Unhindered

I’m not sure what to feel. What is normal to feel. 

As I watch him approach me by the gas station on 204th Street, I notice that I feel clammy. Yeah, that’s it: I feel nervous. My heartbeat tingles in my fingers, light, fast; my eyes dart to the cars on the street as I stand there, waiting. Awkwardly. I shove my sweaty hands into the pockets of my jeans. 

He’s too close for me to ignore him now. He’s aged. No surprise, but it’s a strange provocation to the image of him that I’ve crystallized throughout the years. Maybe it’s the loss of the beard - I can see the hard lines set around his mouth. His figure is leaner, his face wan like a man out of battle, white shirt hanging on him loosely. I shuffle my feet, lift my head to look at him. 

“Hey, bud.”

“...Hi.” 

I half wish I hadn’t looked into his eyes. It had to happen sooner or later, but what I find there suddenly pulls out dark, heavy feelings that I’ve struggled with for years. I’d assumed I’d let go of them - I haven’t felt them in a while, but I surprise myself now. 

The look in his eyes is pure and pleads reconciliation, and it disgusts me mildly.

So I let my eyes travel to the familiar glint around his neck - it’s the necklace with my birthday engraved on the silver tag, which he’d commissioned as soon as I was born. A more insistent sense of disgust pushes at me, and I look away quickly. 

He seems to notice and clears his throat, scratches the back of his neck.

“Hey, why don’t I grab you something from the convenience store and we can find a place to, uh, talk?”

 He doesn’t wait for my answer and walks past me to open the store entrance. I catch a whiff of clean laundry. Clenching my hands inside my pockets, I shuffle through the door he’s holding out for me. 

I’m greeted with a blast of warm air that takes the bite off the cold from outside. The hum of the drink coolers inside the store seems loud in my ears, and I busy myself browsing through the colourful aisles. I glance to my side, to see him pouring slush into two jumbo cups. He takes them over to the counter and the tired cashier gives him back his change unceremoniously.

“Let’s go, big guy,” He offers a hesitant smile at me as he holds out one of the slushies to me. “I got you your favourite.” 

A new wave of anger and disgust washes over me and I want to strike the lime green cup out of his hand so that the contents, which I’m sure is orange crush, will splatter against the store window. He’s acting like he still knows me. He’s always been like this. He always thought he knew best, and he imposed that onto everyone - especially my mother and me. It was his pride, thinking he understood others better than they knew themselves. I guess rehab couldn’t change this in him. 

I suddenly feel foolish, having agreed to meet him. But even now, as my fists clench inside my pockets, I want that closure - from the events before his nine-year-long absence, from the torrent of emotions I’ve felt during those nine years, and from the man in general. I didn’t want to hold onto these hard feelings any longer. I’ve come to this place willing to forgive him, nothing more - so I refuse to regret meeting him because I’ll do as I planned and get on with my life after this. 

I take the slush in his outstretched hand, and together we head towards the small park near the gas station. 

The slush is sickly sweet, and I’m oddly relieved that I am no longer the boy that likes orange crush flavoured ice because he is the boy that would jump at the opportunity to please my father. The boy that would gladly run into his arms to inhale the scent of booze set into his clothes. I remember the hateful words my father would spit at my mother and me in one of his drunk rages, his large stature intimidating and forcing us down on the ground. But they would make the boisterous praises he shouted only in front of others, and the rare touches of affection that much more desirable. And so I had worked hard for them.

The tense silence is interrupted once we sit down on a bench by the open field. 

“So. It’s been a while.” My father chuckles nervously. I nod, looking down at the bright orange through my plastic straw. 

“So… I’ve changed. I mean, 'course I’ve changed. Years of rehab had to do something for me, right? Haha,” he sighs abruptly. “This isn’t coming out the way I wanted it to… what I mean to say is, I’m not who I was before. I’m not that drunkard with a beer belly. And I meant to say sorry for that… you were so small back then, can’t remember what kinda state I was in to say what I’ve said to you,”

 He rubs a hand over his face. 

“I was in a dark place at the time, bud. I had issues with self-esteem throughout my life, and your mother definitely didn’t help with that. I think… what I said to you was mostly directed to your mother. Guess I kinda ended up using you as an outlet - I hope this isn’t sounding like an excuse to you, what I’ve done was truly unforgivable.” 

