Daddys and their Not So Little Girls.

Monday, July 13, 2009

Its very rare I'm alone with my father. So as i stared at the rear view mirror at his reflection it dawns on me how much younger i remember him. The wrinkles around his eyes don't ever seem to store itself in my permanent memory. Nor does his graying hairs. Suppose its the same way he sees me. Awkward, flat chested and forever 6 or 7, the age of daddy's girls. Sometimes he stares at me and when i catch him looking he says hes forgotten what i look like. Just the way i do. Enjoying the silence, I sat in the car listening to the hum of the air con while he flipped through the papers as my mom was out running an errand after our lunch. He stared at me and asks the only thing he ever asks about my boyfriends which he eventually chooses to acknowledge.

"So, your friend staying with you, is he kind?"

I look away from his reflection for a moment. That's his way of asking me if my bf has a bad temper. I tell my father that my current live in boyfriend is really smart.

He looks at me as if he knows exactly what i mean and how much that hurts him.

Then as if we never talked, he goes back to reading the newspaper.

Pillowtalk Bolster

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