at him. For one, he'd be disturbing my carefully organized and scheduled plan. But most importantly, is the fact that he left my mother and I. He left his family and didn't return or even let us know of his whereabouts. So I had to grow up without a dad and my mother had to raise me without a husband and that is unforgivable.