The voice on the other end crackles with a laugh, worn in and one I haven’t heard in almost twenty years. “You remembered. I knew you would.”
My hands are clammy enough I feel like the phone could slip right out of my hand.
“Mitchell, why are you calling me?”
“Mitchell? First naming me, huh? ”
“Well, calling you dad feels like a crime, so.”
There’s that laugh again. He seems so unbothered. Not like he’s calling his only daughter for the first time in twenty years. Anger coils, deep in my belly, bringing tears to my eyes.
“You were always the quick one. How are you, little bee?”
I look around, trying to find the camera or something designed to capture my reaction, because this has to be a bit. Nothing else makes sense. I don’t even know how he’d have my phone number.
“What do you want?”
“What, a father can’t call up his kids every now and again?”
My words are sharp and quick, “They can but you’re not really a father, now are you?” The other line is quiet besides for some background noise—maybe a TV or the radio. “Are you sick or something?” I go to the only thing I can fathom that would have this man—thisstranger—call me.
“No, I’m not sick. Everything’s fine.”
I let silence fill the space between us and it’s as if a rope is being pulled taut. There’s a flame low enough not to catch it all at once, but the braids are starting to fray.
Tears slide down my face. They’re full of anger and questions and hurt I never got to express to him.
“I saw you’ve been playing in the NFL.” His voice is enthusiastic and it’s like skinning your knee running to get ice cream on the first day of summer. Something that should be so fun and exciting but then it’s ruined.
“Yes.”
“That’s pretty cool. I’ve been able to tell my buddies that that’s my girl out there. Don’t get to see you buzz around, like I did at your soccer games, but it’s still something.”
My girl. The words feel like they’re burning my skin—leaving red marks and blisters. How is this happening? How could the man who was supposed to look after me, after us, get up and leave without anything more than a card on my eighteenth birthday? And then he calls acting like nothing has happened.
“You shouldn’t lie to your friends like that. I haven’t been your girl for a long time, Mitchell.” It’s as if the words are programmed and I don’t know where they’re coming from. I am borderline having an out of body experience.
“You’ll always be my girl.” His voice is quiet, almost hard to hear.
I breathe in, filling my lungs, and sigh the breath out. “It’s sad that you think that. You really shouldn’t. People who leave their families, never to be heard from again, don’t get to do that.” The way my voice cracks at the end of the sentence hits me hard. I don’t want him to hear me cry, to know that he impacted me like this.
Keep it together.You can have a meltdown once you hang up. I barter with myself, willing my body to hold it in.
“I’m going to be over that way in a few weeks. Wondered if you got tickets for games or anything like that. I’d love to come see you play.”
There it is.
“Are you fucking for real right now? Tell me you didn’t call to ask me for tickets to a football game?” The silence on the other end tells me everything I need to know. The rage that was coiling is ready to spring and I can feel it releasing, taking me with it. “You never called when my high school soccer team went to state finals, two years in a row, or when I was the leading scorer of my college team and we made it to the post season. Or when I graduated—high school or college. Or when I opened my own business. You. Never. Called.”
“I know, and…” The pause he lets drag amplifies my hurt. Hurt fueled by rage. “I’m sorry about that.” His voice is level, steady—like the dad I wished he would’ve been. If I didn’t know exactly what kind of person he was, maybe I’d have a chance to believe in his apology.
But I do, so I don’t.
“Don’t be. I did just fine without you.” My eyes gaze outside the window, a few flurries blowing in the chilled November air. “If you’re actually sorry, you won’t call me again. Bye, Mitchell.”
I end the call before he can say another word. My chest heaves with shallow breaths, the air rushed and too loud. It’s like my ribcage grows by the breath, getting too big for my skin to fit over it. I try to catch my breath but my ears are filled with pounding and it’s distracting. My heart. Too fast. Too much.
This is all too much.
