Page 73 of Back to Me

Clenching my hands into fists, I feel the anger welling inside me, pushing the sympathy aside. I wanted to believe there was another side to my father, but instead, I’m left standing before him like a fool. A fool for ever believing he could be something he’s not.

“Are you kidding me, Dad?” I yell. Standing up, I allow the anger to overtake me, feeling its warm embrace wrap around me like greeting an old friend.

“You’re telling me the reason you criticized and belittled me all these years, telling me I made a terrible mistake by moving to Dallas was you had to give up your dream? And let me guess, you blame me for it,” I scoff. “I was the reason you had to quit school. I was the reason you felt like joining the military was the only way you could support your family.” I inhale a sharp breath, feeling the heat rising beneath my skin. “I’m so sorry you felt like your wife and children were such a burden,” I add sarcastically. I step toward him, pressing my finger into his chest. “But I am nothing like you.”

I stare into his eyes, searching for some truth behind them. To see if my words have somehow affected him. His eyes turn to glass, my reflection staring straight back at me.

My body shakes when his hand reaches up, gripping the back of my neck. He pulls me to him, pressing my forehead into his. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the tears slide down my cheeks, fearing what he’s going to do. His power over me shatters me.

“Look at me, Graham,” he grits out, his voice loud and commanding. I feel like I’m fourteen again, him yelling at me to clean my room. “Look into my eyes when I tell you this!”

I purse my lips, holding back the sobs escaping me. I feel myself falling apart. I’ve lost everything that ever meant a single thing to me, and I’m just now seeing it. I am my father.

“Look at me, Graham,” he repeats.

Shaking, I slowly open my eyes and clench my teeth, attempting to hold myself together.

“I made my own choices.” His chest is pressed against mine, and his voice booms, vibrating through my body. “I do not blame you for having to give up on my dream of becoming an artist. The only thing I blame you for is making me realize you can have more than one dream. You were my new dream, Graham. Do you understand?” He pulls my head back only slightly, just enough to search my eyes for understanding. “You and Emiline.”

I continue to sob, feeling my father’s fingers grip around the back of my neck tighten, unwilling to let me break free from his hold. Spit falls from my mouth and tears spill down my cheeks. I’m a mess, but when I look back into my father’s eyes, I can see he’s a mess as well.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you?” he asks again, pressing his other hand against my chest, steadying me. “I don’t want you spending another fucking second of your life blaming yourself for other people’s choices. You can’t keep blaming yourself for things that are out of your control. Do you hear me?” When I don’t answer, he asks again, raising his voice even louder. “Do you understand me, son?”

I don’t answer him. Instead, I sob uncontrollably. My body shakes beneath his grasp, and I fall against him, feeling helpless. I wrap my fingers around his shirt, clutching and grasping the fabric with every ounce of strength I have left. The familiar feeling of failure falls over me. It’s a heavy burden to carry everyone else’s burdens.

Wrapping his arms around me, my father pulls me against him. “It’s okay,” he whispers into my ear, resting his cheek against my head as I fall apart in his arms.

It’s as if I’m feeling everything all over again, inflicting pain just as much as it did the first time. I think about my mom and how she died so young. I think about my Nana whose own mind had betrayed her after losing her only daughter, trapping her in a prison of her own convoluted imagination caused by dementia affecting her brain. And I think about Sara and how I’ve let her down for so many years. I tortured her by never fully letting her in, never allowing her to see how I truly felt, how I had loved her all this time. Then I offered the world at her feet when in reality all I had done was offer her a handful of empty promises. Even if it wasn’t for the events that unfolded at the museum last night, I had failed Sara. I was the one person who was meant to keep her safe and protected. In my letter, I had vowed to protect her and love her as I always had, but they only ended up as insignificant words written down on paper.

I don’t know how long I sobbed in my father’s arms, but after a while, he moves us backward, sitting us down on the couch. Finally, my cries subside, and I’m able to take a breath, wiping the tears from my cheeks and stare at the floor.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” is all I can manage to say.

“For what?”

I laugh, but there’s no humor behind it. “I’m thirty years old, and I just cried in your arms.”

“You haven’t cried in my arms like that since you were a baby.” He chuckles, placing his hand on my back. “But, no,” he says, seriously, “don’t apologize. It doesn’t matter how old you are. Sometimes, we need to remember it’s okay to feel. I guess I should have done that with you a long time ago.”

I silently nod, taking a few moments to allow my sniffling to stop and the tears to dry from my cheeks. Grabbing my jacket from the side of the couch, I pull out the box still tucked deep inside the pocket. I drop the box into my dad’s hand.

“I fucked up, Dad.”

His mouth falls open as he stares at me before dropping his eyes to the object sitting in his hand. Slowly, he cracks it open, allowing the vintage gold engagement ring to shine under the dull lights of the hotel room. A large square diamond sits atop the gold band, surrounded by a string of tiny, more intricate diamonds.

“I was going to ask her last night,” I explain, keeping my eyes glued to the ring I had picked out for Sara. “I wrote her a letter and pinned it to a painting I had done of her a few months back. I had planned on asking her when we came home from the exhibit and well…” I stop, feeling my throat swell once more. I cough, attempting to clear lump resting in the back. “…you saw how that turned out.”

Admiring the ring, he doesn’t take it out of the box, just stares at it. “It’s a beautiful ring.”

“Thanks,” I mumble. I’m not sure what I expected him to say. It’s not as if we’re magically cured of the callous ways we’ve treated each other my whole life. Building a relationship will take time. I swallow back the usual sarcastic comment and grin, grabbing the box from his hand. I close it and return it to my jacket.

“Your mother would have loved Sara.” He says the words so quietly, I’m not sure he even spoke them. But when I turn to him, searching his eyes that mirror mine, I know I heard him right.

My breath stills, everything stills.

“I think so too.” Resting my elbows on my thighs, I lean forward, raking my fingers through my hair. “But I don’t think it matters anymore. We both said some terrible things to each other last night. I don’t think we can get past it. I think…” I pause, willing myself to admit what I feared most, “… I think we’re done.”

“I don’t pretend to know your and Sara’s relationship and how you went from friends to being together, but I have been married twice.” Sitting back on the couch, he rests one leg on the other, staring straight in front of him. “I love Liz, and I wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world, but still, I wish I had done things differently with your mother.”

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