Normal or Dead - part 1 (because that cannot be determined in one post!)

Okay, now it was time for the event I'd been waiting for and Dad is actually early.

"Hello!  Eli, you home?  You're not standing me up are you?  Hellooooooooooo."
Dad sounded like an owl flying through the apartment coming towards my room.

"In here, I'm still packing."  When I answered, I realized I was a little nervous.  I hadn't spent a weekend with Dad since last year before he moved into rehab. The divorce had really tested my ability to forgive him.  That, and my so-called friends almost had me convinced that he was an unforgivably bad man.  We did talk on the phone, but those conversations had gotten more and more rehearsed -- and boring.  He picked up on that right away so he decided to write me letters -- everyday.  They were fun to get and read but I liked writing the answers to them even more.  It was if I could say whatever came to
my mind without any fear of the consequences.  I wrote as hard as I could every time, I think Dad and me actually became close again because of those letters.  And that is why I saved every single one of them.  But then, I felt weird, like how do I greet him in person?  Leave it to R.J O'Shea to relieve the tension.

"Packing?" Dad asked.  "Let's see here, what's the suit for?  You got a hot date you didn't tell me about?" 

My heart and face fell dropped like a water balloon, my worst nightmare was coming true -- Dad must've dropped the ball on the Simon Masters' passes, I slumped onto the edge of the bed and flipped out. 

"Hey, hey, your mom said you had a rough week.  But why the meltdown?" He sat by me and my duffle bag dumped on the floor. 

My face became an instant super-soaker.  Salty, hot tears gushed into my mouth while fuming accusations erupted out.  "What happened to your memory?  They keep that locked up at the clinic?  I've been looking forward to this weekend for a month!  And you blew it didn't you?  You brain farted!  You forgot about Simon Masters -- thanks a lot!"  I was the living definition of MELT DOWN.  My head was as close to exploding as it had ever been.  I remember feeling the skin throb as it tried to expand beyond my skull!   Without any warning -- a year's worth of frustration, insults, teasing, loneliness, and just plain sadness bubbled up.  I grabbed my sneaker box of his letters and flung them like raging lightning bolts -- hurled at Dad.  I had never accused his battle with booze for anything to his face.  To be honest, I never believed there was a reason.  Until then.

"Wow," he took a deep breath.  "You sit here for a minute and I'm going to try this again." Poor guy probably could have used a drink -- but I have to hand it to him, he pulled it together.  After a few minutes I heard, "Hello!  Is the man of the house home?  Hmm, must be in his room getting ready for a GREEAATT weekend.  Oh what a weekend Daddy O has planned.  Hey E, are you packing in there?  Don't pack anything special," he peeked his head in the door.  "The Simon Masters' premiere is casual." 

I shot up like a rocket, even squealed, like a girl.  "I'm sorry Dad.  It's just,"

"Fugeddaboutit, it never happened," he turned me upside down and shook out the change from my pockets.  "I'm a little strapped these days."  We laughed, and shoved some clothes in the duffle bag. 

"Take this navy shirt, I'll wear a navy jacket and we'll be slick," he was really acting up, the word slick came out as his tongue squished through his perfectly white set of teeth. "Besides you'll want the extra long sleeves to stuff with the freebies."  That's my dad, R.J. O'Shea.  He carefully picked up the letters, "Man, good thing your mom wasn't home.  She'd have been thinking twice about letting you stay with me after that outburst.  I've never seen such a display from you.  Maybe you got the acting gene too.

"Oh great," I answered.  "That's what I want -- E.J. O'Shea child star."

"Listen Eli," he got serious, "I know first hand how lonely it can be when you're the child of a notorious person.  But I'm clean now and as long as your mom's okay with it, I'm going to make a real effort to spend as much time as I can with you.  We cool?"

How was I supposed to tell him that if Mom had her way his efforts at a normal father / son relationship wouldn't matter?  I needed this weekend.  So, I didn't try, "Yeah we're cool," I shivered, squishing my tongue through my teeth -- only I couldn't do it as good as Dad.

But finally, we were off.

Comments

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