My father was up, pacing in the shadows. The whole house was dark except for a hall lamp. Through the archway I saw the red dot of his cigarette floating above the piano. I took off my shoes and hooked the heels on the shoulder strap of my bag; I shut the door softly then headed for the stairs. I was wearing one of Mom's summer dresses and I had dribbled tequila on the front; I didn't want to get into anything over ruining old clothes.

"Not so fast, Missy."

I wasn't moving very fast or very well. With my hair pinned up off my neck, I suddenly felt chilled to the bone, and a lot less steady than I'd felt getting out of Robert's family mini-van. Robert was a child. I was a two-time college dropout dating a high school junior on the basketball team and the whole town knew.

Dad moved into the light, but I kept going.

"Hey. Whoa. Hold on a minute."

I slid on the tiles. My bag fell, both shoes went flying. He got to the stairs before I did, stopped me from tumbling head-first into the rail. He straightened me up, held me awkwardly beneath my breasts a moment; then he made himself big and blew smoke at my head.

"Inside," he said.

He guided me two robot steps in the right direction, but when he took his hands away, I turned back. I frowned at his feet. He was barefoot like me.

"What is it," he said.

"I'm going to be sick," I said.

"You're not going to be sick. Go in and sit down. Quick pow wow."

I swayed a little and tried to stay focused on his feet. They had the same shape as mine, the same toes, except my nails were painted cherry-red. He raised my chin with one finger. He had the cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth like a TV detective.

He squinted. "Did you have sex with a minor tonight, Miss?"

I snarled a blubbery noise. "You're not funny."

He said, "Yes, I am. Your boyfriend's mother called. I made her laugh so hard she agreed to drop all charges."

"I'm tired, Daddy. And a tiny wee bit drunk."

"Sleep is for sissies," he said. "And if you're more drunk than me, you're grounded."

He grasped my shoulders and turned me slow. He said, "I need your help with the TV again."

I faked a foot-stomping fit. "I need sleep sleep sleep."

"No one needs sleep. That's a lazy man's myth."

He was behind me, sniffing. Pulling deep breaths from the air around me. I imagined he could smell the scents of my evening, where I'd been, the food I'd touched, what I'd smoked, and the thick smell of Robert, the handsome child with the body of a man, the boy who only said he loved me when I had his dick in my hand.

"Step inside my parlor," my father said. "I won't keep you very long from dreaming your precious dreams about your beautiful Robert."

"Dad. Please. Work. Remember. Early."

"Move it," he said.

"I can't. I'm up and out of here in less than four hours."

He puffed up a little. "Whose fault is that? That's not my fault."

He motioned me toward the big chair.

"Have a seat, Missy."

"Promise me this has nothing to do with Mom. Promise me and I'll help. Because it's three A.M. and I love you Daddy, but I don't have the strength."

He patted my bum. "Be my guest," he said.

I dragged my feet across the carpet; the new TV snapped on. The giant screen was blue, soundless. Ghostly shapes took form in the haze. I watched the picture roll then drop back into the frame. I fell into his big chair and sat straight back to hide my face between the wings. The cushions felt warm against my thighs and back.

"Tell me why it's doing that," my father said.

He stepped across my view, waving the remote as though directing an orchestra. The sleek TV was a used model, an eBay auction bargain that had cost twice the bidding price to ship from Canada. It had more features than a Sears microwave oven. On screen a highlighted bar flickered through a list of menu options.

My father cursed.

In the background the picture rolled and snapped, rolled and snapped.

"What did you do?" I said. "Tell me everything you did after I went out."

"Nothing. Not a thing," he said. "Not at first. Then I started getting green fuzzy edges so I hit the auto program and this is what I got."

"What else?"

"Then I pushed other things. I couldn't get a menu."

"What did you push?"

"Hell knows what I didn't push. This keypad is like a science calculator," he said. "So far I missed two heavyweight fights. Right now, I'm missing bikini babes running a carwash business. Do you think it's the way we've got it wired?"

I had settled deep into the corner of his chair. I was sunk in, hugging myself.

I said, "Another tiny reason why a user's manual is nice to have."

He said, "I unplugged it twice but it won't reset. There must be a battery."

I closed my eyes, then quickly opened them. "Is it true I used to sleep here?" I said, snuggling up like I was going to snooze.

My father crawled past me on his hands and knees. He stopped two feet in front of the TV screen. "Long time since you slept there. A different life then. Your mother lived on that couch because of her back. All she did was watch TV. First years of your life that was mostly your bed."

I could feel myself going, starting to drift.

"I think I remember some of that. I don't remember sleeping straight though the night in this chair. I should remember. I dream a lot about sleep."

"Not your mother, though. Never your mother. And not that chair. One just like it though," my father said.

I sat up, leaned towards the light. The brightness cast a blue glare on my father's face. He had his hands apart, measuring.

"God, you were such a tiny thing, you'd fit lying down, straight out. All of you."

"I was a good baby, wasn't I, Daddy?"

He thumped the TV with his fist.

"You were an angel."

He banged again; the picture popped and rattled.

"You just outgrew it, like everything else."

~
Back to top