Dad

A Story by Marshman

Short story about a lost and found parent. I hope you dig it.

"Dad"

"After the divorce I was 8.

After the divorce I saw Daddy every other weekend if the stars aligned.

Sometimes we'd see a movie, or go to a video arcade with a bunch of quarters, or take a loaf of bread to a park and feed the ducks.

After the divorce I would wait with my small weekend bag where the driveway met the road. I'd try to spot his headlights coming in the far distance, to pick me up.

Sometimes they never came.

After the divorce he had a duplex miles from the only home I ever knew.
Inside was dingy carpet. Low light.
In a dim bedroom there was a dresser.

A brown-wood, two-drawer, hip-height dresser.
His gold watch lived there while not worn.
His deodorant, a scent that promised a brighter tomorrow lived there.

The lighting was so dim in that room.
So very very dim.

I loved him.

Sometimes even now, 34 years later, and 28 years after his death, I still watch for those headlights when peering down a long lonely twilit road..."
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I pushed back from the keyboard and rubbed my moist eyes with the heels of my palms.
Thinking about Dad always got to me.
This writing that I was doing about it helped....but....He and I had never had enough time.

It was Sunday morning, and I needed to run errands and prepare for my hectic work week. Ahhh--publisher meetings, mortgages, commitments... Adult Life.

I ran my fingers through my thinning hair and changed my shirt. After a quick glance in the mirror and calling it good I loaded up my pockets with the phone, wallet, & car keys, and headed out.

Something occurred to me on the way out of the garage. It was a nice day, and I'd decided to take the long way to the grocery store. The "back" way, if you please.

I drove several blocks along this alternate route, was sitting at the first traffic light that dared impede my progress.

When the light turned green I pressed the gas pedal, and luckily I was a little slower on the take off than usual, (because I was in no real hurry today), A car from my left went barreling thru the red light.
I muttered "Jesus KUHrist that was close" and proceeded forward, and that's when the pursuing police officer almost side-swiped me as well, just missing hittiing my left rear fender on his way after the reckless speeder.

I drove for several miles out into the boonies in a fog before I'd even realized I'd done it. I guess that close call had gotten to me a little. And I was about to find out it fazed my car as well.

"BAM!!!!! ....... BAM!!!!!!!!"

The steering wheel yanked hard to the right and then the left....and then I was on the side of the road.

With two flats. On a Sunday at church-time and no traffic to be seen.

Sigh.
So much for timely chore completion.

I got out and looked down the long straight road in both directions.

Nothing.

I stood looking at the useless heaps of rubber that gave up on me today.

B******s.

I went to pull out my cell phone and realized it was my wallet. And my wallet pocket was empty.

Super.

I realized I'd have to rely on the "friendly stranger" scenario if I didn't want to hoof it quite some ways.

After some time I finally saw a glint of metal and glass in the distance, and started to put on my best "please help me, I'm not a psycho" face.

As the car got closer I saw it was a big early 80's LTD. Kind of a Lincoln Continental/Cadillac type of deal.

The sun glared brightly on the windshield and I couldn't make out the driver.
As it pulled up alongside me the passenger door was pushed open from the inside and I saw the driver.

I rubbed my eyes and stared again.
At that driver.

I looked left, down the road, and right, up the road: No other cars in sight.

I looked back....at THAT DRIVER.

"Hop in kiddo, those ducks aren't gonna feed themselves!" dad said to me.

My Dad, from 1982.
My Dad, who fed the ducks at the park with me.
My Dad, who gave me quarters for video games.
My Dad, the man I had just been writing about this morning.
My Dad, who had been dead and gone for 34+ years.

My DAD.

So I got into the car.
At once age 42 and age 8.
At once petrified and thrilled.

He looked fan-f*****g-tastic.
Sure, the lines on his face bespoke the decades of smoking and drinking and difficult emotional dramas.
But he was DAD....and He looked fan-f*****g-tastic.

I looked around the car with a little trepidation and a lot of wonder. He had a beer between his legs.
I buckled up.

Was this real? I didn't care.
Was this possible? I didn't care.
Would I wake up in a moment? Oh God, I hoped not.

He looked at me with a big grin. The one he saved for his Boy.

And we drove away.
My dad and me on a Sunday.