“Dad?” I gasped.
His eyes opened, unfocused at first… but then they found mine, and I knew.
He’d been waiting for me.
Maybe people do change.
Maybe the men in my life don’t all end in ash.
Maybe… this doesn’t have to be the end of something.
Maybe it’s the start.
38
Aspen
I’m in the bathroom stall at work and I’m craving the drug again, now more than ever. The alcohol isn’t enough to numb the pain. I play with the vile in my pocket and think about how this tiny piece of plastic just ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
I can’t be likehim.
I was going to ask her to be mine; officially, permanently, granted, I don’t have the biggest apartment, but we would make it work. I had too much of a connection with her for it to just all disappear.
Then I cry, real tears, not from withdrawal, not from shame. Just pure, aching grief for the woman who left this morning and didn’t look back.
I deserve it, and she deserves better.
There is no excuse. She knows her worth and she’s not going to waste it on a drug addict. Even though I was quitting, she didn’t know that. I know she doesn’t like her father because of it, so why would she like me?
My forehead is pressed against the stall door when my phone rings in my pocket.
I don’t look at the caller ID, but try to steady my voice before I answer the call.
“Hello?” I say as weak as I feel.
“Hey bud. What’s the matter?” I hear none other than a male voice on the other end of the phone. A voice I haven’t heard from in a while.
“Dad?” I ask confused, my voice growing stronger, edged with annoyance.
“Who else would it be?” Literally anyone. You never call, I think to myself.
“What do you want?” I ask him with a stern voice, no emotion behind it whatsoever.
“Why is it always that I want something?” He asks.
“Because that’s all you ever do,” I say flat.
“Well, I just wanted to check up on my boy, see what’s going on… and maybe ask if you could lend a couple hundred dollars. I’m short up on my rent this month,” he says.
Of course he is. But if I send him money, he still won’t use it for that, he’ll use it to buy more drugs. I’m no idiot.
“So youdowant something,” I say.
“Only if you’ll help me,” he says.
I hate that he makes me feel guilty. I know exactly where that money’s going. And still, I want to help. Because I’m stupid. Or because I’m his son. Maybe both. He’s my dad after all, I can’t help that he’s a piece of shit.
I always hope that if I send him money he’ll use it for good, but he never does.
