Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
The way he says it, it sounds like this is some fun game of Pick Your Therapist.
“I don’t want a recommendation from someone on your pickleball team,” I say, frustrated at how he’s acting. “You’re my dad, and I need to talk to you.”
“I just think you will have a lot of private thoughts about your mom, and a professional could really help you work through those, and you know, now that you mention it…” He pushes to his feet. “I need to look up his information on Facebook. I think he might have a new number because I have his work card.”
My heart races as he rushes for the kitchen entryway.
No, stop. Stop!
I can’t get the words out, though, and he’s just reached the entryway when, in a panic, I shout, “Don’t leave me again!”
I don’t sound like the angry, fuck-all guy I usually am. I sound much gentler. More vulnerable…and terrified.
Dad’s frozen in place, and the adrenaline coursing through me settles, though I know I can’t let my guard down, certain he could still keep going. He turns around to face me, his eyes wide with horror. “What did you say, Miles?”
He knows damn well what I said, but it bears repeating. “Don’t…leave…me…again.”
He stares at me blankly, as though something I said shut down part of his brain. Finally, he seems to snap out of it and steps toward me. My muscles relax, as though it’s the reassurance I needed that he’s not going anywhere.
“Miles, I was not in a good place back then. I thought you would eventually come to understand that.”
I hesitate, trying to pick my words carefully, though I quickly realize it’s another delay, an attempt to keep from having to address any of it, to keep it buried inside me. And I just can’t anymore.
“I do understand, but it doesn’t change how it felt. I was a kid, and my mom had just killed herself, and then my dad’s MIA. And Aunt Tilly and Uncle Roger are making up all these reasons why I couldn’t see you.”
He searches the room, and at first I think he’s looking for a way to get out of this conversation, but then his gaze is far off, and he bows his head. “I didn’t know how to deal with it.”
My chest tightens. “So how do you think I felt? My parents are both gone, and I’m with my aunt and uncle, and no one’s telling me what’s going to happen. I’m not getting to see any of my friends at school. My whole life just changed, and I thought it was my fault.”
His forehead creases as his attention returns to me. “Your fault?” he asks, as though he genuinely can’t imagine why I’d suggest that, which I can’t for the fucking life of me get.
“What else was I supposed to think? She killed herself, Dad. I should have known something was wrong and done something, anything, to stop her. And then you left. And I’m trying to figure out if you blamed me for not helping her. Fuck, I felt so much shame, Dad.” I’m gripped by that agony, the events flashing before me in quick succession, transporting me back to that dark time…the screaming. “One day, while I was staying at Tilly and Roger’s, I went into the woods behind their house and just fell on my knees and started screaming as loud as I could, saying I was sorry and that you both needed to come back to me. I was hoping, if I screamed loud enough, Mom or you would come back because I needed you, but no one heard me. So I just screamed until I lost my voice.”
His gaze meets mine, his eyes wide with panic or terror, and maybe for the first time, he seems to understand what I’m sharing with him. His eyes water, and he shakes his head. “You seemed like you were handling it fine when I got back.”
I struggle to keep the tears at bay as I explain, “Because I was a kid who finally got his dad back, and at the time, that seemed like the most important thing in the world, but then, when I realized things still weren’t okay, I was terrified of saying something to you because then you might leave me again.”
“Miles, I wouldn’t have—”
“How would I have known that? Do you have any idea what that did to me? I thought I was lucky you even came back. And now I can still hear that kid in the woods screaming, Dad.” It’s ringing in my damn head even now. “It’s so loud, and so lonely. And I’ve spent so much of my life hating everyone for not being able to hear how loud I’m screaming, even though I don’t actually ask anyone for help because I don’t believe anyone’s coming because of how fucked up I am.”