Everything is the same, and yet… Sadder. Empty beer cans litter the stained carpet, dirty dishes are piled on the coffee table, and there are several more layers of grime on everything, including my dad. Despite the filth, clutter, and total lack of stability in my childhood, all I feel for my dad is pity.
I never knew my mom, but I was told she died while giving birth to me. My father didn’t know I existed until someone showed up on his doorstep with an infant. He was decidedly unprepared to be a parent. To be honest, for most of my life, Ronnie has been more of a chaotic acquaintance than a paternal figure, weaving in and out of my life, and giving me away to anyone who would take me while he was in prison or otherwise incapacitated. I grew up knowing I was a burden, which is probably why I’m so content living alone, working alone, and creating my own safe space.
“Sage? Is that you?” my dad calls out from the kitchen. “I’m working on some coffee, do you want any?”
I grimace and scrunch up my nose at the thought of drinking coffee from the rusted, twenty-year-old coffee maker that hasprobably never been cleaned. “No, thank you, I’ve already had my coffee for the day.”
My father mumbles something, probably about me being ungrateful, but I don’t say anything else. I’ve learned over the years that staying quiet is one of the only things that pleases my father. Besides, I can’t afford a fight when I really need to figure out what’s going on.
I hear dishes clanking, drawers opening, and a few muffled grunts from my father. He’s clearly stalling, which heightens my anxiety even more.
Eventually, my father emerges from the kitchen and makes his way to where I’m sitting in the living room. He set his mug down before lounging in his favorite recliner. My dad sighs heavily and then stands from his seat and begins pacing.
“Tell me what the email said again. Word for word.” His voice is tight with tension, barely hiding the panic just beneath the surface.
“It said, ‘Tell your father we know how to find you.’”
“And you didn’t recognize who sent it?” he snaps.
“No, if I did, I would’ve replied.”
My dad lets out a string of curse words before running his hand through his thinning hair. Sweat beads on his temples and upper lip, and his hands are shaking. “I messed up,” he blurts out, frustration and desperation dripping from his words. “I didn’t think they’d… I covered my tracks… I mean, they can’t just…“ The large man pats his big beer belly and lets out a little burp before stopping his pacing and turning to face me. “I’ll pull some strings, talk to a few people, and see if I can get you a bodyguard.“
The look he gives me is one of true, unfiltered fear. I’ve watched my father get arrested more times than I can count, but he’s never looked as afraid as he does now.
Still, the thought of one of his friends or, God forbid,prison buddiesfollowing me around day and night doesn’t exactly make me feel safer about the whole situation. “Oh, that’s not necessary. Really, maybe I can just go… Stay with a friend.” My father doesn’t know that I don’t have any friends, so I hope he doesn’t ask any further questions. Luckily, he nods his head slowly, considering my words.
Suddenly, my father straightens up, puffs his chest out, and schools over his face. A new look of determination and certainty paints his features. I'm surprised to see something close to tenderness in his eyes as well.
“I know I haven’t always been… The best father.” He winces, knowing that’s the understatement of the century. “I’m shit at talking about my feelings, but I really am proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished. You have your own life, your own job, and your own apartment. It’s for the best that you’ve moved on from me.”
I blink a few times, still registering his words. My father has never said anything like this to me, and the fact that he’s confessing it now only makes me more worried. Still, the emotion behind his declaration tugs at a wound in my heart that never healed. Before I even know what’s happening, I’m standing up and wrapping my arms around my father. I can’t remember the last time we hugged, but he pulls me in tighter. He’s squeezing me like this is the last time we’re going to see each other.
“I’m going to go away for a while, and I won’t be able to contact you.” I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. “It’s for your own safety.”
“Where are you going? And for how long?” I ask, looking up at him. Green eyes that match mine stare down at me. His gaze is faded and weary, but he lets me see the love he’s always had forme. It figures we’d have a breakthrough in our relationship right before he takes off and never returns.
“I can’t tell you. The less you know, the better. This is for your safety.“
“But…“
“Go on now,” he commands. “I need to start packing. Promise me you’ll be careful. I’ll reach out once this has blown over.”
I hug my dad one last time, and then turn around and walk out the front door before he can see me cry. When I get to my car, I stare at my reflection in the rearview mirror. I don’t have any more answers than when I arrived. If anything, I have more questions and more anxiety.
2
JACKSON
Ilean back in my office chair and stretch my arms over my head, barely suppressing a yawn. It’s five o’clock, which means it’s time to head home. My title as a Navy Intelligence Specialist sounds far more pretentious than it is, at least in my case. Contrary to what action movies would have you believe, most of my job consists of sitting behind a desk, staring at a computer screen like so many other office workers.
When I was first assigned a desk job several years ago, I was bitter and angry at the world. During my long military career, I’ve been deployed eight times and have seen far more action than I care to remember most days. When the last deployment nearly sent me home in a body bag, I got a “promotion,” which basically means I’m behind a desk because I’m too broken to do anything else.
I’m in year three of being stationed at Ridgeway base in Pine Valley, Colorado. Unlike most other military bases, Ridgeway is home to people in nearly every branch and field of the military, from explosive experts to wilderness trainers, and everything in between. It’s been a unique experience, and unlike any of my other assignments. In a weird way, we’ve formed a dysfunctionalfamily here. It’s difficult to believe I have a little over a year left until retirement.
What has all been for?
The little voice in the back of my head whispers into my ear, though I try to silence it. Still, I can’t deny I’ve been feeling more restless lately. As much as I hate to admit it, I think it might have something to do with not knowing what the future holds after I’m no longer in the military.
