Things Remembered

God, I thought. It had been months since I had seen her. Maybe even years. Embarrassingly,  I couldn't remember how much time had passed. She was 17 years old. I knew that much. Was she 17 when I last visited her in the city? I don't know.

I was anticipating awkwardness for at least the first half an hour, so I wasn't surprised when the only words spoken within the first 15 minutes of the car ride were "Hi" and "How are you?" Oh, and she muttered back "good" as an answer to my question. But was she good? I don't know.

The snow began to come down harder as we drove from the city to my flat in Jersey. Emery hated Jersey just like her mother, hence why she only comes and stays once a year. Manhattan was roughly 2 hours away from Ocean City. Hypothetically I realized I could visit more often if I made the effort, but truthfully, I know she didn't want that. I know she didn't want any of this. The car ride, a month in Ocean City, her Dad. She couldn't care less.

Traffic was picking up and cars and taxis and busses were becoming more and more impatient. To make matters worse, I was now going to be stuck in traffic for well over two hours due to a blizzard ambush. The silence was as deafening as looking to my right and seeing her with her headphones in, looking apathetic, negligent, and distant. Although we were not even three feet apart, I felt is if we were miles away and she was in another sphere of life.

I missed our closeness. I missed visiting the boardwalk on weekends and stuffing our faces with pretzels, ice cream, and the BEST saltwater taffy. After eating everything in sight, we rode the Ferris wheel and tried not to vomit. We looked at each other and laughed. I watched her grow up on the Gillian Wonderland's Pier's Ferris wheel. From giggling at 8 to laughing at 9, to beaming at 10, and  gazing at 11, she was there for the ride. She was always there, eager to ride the Ferris wheel with her old man. But then she turned 12 and I was simply there to chaperone. Her friends became cooler than me, and then her boyfriend became the coolest. But we still had each other in Ocean City. I still had the privilege of watching her live her life. I saw her leave for school in the mornings, come home, eat dinner, do her homework, and watch Spongebob--yes, she still watched Spongebob.

But now, I no longer had that privilege. I didn't know what she wore to school, her friends' names, her favorite snacks, or what she liked to watch on television. Did she still watch Spongebob? I don't know.

Spongebob. Maybe that's where I'd start.

"So do you still watch Spongebob?"

"No," she said without looking up from her phone.

Again, I was stuck. Here I was with a 17-year-old, who could be my daughter or could be a stranger. There wouldn't be much difference between the two.

I knew when she looked at me she saw the enemy. She saw a man who stayed in Ocean City while his wife and daughter decided to pursue a life in Manhattan. I can admit, I chose my job over my family, but ultimately, they left me. And now? They're better off in their expensive apartment they can only afford because my ex is sleeping with a prestigious painter. Does Emery like him? I don't know. I think I'll ask.

"How's Nico?" Oh yeah, he's also closer to Emery's age than her mother's. 26. How lovely.

"Good. He took me to The Met a few days ago."

Awesome. She's talking more about things I don't want to hear. In this case, "good" would have sufficed. But then I remember, I'm the adult and I love her and want to get to know her again. So I suck up my pride and try not to act so afraid of this girl who's blonde hair is now black, who's nose is now pierced, and whose neck is now... well, decorated nicely, thanks to her boyfriend, whose name I do not know.

"How's the boyfriend Emery? Remind me of his name again?"

"Brax and he's fine."

"Emery, if we're going to be sitting in this horrendous traffic, the least you could do is tell me more about him besides saying he's fine or good."

"Fine, he's fucking perfect and everything you're not, is that what you want to hear?"

Oh, so we curse now...great. The worst part is, I can't even tell her to not say that while she's in my car because I'm barely a parental figure in her life and it's doubtful that she would listen to me anyway.

I look at her and I see the pain behind her eyes, the youthfulness behind them too. I can tell she's scared. I can tell her black hair and nose ring are her way of hiding. I can tell she wants to scream at me, cry in front of me, and tell me every reason she hates me. And if hearing it will fix what I've broken, I'm ready to listen.

"Emery. I am asking you nicely to please tell me what you're thinking. Tell me whatever it is you want to tell me. Tell me the reasons you look at me with despise. You loathe me and I love you. Tell me what it is."

Silence. There is nothing but silence and the sight of her nails digging so deep into her palms they might bleed. 1. 2. 3...

"You want to know why I can't STAND you? I was sick and your lazy ass couldn't do as much as get up off your high horse and come visit me. You were TWO hours away and decided a bottle and a faceless woman needed your attention more than I needed it. You didn't stop to think that mom and I left because you didn't have the decency to hide your affair from your friends. The affair you had with mom's BEST friend. You left mom broken and hating herself. And the worst part? You didn't care. You blocked out all the bad and forgot within days all the damage you had done. You look at yourself and forget what you did. You block it out like it never happened. You didn't follow us to Manhattan even when you found out I was SICK. Sick with stage 4 leukemia, Dad. It hurt to know my last memory of you was watching you fade away from the car window. All I wanted was you in the hospital when I was dying and I didn't get that. But we can’t always get what we want, can we Dad? You and The Rolling Stones taught me that. And now I'm gone and all you have is you and the drive you make to Manhattan every year to distract yourself and pretend that I'm still here. You play pretend like you're a little girl playing house or dress up. You pretend that we left as if we had another choice. You pretend that I hate you just because I live with mom and am surrounded by her hatred for you. You pretend mom is evil because she left when you became dangerous. You pretend you have everything when you have nothing."

And then I realize. Cars are no longer stopped, but they're moving freely amidst the blizzard. Yet, my car and I are frozen with vehicles beeping and cursing at me as they maneuver around me. I realize I am crying and yelling. To whom? I don't know. No one's in the car but me.

I find myself not able to remember why I'm here in Manhattan. And as the cars keep moving along, I move with them and drive back to Ocean City in chilling silence.