my father's daughter : part ii
I am looking at an obituary.
My father did not write this obituary.
I have been looking at it for days.
Then putting it away again.
His name was Scott. His skin was a little craggy. Probably that was hell in his teens. He had shaggy hair that was always a little long and that odd mix between sandy on top and dark underneath that meant after you talked to him you could never say exactly what color it really was. He always smiled like he was real happy to see me. He had kind of a crush on me I think. We caught up at Nicholl dinners. And always said we would try sometime to get together while he was in town. But never did. Last dinner we saw each other, we drank a lot of red wine. And told each other stories. Not this is what I am selling Hollywood stories. True stories. I was not driving. He gave me a lift home. He emailed after he should not have been driving either. We laughed at that.
That was November.
He died in May.
to be continued
my father’s daughter : part i
my father’s daughter : part ii
my father’s daughter : part iii
where the art work comes by :
that is self embrace by len steckler
5 Responses to my father’s daughter : part ii
I think he’ d be glad you remember that night and his happiness. When someone is no longer here….it’s disorienting inside ourselves.
My son stopped by yesterday and told me that one of his friends had died in a car wreck a few days before.
My Son had gone to the funeral and come to my house after and when he told me about it he said his friend had been playing baseball ( his team won ) and that he had been driving home after the game when it happened.
My Son is a grown man and so is his friend.
But the image I saw when Julio talked to me was of his friend as a boy dressed in his baseball uniform asking if Julio can come out and play.
It is distressing.
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Oh boy. I admit I am rather looking forward to the rest of this story though (although not the way I think it’s going to end). You have built up the suspense.