He glances at me quickly, gauging my reaction. I don’t look back at him. I just want to go home, honestly, and leave this subject untouched. But that wouldn’t give me the closure I need. I am determined to forgive him so I can move on.  

I keep my mouth closed and let him continue. 

“But rehab really helped me to get through those problems, and mentally, I’m in a much better place. Can’t imagine going back to alcohol now. I’ve also got a stable job, you know. I mean, for you, I’ve always worked hard to earn money to support you during those years… anyways, it was never enough for Helen, never enough. But I’ve landed myself a well paying job, I’m all ears for anything you want. I’m sure you’re still on with baseball? You were crazy for it as a kid, I remember that. You were just like me in that way, maybe even more athletic. Maybe I can get you a bat, for an early Christmas present. Or maybe you’ll want a PlayStation now that you’re a full-grown teen now.” He smiles sadly like he’s reminiscing good memories and can’t believe I am not the small boy in them anymore. 

He’s making it really hard for me to forgive him. 

I can’t believe that he’s referencing baseball right now. It was the sport that I’d thrown myself into, to gain his approval. I remember his loud cheers during my matches, and my mother’s soft smile beside him and I remember feeling like my world was made right again - my parents were normal, they were sitting beside each other, and they loved me. Yeah, it was a good time back then when I was desperate for things like that. But it’s a memory gone sour for me now. I quit baseball the year after he left, never having liked it much anyway. 

Moreover, I can’t believe he’s trying to skimp over those nine years - nine years of my mother battling depression, self-worth issues, and the impact his absence had in my own life and mental health - with a light-hearted sorry, and dare to act like he still knows me best.

But I halt these thoughts and my straw, which I’d absent-mindedly been stirring through the melting ice. Bringing up these emotions will get me nowhere - I can tell this man is still incapable to look past his own selfish needs. He doesn’t want to know how I was during those nine years. He wants to leave what’s happened in the past, and carry on with his life, just as I am trying to do. But the difference is that my way of moving on with life is to leave him behind, while his is to catch up with me. 

It’s strange, but I know he loves me in his twisted way. And now that he’s “changed”, and has taken care of his own mental well-being - which in the process had destroyed my mother’s and my own- he wants me back in his life. He thinks I’m the docile suck-up that I was at eight. Let him think that way. It doesn’t really matter to me anymore.

I open my mouth for the first time in what feels like hours. 

“I agreed to meet you today for two reasons… dad. I wanted to know what you were thinking nine years ago when you left, and I wanted to tell you that I forgive you for that,” My voice sounds surprisingly steady, and that relieves me. My father looks relieved too - but also hopeful.

“That doesn’t mean I can just let you back into my life. I’ve dealt with a lot of things because of you, and you don’t know half of what mom has gone through. It’s been a long struggle to find the heart to forgive. But I’ve been wanting to be free of hard feelings, and though it doesn’t make what you did ok in any way - I knew you had your struggles. Today was to let that go for both of us. And I don’t want you expecting something more than forgiveness.” I add quickly. 

He deflates in front of my eyes. 

A part of me deflates as well, and I think it was a small part of the boy that liked orange crush slushies and had hoped. 

I don’t have much to say after that. It was a script that I’d practiced over and over, but it was genuine and I’d said what I’d wanted to. As I look at my aged father, small sobs shaking through his hunched body, I don’t feel the sense of release that I’d imagined I would feel; what I do feel though, is the first step towards that release. 

The sun is setting, and the air is more chilly than before - the slush definitely hasn’t helped much to keep me from freezing. So awkwardly, I thank him for the drink and hand him a kleenex as I rise from the bench. He takes it, not quite meeting my eyes. We walk back the way we came from, and my stiff body begins to warm up from the action and from the setting sun. At the parking lot, he turns to offer me a ride - but I tell him I got my license last month and have my own ride, to which he makes an almost laughably shocked expression. Before I make a move to my car though, I tell him I’ll contact him if something important came up in the future. He thanks me for that and says,

“You’re a man now, bud. You’re a good man.” 

Not sure how to take it, I nod slowly and get in the car. We part our ways as we drive out of the exit of the gas station.

As I drive home, I feel the urge to open the window of my car. The air that rushes in is freezing and startles me, but it is also rejuvenating so I leave it down for another beat or two. 

I take a deep breath of the cold air. Unhindered.