I stare out the window for a few seconds. “I was almost egged by a bunch of seventy-year-olds last night. The street where I live is very serious about their holiday decorating, and I wasn’t aware. They harassed me because I hadn’t decorated. But don’t worry, I made everything right by going out and grabbing decorations. I styled up the house, and it looks pretty good. I used a bunch of fake spider webs and corn husks. Kind of spooky.”
I fail to mention Aaron’s name because I don’t want to upset my dad. Aaron was the son my dad never had. When they first met, my dad was reticent around him until Aaron started showing up every Sunday for family dinner. Instead of hanging out with me, he would hang out with my dad, helping him around the house with things that were getting too difficult like yard work, shoveling, and even cleaning. It was one of the reasons I fell so desperately in love with Aaron; he loved my father as if he was his own and cared for him
I don’t want to chance making Dad’s day worse by mentioning Aaron. When we broke up, it was horrible for both of us. Not only did I move away shorty after that, but my dad also lost a son. Aaron, obviously, didn’t feel he could still hang with my dad, and I know my dad missed him. Part of me wishes Aaron had kept up with Dad, because I think right now, he could do with another friend making an effort, visiting him. Caring.
Resigned that Heather was right, I decide to serve up the mac and cheese and try to enjoy my father’s silent company. I call down for some dishes, which are brought up quickly, and divvy up the mac and cheese, only giving my dad a little because from Heather’s updates, I know he doesn’t each much. Although that’s evident in the weight he’s lost.
When I bring the bowl to him, he doesn’t even look at it. I set it down on the side table next to him and take my seat. As he looks out the window, I hold back the threatening tears.
It’s funny how some foods become comfort foods in life. Dad and I used to love having mac and cheese together. It simply became our thing. But as I look at him, see how lost and empty he looks, I wonder if this is it for him? Is he gone forever? My mouthful tastes like plastic, perhaps more from my pain than the ingredients.
Is he gone forever?
I’m not ready. I’m not ready to say goodbye to my dad, not even close.
Please come back to me, Dad. I still need my daddy by my side. Please come back.
***
I roll my car into the garage and put it in park just in time to hand out candy. Since I’m late to the game, it was slim pickings at the store, so I ended up getting Tootsie Rolls, bags upon bags upon bags of Tootsie Rolls . . . Halloween’s trash candy. If the golden-age gang don’t egg me, the kids will.
I talked to my sister on the way home, letting her know Dad had a bad day. She was short on the phone, not really into the conversation, but this is no surprise to me. She has a hard time dealing with Dad’s degenerating mind and body. It’s too hard for her, which I can understand because it’s just as hard on me.
When I get off the phone, I realize how lonely I am. It was right to move back, but I’m out of synch with my normal routine. I miss the city, which surprises me. I miss my boyfriend. I miss my dad. God, I so miss my dad. He’s always been my anchor, and without that, without Amanda too, it feels like too much. I need someone who loves me to hold me. To tell me it will be okay, even if it’s not true. When Mom died, she left a gaping hole in my heart that I knew only time would heal. I’m not ready for another hole there, though. I need Dad to fight to stay with me. With us.
It’s too much.
Sighing, I wipe away a stray tear and exit my car. I pop the trunk and take out the bags of trash candy. This freaking street and their holiday spirit. Out of all the streets in Binghamton, this is the one I had to end up on.
“Need help with that?”
Aaron.
Of course he’s here to help. Isn’t he always here to help when I have to empty my car?
Wiping away another tear, I swallow and say, “I’ve got it.”
“Are those Tootsie Rolls?”
Ugh, of course he would notice.
“It was all that was left.” I keep my head turned toward the car as my emotions start to get the best of me.
Do not cry over Tootsie Rolls. Do. Not. Cry.
“Not even Tootsie Pops, you got Tootsie Rolls.”
My throat closes in on me.
Oh no, it’s going to happen . . .
“You didn’t even get the fruit-flavored ones or the giants ones. You bought regular Tootsie Rolls.”
My nose stings, and I can’t form a sentence, my throat is so tight. I try not to blink because the minute I do . . .
My eyelids shut and just like that, a flood of tears falls down my face as I hiccup and suck in a deep breath of air. My body shakes and I grip the other bags in my trunk.
The dam broke, and even though I’m trying fucking hard to stop it, there is no end in sight.
Cue the waterworks.
Cue the sniffles.
Cue the snot . . . cue all the snot.
“Hey.” Aaron’s voice softens as he quickly comes up behind me. He places one of his hands on my shoulder and turns me so he can look me in the eyes. Bending down slightly, he tilts up my chin and when he sees my tears, his jaw goes slack and worry etches across his face. “Amelia, what’s wrong?”
“They only had Tootsie Rolls,” I sob.
“Okay, not a problem. It’s candy. It’s not like you have tubes of toothpaste or something lame like that.” I know he’s trying to console me, but there is something incredibly awkward about the way he’s doing it, as if he doesn’t quite know if he should hug me or not. I get it. But right now, all I want is to be held. Hugged. Consoled. Loved.
“I didn’t know about the street traditions.” I start chucking Tootsie Roll bags on the driveway, tossing them out of my car until there is nothing left. “Someone should have told me about the stupid traditions. What do you do, hand out full-size candy bars?” My voice is shrill, I’m overreacting big time, and I bet if I looked up I would see that I’ve drawn attention from the neighbors around us.
“We hand out regular candy. I was kidding, Amelia. Tootsie Rolls are fine.”
“They’re trash,” I say while throwing my arms in the air and stomping toward the back of the garage where I pull down an old-looking lawn chair Mrs. Ferguson left behind. I bring it to the middle of my driveway, stack the Tootsie Roll bags on top of each other, sit down in the chair, and start opening bags. I toss the Tootsie Rolls and wipe at my tears. “Come get your trash candy.” I sprinkle my driveway. I’ve genuinely lost it.
I was right. I am drawing attention. All my neighbors are sitting on their porches, staring at me as if I’ve lost my damn mind.
Well, guess what? I have.
And you know what’s the old kick to the crotch about all of this? Individuals older than my dad, at least by ten years, are highly functioning, functioning enough to chase down a young lady and threaten her with eggs.
It’s a twisted reminder that life isn’t fair.