My dad?
I hadn’t seen him, or talked to him, in a good while. In fact, I didn’t remember the last time. I knew what he looked like because sometimes I’d be flipping through family photo albums and his face would pop up here and there—and these pictures dubbed up as memories. I liked his smile but I didn’t know what it felt like when he smiled at me. I heard him laughing through the pictures, but I couldn’t work out what it sounded like. We had spent time together, and I just couldn’t, for the life of me, remember how it felt to have him close to me. Next to me. With me.
“Do you want to talk to him? He’d like to ask you about something…”
“Okay.” I took the phone and put it to my ear and waited, holding my breath.
“Say something, baby.” Mum’s encouragement was sweet. I just wished I had no eyes on me.
“Hello…?” I said, my voice shaking a little.
“Hey, buddy! So nice to hear you! How’s my little champ doing? Do you remember me? Gee, we haven’t seen each other in a while… I have been really busy, you know? I was going to phone you sooner but things kept coming up, would you believe that? But hey, we’re talking now, right!?”
“Yeah…” was all I could say.
Then there was silence. It lasted eternity. It felt longer than the 11 years I had been alive for.
“So anyway… I would like to come and see you! I’m coming down in a couple of weeks with Margo and Monica, do you remember them? I’m sure you do! They’d love to see you too! Mon is so excited to see her older brother, she doesn’t talk about anything else!”
I was just nodding along, forgetting that such gesture serves no purpose in a phone conversation.
“I thought I could come by your house and we could spend the day together. We’ll go round Auntie Jane’s, everyone’s going to be there! What do you think? Would you like that?”
I opened my mouth but the words wouldn’t come out.
I didn’t know if I’d have liked that. I didn’t know what I thought.
“You still there?” The impatient tone underlined his words.
“Yeah…okay!” I said hurriedly.
“Oh yeah? So you up for it?”
“Yeah! Bye!”
I handed the phone back to Mum and ran away to my bedroom.
Was this phone call my fault? Was I being punished for listening in?
Maybe if I hadn’t picked up the phone, he wouldn’t have asked me if I wanted to see him.
There was a comic book lying closed on my bedroom floor. I sat down to find the page I’d left off. Was it page 14? Or 22? 27? Did it matter? I opened it randomly and stared at the drawings, but I couldn’t focus. Maybe if I hadn’t listened in, it wouldn’t have been him phoning.
The cartoon paperback felt like a safe escape, but every time I opened it, fragments of this story—old and new—were echoing like my dad’s voice on the phone. Familiar, yet distant.
Should I start from the beginning?
Maybe if I hadn’t picked it up, I wouldn’t feel so uncomfortable now.
I flipped back to page one.
I wasn’t sure how this story was going to unfold. It felt recycled, like I’d been through this before. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to read it again, but a flicker of excitement pulled me forward, even as my stomach churned with dread, and I knew I’d have to.
Quiet Paragraphs 