Oh, man. I’m sorry.”
Okay, that was awkward,
but even so, he says, Hey.
Don’t be sorry. Look, we just never expected to lose him, you know? Dad was such a solid fixture in our lives.
Not rich or highly educated, but he was a hard worker and a really nice guy. It might sound like a cliché, but everyone truly loved him.
Suddenly, it strikes me
that if something awful
happened to Dad I wouldn’t have the slightest clue
what to do. Find a way
to bury him, I suppose, and then . . . What?
I don’t even know how
to get hold of Ma-maw
and Pops. That makes me
feel very alone and a little scared. One time when I was maybe eight I got off the school bus and no one was there to meet me, so I walked back to the house where we were living. Dad’s woman du jour was gone. So was he, and it was hours before he got back.
I was petrified I’d be alone forever.
I inch closer to Gabe,
till our legs almost touch.
The autumn air is cool, and the heat of his body through his jeans and Levi’s shirt is noticeable. Couple that with the clean, leathery
scent lifting off his skin, it’s borderline sensory
overload. It’s a good thing.
So, Naturally
I backpedal immediately.
Put distance between us.
Quick, change the subject.
I ask how he likes his job, the one my dad helped him
get—part-time work at the shop.
He says other than the grease and porn on the wall it’s decent.
There’s a joke there somewhere because he grins and then hot damn, man, is he gorgeous.
I push that thought aside and search for the humor, and when I finally understand, reward him with rich laughter.
Now a single word surfaces inside my head: comfortable.
That’s the way I feel with Gabe.
No. Not right. More like half the way I feel. The other half is uncomfortably turned on.
I Command
That half to remain very, very quiet, and am more than a little relieved
when Dad bombs through the door,
carrying a platter of sausages.
Gabe jumps to his feet. Here, let me help. Barbecue is one thing I’m pretty darn good at. Dad was a great teacher.
Oh, he must have been, agrees Zelda.
I remember this one time . . . She takes Gabe’s arm and steers him toward
the grill. Dad follows, weaving slightly.
I cross my fingers that our dinner
doesn’t crash-land on the ground,
but my luck or Dad’s, the hot dogs end up dirt free on the barbie. Watching the scene unfold initiates my huge sigh at the domesticity of it all—something I struggle to reconcile in connection to Dad and me. The idea of extended family is totally foreign. I command my inner voice to shut the hell up and let me enjoy what’s left of this day without overthinking or dissecting or second-guessing or otherwise closing myself off to perhaps very real possibilities.
After We Eat
Dad switches from beer
to tequila. This will turn
into a long Saturday night,
and I don’t really want
to spend the rest of the day watching Dad and Zelda
get blotto, so I ask Gabe
for a ride home. When
he agrees, Dad insists,
I’ll have an eye on the clock.
I know exactly how long it takes to get there and back, so don’t get cocky, hear?
No worries. Straight there and back, and I promise to be the perfect gentleman.
Your daughter is safe with me.
Dad slaps Zelda on the butt.
Wish I could promise your aunt is safe with me, but I am a man of my word. The two of them cackle like crows.
I’m glad to be out of there, and grateful to Gabe for
taking me home. His junker
is what some people call a classic, but I mostly see
it as just plain old. It could use some body work, not
to mention upholstery.
“What kind of car is this?”
It’s a ’67 GTO, and it’s fast.
He starts it up, and any doubt of its speed dissolves with
the rev of its well-tuned engine.
“Well, in that case, maybe
I should remind you that
you said I’d be safe in your care.”
You don’t like speed? He pulls out onto the road carefully, putts through town. Is this slow enough?
“You don’t have to drive like an old woman. I won’t jump
out or do anything stupid.
I guess I’m a bit overcautious.”
Always worried about losing
whatever advantage I might’ve recently gained. Sad really.
What Fun Is That?
That’s what he asks, and it’s a valid
question. Wasn’t I only recently thinking about the folly of taking no chances?
So when we get far enough out of town,
I tell him, “So, go for it. Show me what
she can do. I’ll even keep my eyes open.”
He grins. Okay, if you’re sure. Hold on to your hat! Pedal to the metal, we’re over a hundred in mere seconds
flat. The acceleration forces me back
into the seat and the landscape outside
the windows blurs. The rush is incredible.
If I ever do get my own car, I’d better
settle for a clunker with an engine half this size or expect regular ticketing.
When Gabe dials back, regret descends.
“Wow. That was awesome. I’d never