| |
Chapter 3
The traffic in Denver is horrendous, even on Sunday. I worked my way through town, trying to avoid the major arterials. I’d been gone for years, but some things never change… and the heavy flow of traffic is one of the immutable eventualities that Denver’s residents learn to put up with. At each traffic light I’d look over at him. He had his legs crossed and his arms folded at his chest as if he were sitting on the sofa, watching TV. All the while, he peered out the side window; taking in the sights of the city he’d seen thousands of times, like some erstwhile tourist. At least he wasn’t smoking…
“Dad, I need-“ he held his hand up, demanding that I stop. He didn’t look at me, but the signal was obvious. Don’t talk now. With the advantage of hindsight, as I think back upon it, I now think he realized he’d been given a chance to see his beloved town one last time.
Lakewood became Englewood became Denver became Aurora. Soon, we drove down Colfax Avenue to the neighborhood I grew up in. At the intersection of Montview and Florence, he pointed for me to turn left. A short two blocks later, I pulled up to the curb in front of 2264 Florence Street, the house I grew up in.
Dad continued to look out the window. “Why did you do it?” he said, still not looking at me.
“Why did I do what?” I inquired, honestly.
Now he looked at me, inquisitively. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Well, Pop, there were so many devious, hateful, despicable things I did as a boy, I just didn’t know which one you were referring to.”
He snorted a little, nodding his head and exhaling through his nose. “I guess I had that coming…”
“Care to be a little more specific?” I pushed the button, lowering my side window.
“Once, when your mother and I were having a little spat, you said you wished I’d die.”
I didn’t remember ever saying that and told him so.
“You always took her side.”
“Dad, I was twelve… and you came home drunk, night after night, refusing to eat and falling asleep at the kitchen table. When Mom tried to get you to go to bed, you swore at her and told her to leave you alone, which she did. One night you almost burned the house down when you passed out and your lit cigarette fell in the trash. I guess you don’t remember that, huh? Whose side am I supposed to take?”
He wrung his hands a little. “Okay, I drank some… but I always put food on the table, didn’t I? I don’t remember you ever going to school with your butt hanging out!”
I paused to look at him again, craning my neck to get a better angle. Sure enough, it was Dad’s face; that much was unmistakable. “You’ve returned from the dead to find out why I took Mom’s side? Does that about sum it up?”
Dad looked at me, his eyes suddenly sad. “Please don’t hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, Dad, how can you say that to me? I’ve always loved you. Sometimes I didn’t like you very much, but I always loved you…” My voice trailed off at that point.
“Enough to buy your old man a beer?” The leprechauns danced in his eyes.
It was my turn to snort. “Sure, why not… I’m sitting in my car in front of a house I haven’t lived in for nearly thirty-five years, talking to a dead man; I guess I might as well buy him a beer at a bar which may or may not even still be there. I guess the cell can’t get any more padded.”
|
Help Us Stop Plagiarism -
Nearly all works at PnP are original. However a few people choose to plagiarize.
To check, choose a phrase from the work, then either drag and drop to the search box or copy and paste.
click on search and works at Google will be shown which match. Just to be sure, please do this before
you recommend or rate the work highly...
|
 |
|
|
|
Select a Random Book
|
|
Welcome !
