I pick at the dirty car handle. The wind chills my face as it whips through my open window. The thunderous roar of the passing cars is almost deafening and for some reason pains me. I watch the cars perform a bizarre dance through the front windshield. The blinkers keep a steady beat as the vehicles swerved from lane to lane in a continuous pace. It was a slow dance, maybe a waltz, I don�t know my dances.
We had just went clothes shopping and I can�t imagine anything more exhausting. I can�t feel my feet anymore and every part of my body is consumed by a dull ache. I can�t tell if he�s tired. Hell, he always seems tired. The talk radio only adds to my headache as the DJ�s continue their banter.
I�m happy to be going home. Happy to have this silence between us because I never have anything to talk to you about. Normally I would complain, because it�s my favorite sport, but you always try to get me to stop. When will you learn that the right answer�s �I�m sorry, you�re life is hard�?
You turn down the radio and a weight is lifted off of my shoulders. I sigh, for no apparent reason. You decide that it�s time to have a heart to heart conversation with me. I don�t like these talks, because I have to monitor exactly how truthful I want to be. I never want to tell anyone the whole truth, because I�m afraid they�d be scared of me afterward. That�s why I�ve always been so cautious, always walking this middle line.
You start of with some small talk, so pointless there�s no point in writing it down.
�Well, would you rather me not be married now?� he asks. I think and decide what I want to tell him. Maybe I should be more honest than normal. I plan out my answer.
�No, not really.� I respond.
�Why?� he asks, a little surprised. Now I have to be careful. I put on my helmet and step into the minefield, even though it won�t do any good.
�Well, you know me. I like to have a lot of time to myself. I can spend hours doing nothing in my room. If you weren�t married, you would be bugging me a lot more and I�d get annoyed.� I choke out with pauses between each sentence.
�Bugging you!?� he laughs then continues, �No, I�d let you have your space.� Sure, Dad I think. I just nod my head and smile. So far so good.
�Well, would you rather I�d have not gotten divorced?� he asks and stumped me. In all honesty, I don�t know. I don�t remember what I thought when they got divorced.
�No� well actually, I don�t know. I don�t remember that time period.� I told him. I don�t remember because I probably erased it from my memory.
�Hmmm� Well what about the remarriage? Would you rather I�d not gotten married again?� he asks.
I think back to the days when he and his present wife were dating. Her and her son would come over at night. I remember her perfume being sickeningly strong as she walked by me into the kitchen to help my dad cook. Her son and my brother would play video games sans moi or make fun of me. I felt left out and abused by the two and seemed to spend every night calling my mom in tears. I hated it there, I couldn�t stand it. For awhile I thought that I had psychic powers, alas this separated me from them all even more. Thinking I was special comforted me, and when my dad explained to me that I didn�t have them because they don�t exist, I felt a little bit fake and disappointed.
I swallow my tears back without letting one escape. I don�t understand how he can ask me this question. When he used to tuck me in at night, I would plead with him not to get married. I even worked out this elaborate scheme to break up the wedding when the pastor was going to say, �Speak now or forever hold your peace.� Unfortunately, the wedding was small (my dad, step-mom, step-brother, brother, and me) so the pastor didn�t say that glorious phrase.
I took of my helmet to answer this question. I didn�t want to hold back.
�Of course I wish you wouldn�t have gotten remarried! I mean, it�s fine now, but it was torture!�
�How?�
�Are you joking me? David and Matt would gang up on me every night and I�d have to call Mom in tears! Then you guys would go and do things without me, I�d be so depressed I�d hide under the bed.�
�I�m sorry, I didn�t know that.� He says sullenly.
�How could you not have known that? I asked you every night not to marry her.� I fire back, still feeling the metallic taste in my mouth from keeping my tears from escaping.
�I don�t remember that.� He responds simply. Oh great, so basically I was put through hell so you could be happy, and you don�t even acknowledge or remember what I went through?
I can�t focus on anything anymore. I look at the insides of my palms and see eight red curves where I my fingernails had been. Without realizing it, I had dug my fingernails into my skin so he wouldn�t have to see my tears. So he wouldn�t have to deal with it.
I try to run my fingers through my hair, but it�s become ratted from being blown by the wind and being under a helmet. I�m sweating where my hair meets my forehead because it�s so hot. I rub my eyes. I don�t know why, maybe just to do something. Most everything I do doesn�t have a motive, it seems.
�I�m sorry you had a hard time. I wanted to get married to make you and Matt happier� he tells me. Bullshit.
�Hmph.� It�s my turn to respond simply. Maybe that was his twisted intention. I don�t know.
We spend the rest of the ride in silence and he turns the radio back on. He rolls down his window to add more noise to the orchestra of the freeway. I put my helmet back on, because now my head�s too cold. He changes the station to �cool jazz 98.1�, probably to forget again.
