Page 2 of Hello Stranger

At that, my dad stood up, scooting back his café chair with a honk that announced he was done. Done with this conversation—and possibly done with fatherhood, as well.

I still remember the determination I felt as I watched him leave. It seems almost quaint now.I’ll show you,I remember thinking, with a self-righteous fire in my eyes.I’ll make you wish you’d believed in me all along.

Spoiler alert: I did not show him. At least not so far.

That was eight years ago.

I’d gotten that BFA in Fine Arts. I’d graduated all alone, and then I’d marched past all the families taking proud pictures, and then I’d driven triumphantly out of the university parking lot in my banged-up Toyota that my friend Sue and I had painted hot pink with flames for the Art Car Parade.

And then?

I’d embarked on many endless years of…not showing him.

I applied to contests and didn’t win. I submitted my work for shows and didn’t get accepted. I eked out a living selling portraits from photos (both human and pet) on Etsy at a hundred dollars a pop.

But it wasn’t enough to make rent.

And whenever I talked to my dad, I pretended I was “thriving.”

Because he might have been right that day. I might be headed for a pauper’s grave. But I would beunder the dirt in that gravebefore I’d ever admit it.

That must have been why I called him about placing in the contest.

The contest itself was a big deal—and huge prize money, if you could win it.

I guess the lure of having a genuine triumph to report kept me from thinking clearly.

Plus, don’t we all, deep down, carry an inextinguishable longing for our parents to be proud of us? Even long after we’ve given up?

In the thrill of the moment, I forgot that he didn’t care.

It was a good thing—and no surprise—that my call went straightto his voicemail. It meant I could make my next call. To somebody who did care.

“What!” my friend Sue shouted as soon as the words were out. “That’shuge!” She stretched out the U for what felt like a full minute.Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge.

And I just let myself enjoy it.

“The grand prize is ten thousand dollars,” I added when she was done.

“Oh my god,” she said. “Even huger.”

“And guess what else?”

“What?”

“The big show—the juried show where they pick the winner—is here. In Houston.”

“I thought it was Miami this year.”

“That was last year.”

“So you don’t even have to travel!” Sue said.

“Which is perfect! Because I can’t afford to!”

“It’s meant to be!”

“But is ittoomeant to be? Is it so in my favor, it’ll jinx me?”

---