“What the fuck is going on with you? You barely said a word all night!”
“Nothing. You didn’t really talk to me either. You seemed more worried about your phone calls.”
“So that’s it, huh?”
“Jameson! Take it easy bro!” David shouts from across the way.
“You know what Jameson. I’m not doing this with you right now. Especially after you’ve been drinking.”
Without letting him say another word I pull away. I look in my rearview mirror and I see him standing there in the middle of the parking lot, throwing his arms up in the air as if he’s saying “what the fuck?” to me. He disappears in the distance.
Almost immediately my cell phone is ringing, it’s him. I don’t answer it. I light up a cigarette and crank up the radio to drown out the unwanted noise in my head.
Twenty five miles until I’m home and looking at the clock on my dashboard all I can think is I’m past my curfew and now I have to wonder if I’m going to be locked out of the house or not. Just what I don’t fucking need right now. I can hear my cell phone buzzing again. Four more missed calls from Jameson and one from David. I didn’t even know David had my cell phone number. He must have taken it from Jameson’s phone. I don’t think I can wait until I get home to listen to these voicemails. I entire my four digit access code, put it on speaker.
You have five new messages. Press one to hear your messages.
“Hillary! Turn around! Come back!”
Next message.
“I’m not done talking to you! Pick up your phone!”
Next message.
I don’t understand why the fuck you’re mad at me! Call me back!”
Next message.
“Hillary, it’s Dave. Look, Jameson is pretty upset. I don’t know what happened but he’s miserable right now.”
Next message.
“I’m done. I’m goin’ to bed. I’m sorry… for whatever.”
End of messages.
“I’m sick of you!”
October 3, 2001
I CAN HEAR RAIN BUT I CAN’t bear to open my eyes to look out my bedroom window. I’m so tired. I slept like shit. What the hell happened last night? How did the night go so wrong? I turn my head to look at my alarm clock to see what time it is.
12:40 p.m.
I guess now is as good a time as any to get up. I don’t hear any other voices in the house so I won’t be bothered by anyone. All I hear is the rain pouring down. I wonder if we’ll get a thunderstorm. I love sitting with my dad on the back of his tailgate in the garage watching the rain come down, listen to the rumbles of thunder and see the lightning strikes. I haven’t done that with him in a while. Today would be a good day for that.
AFTER I’M SHOWERED AND DRESSED I go to the kitchen to find something to eat. It’s almost 2:00 p.m., so breakfast is kind of ridiculous to think about. Opening the refrigerator I laugh, because it’s pretty bare. I guess breakfast is back on the table for my 2:00 p.m. meal. Cereal it is.
I curl up on the couch with my bowl of Cinnamon French Toast and grab the TV remote. I haven’t been home on a Saturday afternoon in a while. I’m not even sure what there is to watch. Flipping through the channels I see a very recognizable person on the screen, Jennifer Grey. Yes! Thank you TBS for playing classic movies on the weekend. “Dirty Dancing”.
CRACK!
I jump from hearing what sounded like a strike of lightning behind me. As I turn to look out of the picture window from the living room I see my mother pulling in to the driveway. That’s my cue to get out of this room. This would be the perfect time to go see if my dad is downstairs in the garage watching the storm roll through. Grabbing my shoes I trot down the stairs, turn right through the door to the garage and I see the top of his head over his truck. Yup, I was right. Just where I knew he would be. For some reason that puts a smile on my face.
“Hi, Daddy. Watcha’ doin’?”
“Hiya Poopsie Bear. Just watching the storm.”
My dad has been calling me Poopsie Bear forever. Even as a so-called adult, it still makes me all mooshy inside when he says it.
“Cool. I’ll join ya.”
“What are you doing home anyway? I’m surprised you’re not out and about.”
I can’t tell him the truth. My dad is a great man but talking to him sometimes, I don’t know. I don’t think he realizes how shitty his comments come out. It’s easier just to lie.
“I don’t know. I think the rain is just making me sleepy and lazy today. I don’t feel like going anywhere.”
He doesn’t say anything. He just nods his head, takes a swig of his Busch beer, a drag of his Marlboro light cigarette and just stares out at the rain. We sit just like that, no words, just stare for well over an hour.