Who is That Man?

Who is that man sitting before the window of the truck? Do I know him or was he just another passenger of the sidewalk of New York City? Unexpectedly, my body drove me to sit in the passenger seat. My mind knew the person, but my soul did not.

“How’s school?” he asked.

Out of politeness I replied, “Fine.”

“Just fine? Aren’t you going to give me details?” he asked.

No response.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” he asked.

“I feel like I don’t even know you. All you do is order me to do everything. You’ve never suggested a dinner out together or even just to go to Starbucks. I know nothing about your life. Hell, you could be going to strip clubs every night. What do I know? You always come home at 2:00 am and say that you’ve been at work. Bullshit. If you won’t talk to me, I don’t feel comfortable sharing me life with you. Not with a stranger. I don’t know you. Who are you?” I said all of this strongly.

“I am your father! You know who I am,” he yelled even though he was sitting right next to me in the driver’s seat.

“I don’t think of you as a father anymore. I don’t have that respect from you. You are nothing to me,” I said precisely and with clarity, as if it had been rehearsed.

There was a pause. I sat there in the passenger seat of the vehicle and waited anxiously for his response.

He broke the silence.

“Get out. I’m done with you. You can walk your ass to school,” he commanded.

The look in his eyes pierced right through me. Was he aware of the damage that he had done? That he was tearing me apart?

I opened the door of the truck. I stepped out of the vehicle that belonged to this unfamiliar man. I could feel the cold air against my face, yet with each step, I could feel heat from the inside of me rise to the inside walls of my skin. It was 0°C. I walked briskly, determined to get to school on time.

It took me fifteen minutes to walk to school. I wrapped my hand around the silver handle of the front door to the school and pulled it open. With a pleasant smile on my face, I walk gracefully to my locker, giving a cheerful “good morning” to everyone that I knew on the way. I quickly made my way to the girls washroom. I walked into the stall, shut and locked the faded pink door. I set my bag down with my cold, pale hand. I felt my eyes grow warm. I could feel my face intensify with pain. My eyes, the doors to my soul, closed quiet and soft. A teardrop escaped and fell effortlessly down the soft skin of my cheek. Tears continued to stream down my face. Each and every one leaving a black trail on my face from the mascara I wore everyday. My trembling hands reached for the toilet paper and I wiped off the black stains that remained on the surface of my face. I no longer had a daddy.

The warning bell for class rung. I picked up my bag and slowly opened the ugly door. I plastered a smile on my face and made my way to period one: grade 11 university physics.