a fiction
Yes, Dad, I took the last bottle of beer.
No, Dad, I didn’t drink it.
Yes, Dad, I spent all your money on money and porn.
No, Dad, I didn’t enjoy it. But it enjoyed me.
Yes, Dad, I fucked someone in your bed.
No, Dad, she didn’t come.
Yes, Dad, I figured it was right to tell someone I loved them when I didn’t, didn’t know how.
Yes, Dad, I told her to call me you when she came (finally).
No, Dad, I didn’t read that book you gave me.
No, Dad, you didn’t leave a bruise.
Yes, Dad, you’re a shit to Mom and she tells me about it on her other email address all the time and I tell her to go see a movie instead.
Yes, Dad, you didn’t remember my birthday, and I forgot yours on purpose.
No, Dad, you don’t need to write.
Yes, Dad, you made me do a lot of drugs while I said I was keeping straight enough Bs. You didn’t know those Bs were Ds because Mom always opened the mail because you never leave the couch to begin with and she burned the letters and told me about it later.
No, Dad, I didn’t call Grandma to wish her a happy birthday.
No, Dad, no, just listen. . .
Yes, Dad, I heard you.
Yes, Dad, I understand.
No, Dad, I just wanted to tell you that there were things that I know you did because you did them and I understand now, I do, but I just want an apology, or something, and that time you took me by the hair and put my face in that pile of shit in my bed, that wasn’t right, you did that and it wasn’t right and you making a ceremony of spankings for every average child misdeed wasn’t right even if it seemed so at the time and you telling me about disappointment and nothing of regret made me a person who counts disappointments and collects regrets. You can’t imagine what Mom feels now…
Yes, Dad.
Yes, Dad.
Dad…
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