Page 19 of Wifey
Some homes have a certain smell to them. Some come with the smell, some are created over a length of time. They smell like warmth and happiness. They may smell like coldness and fear. They may smell like medicine and death.
My father’s home always smelled like love – his strong cologne that lingered in the air long after he left. The various cookouts he and my uncles had over the years. The exhaustion he’d after he came home from an incredibly long day.
As I sit on the floor going through various books, clothes, trinkets, and whatever else, I breathe in the scent of this home one last time. It’s nostalgia and sorrow. I think of how I would climb into Daddy’s bed as a child, and cuddle up next to him. I think of when he would put on “Never Too Much” as he cooked dinner.
Memories of birthday parties, friends coming over to watch a fight or the Super Bowl, Thanksgivings always had revolving doors and plenty of food for everyone. Sleepovers with friends.
I think of the various girlfriends he’d brought over throughout the years and how they all fit in, without trying to change our groove. Even when the relationship didn’t work out, Daddy was still on very good terms with them.
I hate this is the first time Cameron had been over to my house. It’s very much a vanilla home – grass, trees, and a simple driveway. There’s not even a gate surrounding it. Anyone can walk into the yard and that’s the way Daddy wanted it.
I really hate the circumstances of it all. I should be showing Cameron old yearbook photos of me, reminiscing about stupid times with friends I don’t even talk to anymore. I should find old homework lessons and be amazed I even knew how to do any of that stuff.
I should be finding in vain some old song I barely remember and showing him some silly dance routine I did way back when and laughing my ass off when I couldn’t remember it outright. I should be blushing about old teenage crushes and wondering what happened to them.
Instead, I’m stuffing as many clothes I can in my bags and all of the trinkets I can fit into other bags. I haven’t gone through the kitchen, but I’m pretty sure I won’t need anything that’s in there. All of the living room and dining room items will also stay put.
MyHarry Potterseries is still in my closet, along with a ton of other unread books I’ve been “meaning to get to.” The closet space is half-empty with my items because I never had that much clothing to begin with.
I donated all of Daddy’s clothes last year. Some went to various charities, others went to old girlfriends and family who wanted them. The only thing of Daddy’s I wanted was his vinyl collection; everything else was unimportant.
My entire life is stuffed into several bags and my brain is spinning on how everything went so bad, so quickly. Life has its share of hills and valleys, but this is a whole different breed of crap.
I’m not oblivious to think what happened to my father and what is going on tonight are two different things, but I also don’t know the role Cameron has played in both occurrences. I have a feeling he is connected, but the why of it is still a question mark.
I take a deep inhale and remember the ‘old house’ smell that lingered no matter how much sage and essential oils I burned. There were various smells throughout the years, yet it was all love. Various memories hang over, good and bad, and relish in them all.
I don’t know if I’ll come back and the thought of it breaks my heart.
I’m reminded of one thing this house never had – my mother’s scent. Laurie decided motherhood was not for her and left Daddy and me when I was barely a toddler. She came to all of the important events of my life, except birthdays.
I still don’t know if she didn’t want to be reminded of my birth and invariably, when her life changed as well. Or she simply just didn’t do birthdays. I never asked my father and he never brought it up. We just accepted an unspoken thing about Laurie.
She was like that aunt that flew in every so often, and popped in like she was Santa Claus. When she came, it was production – lot of food, gifts, and sometimes she stayed the night with us. Sometimes, she was in Daddy’s bed with him.
What a storied history they had together and not together. They worshipped each other when together, and left things as is when they were apart. If they had arguments it was never when I was around.
When Laurie left, it was almost as if she’d never came at all. She simply disappeared in the middle of the night, sometimes leaving a note or some little gift from somewhere. Maybe I’ll get a phone call from her in a couple of months. Maybe I’ll see her the next year.
She didn’t show up for Daddy’s funeral and honestly, why would she? Unless she’d been paying close attention to the local news here, she didn’t know. She wouldn’t have known. With no way for me to get a hold of her, it’s safe to say Laurie preferred not to have known.
That was how my life was up until a year ago. Laurie was one half, Daddy was the other half. They would cross paths like two passing ships in the middle of the night, but they would never be in the same place for very long. They were always half-pieces, but they were never put together.
I understood at a young age the dynamic between a man and a woman, and sometimes even when you know things won’t work out, you still try. Daddy tried. Laurie tried. They both knew, however, their current dynamic would never change.
It was why Daddy never spoke bad about Laurie. He never really spoke bad about anyone, for that matter. If he didn’t like someone, he just never dealt with them. There was no hate watching, there were no snarky remarks.
It was as if the person never existed.
It was hard to be mad at Laurie. She was never predictable, though she was selfish. She was never hateful, though I don’t have a lot of love for her. Laurie was self-sufficient even against her best interests. If she didn’t want anything to do with you, she simply didn’t.
My father’s mark is still a large presence in this home. I gave away a lot of his items to various family members, friends, and even ex-girlfriends who wanted them. I kept the important things – memories in various pictures, his favorite mug, a couple of hoodies he liked to wear.
Most importantly, I kept the vinyl collection. Some records are scratched, some are old and I can tell by the album covers it’d seen better days. Those records were my Daddy’s life. He always played his vinyls and swore up and down, they were going to make a comeback. He was right.
“I’m done going through the drawers,” Cameron’s voice interrupted me as I turn towards him. “The closet is completely done. We can always come back over the next few days to take care of anything else.”
“Okay.” I let out a soft sigh. “I guess we can go now.”
