my license,
passed the test
with only one
little mistake.
It was Zelda who talked Dad into showing up at the DMV
right when I needed him.
I made the appointment, told him when
to be there. At first he said he couldn’t
get off work, but
Zelda dropped by
the shop, asked
his boss to comply,
and then he had
no real excuse.
Later, he was mad, of course.
You and that bitch double-teamed me. Admit it, you planned it together, didn’t you?
I reminded him
that Zelda and I
rarely even speak,
and when we do,
he’s pretty much
always around,
so, no, we made
no secret pact.
“Maybe she believes I deserve the privilege, or maybe she just wants you to be a little freer to feed your, uh, appetites.”
Then it got really
strange because
he went totally
silent, and stayed
that way until I
saw him again
the next evening and then he said,
Wash up for dinner.
One of my appetites needs to be fed.
Dad Holds Grudges
I’ve known that, like, forever, and have tried to make sense of them. He harbors hate
for my mother, which is well enough deserved; bitterness for Nadia, Cecilia, Jewel, and more than a few whose names I don’t remember, despite
dredging up their faces
in random daydreams. I’m only marginally aware of the details, but it seems the splits were mutually acceptable, so I can’t explain his reasons. Rhonda he escaped from, contraband in pocket; and Leona is little more than a sketch in my memory notebook. These two he rarely mentions. Still, as far as I can tell, none of them deserved his abuse, verbal or otherwise.
And beyond every single one of them, I can’t help but ask myself what it is I’ve done to make my dad hold grudges against me.
What Hurts Most
Is I think his main grudge against me is . . .
me.
For someone so determined to maintain a desperate hold, he
would rather I not be here at all, at least that’s how I
feel much of the time.
It hurts. And the longer we
are entrenched here, where attachment is available to me,
the lonelier this house seems with just the two of us
sharing these rooms.
Sometimes, in Fact
I vastly prefer being alone to subjugation, and for Dad, winning is everything. I tried playing chess with him exactly three times. The first, I’d never played before and didn’t know the rules. What he taught me was how the pieces moved,
and that was enough that time.
The second, I’d learned some basics from a teacher I can barely recall. Strategy wasn’t something I could define, let alone make sense of. What Dad showed me that time
was the cruelty of make-believe war, and oh, how he made fun of my childish upset. After that I refused to sit across the board from him until I had the chance to read up on possible moves and probable outcomes. I truly believed I had that game won until Dad’s bishop managed an end run and put me in checkmate.
He laughed and laughed, and what he made very clear that time was I’d better not lose and cry.
Crybabies
Top Dad’s most-disgusted-by list. Right below come:
queers
(zero exceptions) foreigners
(white Europeans mostly exempt) pussies
(except the feminine kind) cheaters
(his cheating excepted) whiners
(drunk whining forgiven, depending) know-it-alls
(generally in reference to me).
Over the years, I’ve made that list more times than I care to remember.
He’s my dad, and he loves me.
Most of the time we get along fine.
But once in a while I feel like he would’ve preferred to stay child free.
But Everything’s Better with Wheels
School, because I can come
and go on my own schedule,
not have to worry about
waiting for Dad in the morning or Syrah after practice.
Work. I started at the Triple G
last Saturday, and so far, so good, even though I have to get up early on my weekends. They want me there no later than eight,
which makes sense considering the number of horses I’m expected to exercise within two six-hour days.
Over the course of twelve hours, I rode nine, twice each. Boy, was my butt sore come Sunday night, but I figure that’ll get better once I develop some
gluteal calluses. Peg was right.
Most of the Thoroughbreds
are green, which means challenging because their training is elementary, so it’s mostly about staying astride while they gallop out their excess energy. In comparison, Niagara is a lope around the carousel.